“Rather silly,” she said, catching her breath, “to do this on the floor when there is a perfectly fine bed a mere step or two away.”
Stephen placed a kiss in her hair, somewhere behind the ear he had been nuzzling. “I could wait not a second longer,” he whispered. “It took my valet damn near forever to get me undressed.”
He felt her chuckle beside him. “Ah, so it is the fault of the valet…”
He continued to nuzzle that sensitive spot below her ear. Apparently, she could not think properly while he did this. Quite gratifying, indeed.
“Shall I move you to the bed, lady of mine?” He had every intention of making the most of this time he was stealing. He wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised when his arousal rose to demand an encore, still nestled inside of her. It was a first for him, though.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THOROUGHLY REFRESHED, STEPHEN walked into the private room reserved at White’s for his meeting that afternoon. He’d made love to Cecily two more times upon the comfort of the bed and even caught a few winks in between. The second and third time, he remembered to withdraw before finding his release. He’d been careless twice now.
If necessary, he’d contemplate possible consequences at another time.
But he could not dwell on this right now.
Upon awakening, he had feared he was going to be late, but Cecily had proven herself an equally efficient gentleman’s valet in helping him dress quickly. He had not summoned Hamilton.
He’d helped her don a few of her own garments and then escorted her, unseen by any servants, back to her own room. As he’d kissed her goodbye, his heart would not admit that what they had was over. He’d never experienced such a feeling of rightness as when he held her in his arms. Like a heady drug, she had the ability to make him euphoric. The removal of her from his life would likely bring despair. She was probably right when she’d said they had plenty of hell to face in the future.
Captain Devlin Brooks had already arrived and awaited him with two snifters and a decanter of what looked to be some fine brandy. Brooks, a military comrade of the colonel’s, was nearly more intimidating than the colonel himself. He had black hair and piercing black eyes. When he stood to shake hands, Stephen noted that the man was well over six feet tall.
“Brooks,” he said as they both took their seats. The other man poured Stephen a splash of liquor and pushed the glass toward him.
“Nottingham,” Brooks said casually. “Your cousin is a blackguard. I’m surprised a man such as you would champion him.”
His words were irritating — true, but irritating nonetheless. “You have family, Captain,” Stephen responded with equal nonchalance.
Brooks was a distant heir to one of the most powerful dukedoms in England. In fact, Stephen realized. He must be a cousin to the fellow who was courting Cecily’s friend, Sophia.
“One doesn’t turn his back upon his own blood.” Taking a sip of his drink, Stephen leaned back into his chair and regarded the other man thoughtfully. “Shall we get down to business then?”
The room was excellent for serious conversation. There were no windows, and the door effectively shut out any noise that might have drifted in from other rooms within the club.
Nodding, Benning’s second took a deep breath. “Your cousin has ruined my comrade’s daughter. And to compound his deviousness, he has run from the colonel’s challenge for over a week. Might I inquire as to which weapon your cousin wishes to die by?”
Stephen was not going to be intimidated by this man. “Die by? Captain, I had rather thought it would be sufficient for my cousin to merely leave England for, what say, two years? I hesitate to point out that the lady in question was not taken against her will. Rather, she quite willingly participated in the activities that led to her ruination.” He would never say these words to the colonel, but Brooks had been known to be something of a rakehell himself. Perhaps a bit of empathy could be found there.
A grim smile twisted the captain’s lips. Covering his mouth, he cleared his throat self-consciously. “That may be the case, but I can assure you, Nottingham, the colonel demands satisfaction. The facts remain that Kensington disappeared with the girl in the middle of a ball. Since the earl already has a wife, he obviously cannot repair her reputation by marrying her. The colonel will settle for no less than his death.”
“And… might I add, strictly between the two of us…” Stephen continued daringly, as though Brooks had not spoken at all. “…my cousin has informed me that the experience was… not the lady’s first.” Swirling the dark liquid patiently in front of him, Stephen waited a moment before finishing quietly. “If it must be a duel, I think a duel to first blood ought to be more than satisfactory to settle this matter.”
