by Ella Edon
Emilia laughed. She caught Luke’s eye and he was smiling, too. She felt her heart soar. “Oh, Father,” she said. She sniffed. Her heart was so full of emotions! She barely knew how she felt anymore.
“We need a tray of tea,” her father instructed the butler. When he’d left, he turned to Luke and Emilia.
“Now, you two,” he said. “I know something bad just happened. Somebody had better tell me what it is.”
He sat down on the big leather seat by the fire. Emilia glanced at Luke, who cleared his throat. Emilia coughed.
“The Duke of Elsmoor was here,” she began.
“He issued a challenge and I accepted,” Luke finished hastily.
The room went silent. The only sound was the fire, crackling in the grate, and the creak of her father’s chair as he shifted. He rubbed his chin.
“Lad,” he said to Luke. “You had no right to offer to get killed on my behalf.”
Luke nodded. “I didn’t,” he assured him. “Or, not really.”
Emilia looked from her father to Luke and back. “What can we do?”
Her father sighed. “I don’t know. The deed is done, now. How many more young lives will I ruin, do you reckon?” He looked agonized.
“Father, shh,” Emilia soothed. “You didn’t do any of that. It’s not your fault the duke came here, or even that Luke accepted. You didn’t even know.”
“I know,” he said. “But…oh, well. I’m not going to indulge in recrimination. We need to set this to rights. Can we bribe him?”
Emilia frowned. Luke shook his head.
“I can’t risk that he’d talk,” he said. “Imagine what that would do to my reputation?”
“True.”
They sat together in the silence. The butler came back and left the tea, then retired from the room, closing the door with a click. Nobody moved. The fire crackled in the grate. Somewhere outside, a coach passed, its wheels grinding on the cobbles, making Emilia shiver as she thought of Carrington. Then her father cleared his throat.
“I have a plan,” he announced.
Luke glanced at Emilia, who felt her heart start to thump. She nodded, leaning closer.
“Let’s hear it,” she said.
Chapter Thirty-Four
A Frightening Moment
The next morning dawned with sunlight, filtering through a soft mist. It was going to be hot – as the mist, rolling off the river, confirmed it. Emilia looked around the room, the surreal quality of it all transfixing her.
This could be the last morning.
She could hear Luke, preparing himself in the dressing-room. Every sound seemed precious to her ears, as exquisite music. He’d moved into her bedchamber openly now, and his valise stood in the wardrobe-room alongside her own.
She watched the sun rise, wishing that by sheer force of will she could hold back the passage of the dawn.
“Stanfield…where are my boots?” Luke’s voice asked. It sounded perfectly at ease – one would have to know him as well as Emilia did to hear the tension in it.
“Here, sir.”
Emilia gripped the windowsill, as if the grip could keep her holding onto reality. Luke stepped out around the door.
“Emilia,” he said.
They looked at each other.
She made herself stare, drinking in the sight of him. Dressed in a white shirt, a blue velvet coat that was the color of ink and velvet hose, he looked more handsome than she’d ever seen him. She studied every detail – the curly hair, the thin nose, the piercing eyes with that soft, melting quality.
Wordlessly, she ran to him.
“Luke,” she murmured.
She felt her eyes fill with tears and squeezed them shut. She buried her face in his chest, then kissed his lips, her own mouth clinging to them in desperate fear.
“Emilia,” he whispered. He looked down at her face, cupping her cheek with his hand. “It’s alright, my sweetling. I’ll be safe.” He smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners.
“I pray so,” Emilia said tensely.
She looked into his eyes. She thought of the thousand things that could go wrong, and then swallowed, making herself forget, making herself not say them. She clung to him as if, just by touching him, just by her love, she could weave a protective net around him that would never break.
“Let’s go down,” Luke suggested.
Together, they headed down the steps to where the coach was waiting, then rode wordlessly through town.
When they reached the inn, the sun had risen further. Emilia stepped out, as if in a dream. The mist cloaked the far side of the field, clearing a little as the sun banished the shadows. The grass was a field of sparkling rainbows, spangled with the dew.
Emilia dragged cool air into her nostrils and walked briskly to the small group under the tree. Her father was there, and another man she didn’t know, and a shorter woman, dressed in yellow.
“Hestony,” she whispered.
“Cousin.”
She stepped into the other woman’s rose-scented hug. Wordlessly, they clung together, mute with horror.
“Cousin,” Hestony said. “Everyone’s in place.”
“Good.” She glanced around the field. On the far side, a tall, lugubrious looking fellow stood, a top-hat on his head. He was the umpire. He stood apart from them, grimly silent, like a promise of death.
Emilia couldn’t yet see the Duke.
