“I need you to act as my second,” he blurted.
Monty sobered instantly—as much as his cousin could ever sober, that was. “Your second?”
“I am facing the Earl of Rayne on the field of honor. Will you stand with me?” he asked.
His cousin frowned. “The Earl of Rayne is your wife’s brother, Searle.”
He did not flinch. “Yes.”
“You are facing him in a duel? Why? I thought you hadn’t even lifted the Forsythe chit’s skirts.”
His blood boiled at Monty’s casual reference to Leonie. “You are speaking of my marchioness, Montrose.”
“Erm, of course. Do forgive me.” Monty took a gulp of his claret and closed his eyes. “Ah, yes. Beginning to feel more like a gentleman than a dog again. Claret in the morning is just the thing.”
“No amount of claret can turn you into a gentleman,” he could not resist pointing out. After all, it was true. He loved his cousin, but Monty was…Monty. “And I do hate to relay this information to you, but we are, in fact, in the midst of the afternoon.”
“The devil it is. I’ve only just woken up.” Outrage tinged Monty’s voice.
“Christ,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “Will you be my second for the bloody duel, or do I need to find a substitute?”
“Of course I shall, but you never answered me.” Monty paused, raking him with a searching glance. “Why Rayne? And since when is he returned to London? I thought the strange fellow did not like our cold and rainy shores.”
Morgan downed the content of his glass and then held it out for Monty to replenish. “Rayne is responsible for my capture in Spain. I mean to kill him.”
“Christ!” Monty’s hands shook in the act of pouring, sending claret running all over the desk. “You cannot mean to kill the man. You will be jailed for committing murder.”
Morgan watched the red liquid spreading over the polished surface of his cousin’s desk, much like pooling blood, and he could not shake the feeling it was an omen of sorts. Blood would be spilled. His or Rayne’s. Either way, their duel would be to the death.
The thought set his jaw on edge. Where once the thought of his vengeance costing him his life had seemed a paltry price to pay, he could not deny how much Leonie had changed him.
“Are you prepared for such an eventuality, Cousin?” Monty pressed, surprisingly insightful.
He thought of Leonie’s beautiful face. Her voice. Long waves of white-blonde hair, kisses that stole his breath, a touch that was so tender he could not help but to feel it in the deepest recesses of his black soul. He thought of picnics by the stream at Westmore Manor, of flowers and strawberries, of pleasure and passion.
I love you, Morgan.
She could be carrying his babe. Could he leave a child behind in the world? Could he leave Leonie?
And then cold realization intruded. None of that mattered, for she would not forgive him for his betrayal. He thought of the manner in which she had looked upon him, as if he were a stranger. As if he had broken her heart. And perhaps he had.
The words of the servant who had sent her the second dinner tray returned to him, just as vicious now as they had been then.
Forgive me, my lord, but her ladyship says to tell his lordship the thought of strawberries makes her want to retch.
“I am prepared,” he said grimly.
*
“I am preparedto put a stop to it however I must,” Leonora told Freddy.
Shock rendered her dear friend’s expression slack. “Rayne and Searle cannot truly intend to duel.”
“I am afraid they do.” She took a deep, calming breath lest her upset once more take control of her. After having relayed the entirety of her sad tale to Freddy upon her return to London, she was desperate for her friend’s advice. “I have asked my brother to reconsider, and he will not.”
“What of Searle? Have you confronted him?” Freddy asked, anger coloring her voice. “How dare the rotter ruin you, my best friend, at my very own ball, with the intention of using you in such a nefarious manner? Why, I would like to duel him myself for hurting you.”
“Oh, Freddy.” Tears welled in her eyes on a sudden, fresh wave of emotion. But she refused to allow them to fall, and so she furiously blinked them into submission. “You cannot duel on my behalf, though I do appreciate the vehemence of your affections. Would that others would feel so inclined to care for me.”