Brooks stared intently into his own glass, which sat untouched upon the table. Finally, taking a deep breath, he responded cautiously. “This information…” He paused. “…will remain confidential, then.”
Stephen nodded.
“And the weapons?”
“Swords,” Stephen stated, informing him of Flavion’s choice. He would have preferred Flavion fight with his fists, and rather than a field, a boxing salon. And being the challenged party, Brooks would have been forced to agree on behalf of the colonel. That being said, he could not make this decision for Flavion.
“Very well.” Pulling out some papers and reaching for a pen and some ink, the two men went about finalizing the less important details to make it all official. Stephen had accomplished all that he could to assist Flavion in defending his person. He was not so hypocritical to believe, even for a moment, that this duel had anything to do with Flavion’s honor. At this point, it was merely about survival.
Resigned, he returned to Nottinghouse to relay the details to Flave. Stephen was also keen to see Cecily again. She had managed to take up a permanent residence in his thoughts. It was odd, but as he had finalized the details with Brooks, he’d been wondering what Cecily had chosen to do with the rest of her day. When he’d realized this later, he was more than a little disconcerted at their inevitable separation.
What choice did they have?
If, by God, his cousin did not survive the duel, Stephen knew in his heart he could not simply step in and take possession of Flavion’s wife. Lord Almighty, he would already be duty bound to take over the earldom. How could he find any benefit — any pleasure — in the death of his cousin?
The only possible opportunity he could have to spend his life with Cecily would be if Flavion would begin divorce proceedings. This concept did not sit well with Stephen either, however, as he knew it would mean utter ostracism for her. And further betrayal to his uncle. Was this attraction, this need he felt for Cecily strong enough to endure a lifetime of guilt? Even more uncertain were the lady’s feelings. She adamantly wanted to be free from Flavion. Why ever would she then choose to turn right around and wed another man?
The longer his thoughts wrestled with both reason and emotion, the more hopeless it all seemed. By the time Stephen reached Nottinghouse, the optimism he’d felt earlier that day was considerably eroded.
Again, the thought taunted him. They both were bound to face a great deal of hell in the future. Was he willing to sacrifice his honor further by allowing them a bit more heaven in the here and now?
CECILY WAS HAPPY to finally be well enough to venture out and meet with Emily and Rhoda. After a bit of half-hearted shopping, the three ladies settled in comfortably at their favorite teahouse. Lord Harold, Cecily was happy to hear, was quite actively courting Sophia. His family, the duchess and some aunts, were squiring her about for the day. From what Rhoda said, an offer was most definitely in the making.
Finally able to relay all that had occurred since she’d last seen them, she could not believe it had been only one week since the night of her dreadful dinner party. Once she was done with her recitation, all three of them sat silently considering who might be the culprit.
“I think,” Rhoda finally
said, “I would have expired on the spot if I were to have discovered a snake in my chamber. And I would never sleep in that bed again.”
Emily shrugged. “It was only an adder. It is rare for a person to die from an adder bite. There are other reptiles that would have been far more deadly. Why an adder? Either the person who put it there did so only to scare you, or he is a complete ninny-hammer.”
At the word ninny-hammer, the image of Daphne Cunnington straightaway came to mind. Cecily had contemplated more and more lately that all logical deduction pointed toward Daphne Cunnington as the one person who would benefit most greatly by Cecily’s death. Flavion would benefit as well, but in spite of his duplicity, she considered him an unlikely suspect. Although casually inconsiderate and hurtful, he did not seem to have the nerve it would take to intentionally end another person’s life. Remembering the look in Miss Cunnington’s eye as she’d pulled her into the water, Cecily thought that perhaps his mistress did.
But she and Stephen had surmised it must have taken two people to place the snake under the sheets.
