“You have nothing to say?”
“Aim straight. Do not make the doctor work hard this early in the morning.”
Wykeham froze, then some of his bravado seemed to slough away. He took a step closer. “Ashton—”
“Here are the rules,” Robert announced. The seconds returned, each carrying the wooden boxes holding the dueling pistols. “Twelve paces apart. When you both nod that you are ready, Pym will call out, ‘Ready, aim, fire.’ Upon ‘aim,’ you will both do so. Upon ‘fire,’ you will pull the trigger. I have examined Wykeham’s pistols and find them satisfactory. Pym has examined ours to the same effect.” Robert opened the box of Ashton pistols and handed one to Michael. Pym did likewise, presenting a pistol to Wykeham. Robert continued. “A misfire counts as a shot. If you both miss, you have the option of a second shot, or you both may retire, honor satisfied. Is that understood?”
Michael and Wykeham nodded, although Wykeham’s examination of Michael held more curiosity than Michael believed possible. But it no longer mattered.
Pym walked off the twelve-pace distance, and the two men took their positions. The seconds moved to a safe distance. Oakley moved to stand next to Philip, who had gone stark white, his fists clenched at his side.
“Ready.”
Michael spread his feet, bracing himself. Both men bent their elbows, pointing their pistols at the sky.
“Aim.”
Michael’s pistol remained pointed toward the clouds. Wykeham aimed directly at Michael’s chest, but behind the trigger, his eyes narrowed, his gaze shifting from Michael’s pistol to his face.
A gunshot sounded, a report that seared through the morning air. All six men jerked, and for a moment, Michael thought the shot had come from Wykeham. But the duke stood, pistol suddenly turned upward, his eyes locked on the thick copse of trees behind them. Michael lowered his gun and turned.
Emerging from the fog-laced trees, Lady Clara Durham strode toward the group of men, a smoking pistol in one hand and the soaked skirts of her rust-colored day gown dragging and slapping around her ankles. Radcliff stumbled along beside her, struggling not to drop a wooden box as Clara thrust the now empty gun at her. Clara halted nearly twenty yards from the men, her face a red mask of fury, her gravelly words strangled with rage.
“I did not truly believe you jackasses would go through with this! Have you all gone absolutely mad?”
Robert made a choking sound, but the rest of them simply stared at her.
“Did you honestly think this would resolve anything?” Her words turned derisive, taunting. “‘Oh, we must answer this challenge to our honor. Nothing is more important than that.’ How about life? Would that not be worth anything to you? There is an entire world beyond theton, but you think nothing of destroying each other over a bloody race! A debt you could resolve with one season’s harvest! Are you fucking insane?”
Wykeham lowered his pistol, stepping toward her. “This is none of your affair, woman. You are not a man, and you will never understand this. You and that simpleton maid, leave now! Let us get on with this.” He gestured at Radcliff with the barrel of his pistol.
The maid stiffened. “Simpleton?”
Clara snapped her fingers. For a moment, the meadow remained silent, then Radcliff, juggling wildly, opened the box in her arms and replaced the spent pistol. Then she removed the second one and handed it to Clara, who took three steps forward and aimed the pistol at Wykeham.
“Dear God in heaven,” Philip said.
Wykeham, however, laughed. “What? You mean to kill me.”
“Yes.”
Wykeham stilled. “Why?”
“Did you not intend to kill him? Were you not aiming at him while he pointed his gun at the sky?”
Wykeham glanced at Michael. “Yes. He is the one to answer for the insults to my honor.”
“Even though he did nothing to insult you?”
From the corner of his vision, Michael realized that Oakley and Pym were exchanging looks of puzzlement, slowly moving closer to each other.
“He cheated—”
“He did not and you know it. All this bluster and bravado because you cannot stand to lose, cannot stand the thought that you are not the best, that you do not know better than everyone else. Because you do not. All thetonknows it, just as they know this duel is because you do not have the fortitude and grace to lose even as much as a simple card game.”
“And that is worth shooting me? You would hang!”
Clara’s aim did not waver, even though Michael knew the weight of the gun had to be pulling down on every muscle. “If you kill him, I will kill you. I would rather hang than spend a single day as your wife.”