The tall, sandy-haired fellow talking to her father glanced over at her and Hestony. She saw his eyes linger on her, then spot her cousin and fix there firmly for a while. Hestony glanced back, and fixed her hair, as if she’d noticed that admiring stare.
Even here, on the field of death, the heart sings.
The thought would have been amusing to Emilia, were the stakes not so high.
Luke was standing on the edge of the field where the brambles met the oak-trees. He seemed outlined in the dawn-light, already not quite in this world. She hesitated to break his silence.
Then, Alexander Carrington arrived.
Before they even saw it, they heard the coach rattling up the road in the distance. Emilia’s tummy knotted tight painfully. She felt her cousin’s hand grip hers in reassurance.
“He’s here, Emilia. At least we don’t have to wait,” Hestony said.
Emilia nodded mutely.
The Duke of Elsmoor swung lazily out of the coach. He stepped across the grass, black cloak trailing out behind him, walking with an insolence that astonished Emilia. He walked over to the umpire, followed by a lanky fellow with red hair— one of his seconds, fellow by the name of Canmure. Emilia felt her breath catch in her throat.
“We can begin,” the umpire announced. He had taken the kerchief from his pocket and it caught the slight breeze. “Seconds…take your positions. Combatants? Five paces from my mark.”
No. No, no, no. No. Emilia’s mind cried the word over and over again. In the silence before Carrington arrived, she could entertain the idea that it would never happen. That she could leave this field with her life and heart. Now, her life was riding an unbridled horse, heading straight for a wall.
And she couldn’t stop it.
“Are you ready?” the umpire called. “And…turn.”
Emilia watched, too shocked to look away, as Luke turned and faced his adversary. He held a saber in his hand. The heavy sword glinted in the morning light, basket hilt firm around his slim fingers. Opposite him, the Duke of Elsmoor stood in a relaxed posture, the same weapon trailing from his own fingers. He stood with easy confidence, a sneer on his lips. Luke looked utterly calm.
“Go!” the umpire called.
Emilia felt her fist lift to her mouth. She pressed it there, stifling the sounds of horror as she watched the men lunge at each other. Luke moved with feline grace, but his foe was taller, and in a combat like this one, that counted for something. She saw him swing back and then forward, his sword slicing past Luke’s, grazing his arm.
“No!” she whispered.
; Hestony stood beside her, gripping her hand.
“It’s the best of three, not first blood,” she pointed out gently. “It doesn’t mean Elsmoor has won.”
“I know,” Emilia said. “But Luke’s bleeding.”
She had no way of knowing how serious the wound was. It was on his sword-arm, and that could only impede his style. She watched Carrington slide his weapon out of a complex block by Luke.
“Please, Luke. Be safe.”
The two fought. She could see Luke’s arm was weakened – he was having trouble holding up the sword. The blood was dark on the cuff of his shirt and still spreading. Could he last out?
She caught sight of his face and they held eyes for a moment. She could see his blue gaze was tight with pain.
“Step back,” the umpire shouted, as Luke and Carrington grappled, both swords crossed above their heads.
They obeyed. Luke stood three paces away from his adversary. He was breathing heavily. He stood at the edge of the field, upright, but panting. Emilia glanced to where the seconds waited.
The sandy-haired man looked horrified. The thin friend of Carrington seemed bored. A third man had arrived – a stocky fellow with auburn hair and a worried frown.
The two combatants, alone in the center of the field, seemed aware of nothing and no one else. They were locked in a deadly dance, with eyes only for one another. Luke inclined a brow at Carrington, who nodded. The swords rang in the silence afresh.
Luke, please. Just a bit longer…
This bout, it was obvious just how tired he was. His arm was clearly badly hurt, for his swings were sluggish and Carrington batted them away with ease. Luke lifted the sword, then stumbled. The duke seized his chance and thrust forward. The thrust seemed destined to pierce his heart. As the blade thrust, the two swords clanged and Luke blocked the blow, striking at the Duke.
Then, chaos erupted from the forest.
Emilia stared. Everyone stared.
“Make way! Make way for the Watch!”
The sound of hoofbeats filled the clearing. The morning was loud with shouts, shots, and mud, churning under the hoofs of the troop. At the head, black top-hat on, bulky form incongruous on a vast carthorse, was their coachman.
“Harris!” Emilia whispered, feeling relief.
Emilia felt her world brighten. The plan was working! She looked under the tree and caught her father’s pale gaze. He grinned, and let one eyelid drop in a wink.
Her heart soared.
The Duke of Elsmoor was staring at the new arrivals as if his doom had just erupted out of the trees. He turned to his second and the two of them stepped back.