“The bite did cause a great deal of discomfort,” Cecily said quietly, after taking a sip of her tea. “The antidote tasted horrible, and I have been forced to spend an entire week abed! Whoever placed it there deserves a just punishment.” Being the object of such mean-spiritedness caused her to feel somewhat vulnerable, even while in her own chamber. She’d gone so far as to have Sally dispose of all of the bedding the snake had been hidden beneath. The only time she felt completely safe was when she was with Stephen… which was not at all a good thing. For he surely was not going to be in her life for much longer. One way or another…
“Flavion is to be in another duel tomorrow,” Cecily said abruptly.
The other two girls, aware that they had each discussed methods for ending his life, looked a bit chagrined. She assumed that, like her, they really did not have the fortitude to wish another human being dead either.
“I heard about the duel this morning. Papa told Mama, and I overheard Mama telling Mrs. Kettleton about it. He is to duel Colonel Benning tomorrow. He shan’t have such an easy task as he did this morning, I fear.” Looking curiously at Cecily, Rhoda asked, “Are you afraid for him? I mean, I know we have all been wishing for his death, but now that he might actually be facing it, I feel a little saddened. Are you as well?”
Cecily turned her head and stared out the window. A number of ladies and gentlemen strolled along the sidewalk, seemingly without a care in the world. She wondered if she would be a widow at this time tomorrow. As much as she yearned to be free of Flave, she did not want this.
“I am afraid for him,” she said. “Stephen is speaking with the colonel’s second today. He is going to attempt to negotiate the duel to be only to first-blood, as it was with Miss Cunnington’s father. But he was not certain of the outcome of the meeting…”
Both Emily and Rhoda raised their eyebrows. “Stephen?” Rhoda asked. “Stephen, Cecily? Not Mr. Nottingham?”
“You have been ill, but have you managed then, to have some success seducing Flavion’s cousin?” Emily was curious as well.
Oh, Lord. If they knew the truth of it…
Looking at her friends, Cecily could contain herself no longer. “I think I am in love with him,” she burst out.
Both girls looked confused.
“Not Flavion. Stephen… Mr. Nottingham. I know it sounds crazy. It is crazy. But he is everything I had thought Flavion to be and more. I realize that my emotions for Flavion were nothing compared to what I feel for Stephen. And Stephen… well, he is a good man. I mean, he is truly a good man.”
“Oh my,” Emily said.
“Oh hell,” Rhoda said. “Does he return the sentiment?”
Cecily reached up and tugged at her ear. “I’m not sure. He has this issue… with loyalty to his cousin.”
She did not know what she ought to reveal to her friends. Stephen was something of a private person and she did not wish to share something that he would wish to be kept confidential.
“He has a very strong sense of honor and responsibility. Even if he did love me in return, I do not think he could ever act upon it.” Any more than we both already have. “I believe he is planning on taking his leave of Nottinghouse after the duel — depending upon the outcome.”
The ladies quieted again at what this meant for Cecily.
“He is Flavion’s heir?” Emily asked.
“Yes,” Cecily answered. “And he cares a great deal for his cousin. He will suffer greatly if Flavion does not survive tomorrow.” And, oh God, he would heap guilt upon himself. They could never hope to have a future together. If only…
“Oh, Cecily, I am so sorry.” Rhoda reached out and covered her hand.
“What a mess,” Emily added. “Life is never as simple as we would like for it to be, is it?”
Cecily shook her head solemnly. “It is not.”
THE NEXT MORNING, a steady drizzle fell as Stephen and Flavion set off for the same secluded field they’d gone to the previous morning. An awful sense of dread hovered over Stephen while Flavion appeared uncaring and yet somewhat brittle.
Wearing a greatcoat and holding an umbrella, Marcus awaited them once again. He gave the impression of being as solemn as Stephen felt. With a glance toward the other gentlemen present, Stephen saw why. The colonel did not look like an old man. He most likely had not yet reached the age of fifty. And he was built like a bull — tall and solid. As he limbered himself up with his sword, Stephen could see that the man was agile and quick. Flavion caught sight of his challenger and paled somewhat.
Today, Stephen took more time than usual to meet with the surgeons. Not confident in his cousin’s abilities, he ought to at least feel confident in the surgeons’ presence. Upon discovering that both had served during the wars and were experienced in dealing with wounds, he deemed them both to be suitable.
Wishing he could do more, Stephen joined Brooks near the field of combat. The drizzle had halted, but everything on the field was wet. Without further ado, the two challengers took their stance.
This time, Brooks gave the directive, “Allez!”
Flavion was quick, Stephen noted right off. But as the match progressed, it became painfully obvious that the colonel merely toyed with him. The hulk of a man never looked even slightly uncomfortable nor out of control.
He parried, he thrust, he lunged and moved about as though he were a cat with a mouse. Flavion did all that he could to keep the other man’s sword from making contact with his person — barely. As the fighting drew out, Stephen watched as perspiration dripped off Flavion’s face.
And then the colonel got serious.
What happened next was to be argued and discussed for weeks.
The colonel backed Flavion up against a cluster of boulders and for all intents and purposes had the younger man pinned. Stephen held his breath.
Flavion reached back, though, and felt one of the boulders behind him. Apparently, thinking he could take the advantage if he could reach a higher position, he went to leap backward and up.
And he would have landed there if not for the drizzle that had fallen earlier. But it had, and the boulders were still slick from the rain.
Just as the colonel stepped forward, and swiped upwards with his sword, Flavion lost his footing.
He slid into the weapon.
He slid onto the weapon.
Every man in attendance that morning, irrespective of whom he supported in the duel, cringed as the sword penetrated and was then withdrawn from between Lord Kensington’s legs. Blood instantly seeped into his buff-colored breeches. Unable to balance himself against the boulder, Flavion collapsed onto the ground.
In the weeks to come, all of the ton debated that the colonel had intended to unman the Earl of Kensington from the very beginning. Others adamantly argued that it had been an accident. Regardless of the colonel’s intentions, the end result was a razor-sharp sword piercing Flavion in a most painful whereabouts
indeed.
Below the belt, the hit would later be considered disqualified.
ONCE THE FLOW of bleeding was stemmed somewhat, a carriage was brought around, and Flavion was loaded up to be transported to Nottinghouse. Marcus assured Stephen he would take over the care of the mounts they’d ridden to the park so that Stephen could ride along with his cousin. For if Flavion were to die while being driven to Nottinghouse, Stephen did not wish him to be alone. Ignoring the rather large lump that had taken residence in his throat, Stephen settled into the carriage and helped support Flavion. The less movement the better, in order to keep the loss of blood to a minimum.
Luckily for Flavion, he’d lost consciousness as soon as he’d realized where Colonel Benning’s sword had impaled him. Or perhaps he’d lost consciousness due to the pain. Nevertheless, it precluded him from having to endure the jostling of the carriage and the process of being carried up to his bedchamber.
Stephen had seen injuries before but never one quite like this.
As with any entry wound, infection was the most dangerous outcome, but what effect would the injury have upon Flavion otherwise? What was the extent of the damage from Benning’s sword?
Concerned servants gaped and whispered as Flavion’s limp body was carried through the foyer and up the staircase to his chamber. Once inside, Stephen stepped aside so the surgeons could do their work. Flavion’s valet, Peterson, and a few footmen rapidly entered and exited with boiled water and clean linens. The door was closed firmly, however, when Flavion’s breeches were cut off him to reveal the wound. Blood was everywhere, and this had somehow managed to disguise the exact location of the injury. Stephen braced himself as the blood was cleaned away and the damaged organ exposed.
If ever Stephen might faint, this most assuredly would be it. He did not though, for Flavion was regaining consciousness. Stepping closer to lean over him, Stephen did his best to calm his younger cousin. In panic and agony, Flavion thrashed and moaned as he came to. The pain was obviously excruciating.
Hell Hath No Fury (Devilish Debutantes Book 1) Page 21