“I declare this duel unlawful!” the Captain of the Watch – a short man with flamboyant hair declared. “Combatants have five minutes to clear themselves off, before I have the both of you reported to the Prince. You’re both aware of the regulations regarding duels.”
Emilia looked at Luke.
He caught her eye and nodded. He walked off the field.
At that moment, Carrington broke.
“You cheating, scandalous….” He roared at Luke’s retreating back. He was still holding his sword. He made as if to go after Luke, stalking across the grass after his retreat. Emilia felt her heart lift in her throat.
“No…” she gasped.
Then, to her surprise, the Duke of Elsmoor paused, going silent.
“If I was you, I’d put that stabber away, cully.”
The Captain of the Watch was facing the Duke of Elsmoor. He had a pistol in his hand. Loosely-held, it was pointed at the duke’s heart. He looked calmly lethal.
“You have no right to order me, you whippersnapper,” the Duke sneered. “I’m a duke and you’re jumped-up scum.”
He stood his ground, sword in hand. Harris walked up from behind.
“Go away, lad,” he rumbled in a low voice. “Or I’ll pull your head off.”
The duke turned around and looked at Harris. His eyes traveled all six feet and six inches of muscle built up from years of prize-fighting.
Grinding his teeth, Carrington slammed his saber back into its scabbard, then stalked off the field.
Emilia felt her legs give way under her.
“Oh, cousin,” Hestony whispered, catching her as she fell. “It’s alright. He’s safe, now. You’re alright…”
Emilia was sobbing, the relief almost as crippling as the fear had been. Across the field, Luke caught her eye. He ran to her, and catching her up in his arms.
“Emilia!” he whispered into her neck. “My Emilia.”
“Luke,” she sobbed. She held him tight.
“Well, damn me, Harris,” her father’s voice drawled on the edge of her hearing. “That was a fine bit of soldiering.”
“I can’t stand blighters like him, sir,” Harris said plainly. “All promise and not a bit of action.”
Emilia laughed brightly. Suddenly, the fight and everything about it was a dark memory. The sun had come out.
“Let’s go home,” Hestony suggested brightly. “It’s time for the party.”
“Yes,” her father agreed. “This is a cause for celebration.”
Together, they all headed back to the coach.
Chapter Thirty-Five
A Gathering at Home
The drawing-room was quiet, interspersed with the buzz of peaceful conversation. Emilia stood at the mantel, watching the room as the guests walked about, or settled down on the chairs. At her side, Luke stood. She felt his presence like a strong pillar, both supporting and grounding.
“It’s been a long day,” he murmured.
“Yes,” she agreed. She looked around the room.
Her father was sitting in a low chair, talking sleepily to Aunt Melior, who’d taken up residence on the chaise-lounge. Lord Canmure, the auburn-haired man, was in earnest conversation with his sister, Lady Rafaella, a tall woman with ringlets and an exotic face, who’d arrived earlier. Cousin Hestony stood at the pianoforte. At her side was Luke’s second. After the duel, everybody had settled down at Mowbray House and seemed reluctant to leave.
“My cousin seems to have got to like London,” Luke murmured.
“I think so. My cousin, too.”
They laughed. The interest between the two was obvious, probably more so to the observers than it was to them.
“You shouldn’t be standing,” Emilia whispered to Luke. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“I suppose,” he agreed.
She reached for his wrist, which Doctor Melling had bandaged in a generous wrap of white cotton. She could still smell the scent of blood on him, and the acrid scent of the creosote, which had been used to disinfect the skin. He smiled pallidly down at her.
“He said it’ll heal within a month.”
Emilia frowned. “I believe it will. But only if you’re a sensible man and don’t insist on exercising it all the time.”
He grinned. “I suppose so.”
They held each other’s gaze, and Emilia felt a sudden need to be away from the crowded drawing-room. Luke raised a brow and they shared a silent agreement.
Wordlessly, they slipped from the room.
“The doctor said not to exercise it…” Emilia protested as Luke pushed her onto the bed, plying her lips with kisses.
“I will be careful,” he said. “But perhaps I will need some assistance…” He rolled over, and she gasped, pressing her body down onto his.
“I suppose so,” she grinned.
They both laughed.
They woke later in the afternoon, to the sound of her father, giving orders in the hallway. Emilia sat up and leaned back in bed, as Luke stirred awake.
“You can move that up here. And take more candles down. More candles! We want the place nicely lit.”
Emilia frowned at Luke, who rolled lazily onto his side, then sat up.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But maybe we should get up and have a look.”
“Mayhap,” Emilia said ruefully. They grinned at one
another. She stood and wrapped him in an embrace.
As she dragged her day-dress on again – the beige one she’d worn for the duel was in the laundry. She’d never wear it again. June knocked on her door urgently.