“Flick...” He touched her shoulder, but she still didn’t acknowledge him. She was awash with anger and fear, but for this moment her rage blazed hot as she faced down Chadwick.
“Seconds?” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said.
Lady Amelia rushed forward, but Tristan put up his hand. “I’m her second.”
Only then did she look at him, stunned that he would support her. If she hadn’t loved him before, she did now. He held her gaze, and thelove in his eyes steeled her spine.
“I’m not dueling a har—woman,” Chadwick spat, gaze shifting between her and Tristan. “Who is this fool to you, anyway? You belong tome.”
“No,” Felicity shot back. “I refused you. I’m in love with this man and we’re going to marry. There is nothing you can do to stop me.”
“Mr. Brandon, she can’t do that!” he whined.
Her father looked between them, his face set in weathered lines that looked like a permanent scowl. He wore his tattered brown hat that he wore every day, sunup to sundown. Felicity searched her heart for any feeling of familial love and realized she’d never had it. Her father was always an authority in her life, not a parent. He treated her like a ward, not a beloved child. Did he even know how to love?
Chadwick ripped off his brown leather top hat like he might throw it on the ground. “If that’s what you want, fine. Him first, then her.” Chadwick said with gleeful malice.
Alston shook his head as he held open the box of pistols. “I really miss the time in my life when my mornings were significantly less dramatic.”
“That’s because you were unconscious,” Blakewood said. “This is what it feels like to be friends with you.”
Alston glared at him. “And yet you married my sister, and now you’ll never be rid of me,brother.”
Lady Amelia stepped to Felicity’s side. “Have you ever shot a pistol?”
Felicity nodded, her bravado wavering as she watched Tristan pick up the gun.
“I’ve hunted small game,” she whispered to Lady Amelia.
“Well, he is a small man in spirit. In size, he’s like a barrel. He won’t be hard to miss.”
“I thought I was supposed to miss?”
“I think in this situation, maiming him is warranted.”
Felicity agreed, but she was not amused at the thought of hurting another person. Her challenge was symbolic, like Lady Amelia had said. But the danger was all too real as the pistols were primed.
She almost reached for him as Tristan looked back at her, his eyes saying everything he would not in front of others. She wanted to be reassured by the steadiness of his hand, his confident stride across the leaf strewn ground, but her heart was pulsing in her throat. That drum of warning that had not lessened.
Lady Amelia took Felicity’s hand, rubbing her cold fingers. Alston came to her side, standing close enough for his arm to press to hers as if the siblings had decided to brace her for the inevitable.
She watched the man she loved stand back-to-back with the man she hated, and they began to count twenty paces. Time slowed, Felicity never took her eyes off Chadwick, she knew he’d do something dishonorable—that’s what this was. This was the scale that weighed men. A true gentleman would follow the rules of the duel to the letter. Both redeeming their honor. But the man who didn’t, he proved exactly how despicable he was.
Chadwick did not disappoint. At the nineteenth step he whipped around and shot. Felicity didn’t have time to scream as she snapped her head toward Tristan. He stood sideways, pistol drawn. The smoked cleared from Chadwick’s gun, and his sneer of triumph faltered as Tristan took aim and shot.
Felicity flinched, covering her eyes. Cheers erupted and Amelia was hopping beside her.
Felicity looked between her fingers, and Tristan was still standing. Chadwick was on his knees, his face ghostly white, his hat gone, rolling to a halt on the ground. As she watched, he wet himself and then he fainted. Felicity went weak in the knees and Alston caught her by the arm.
“He’s fine. They’re both fine,” Lady Amelia said.
“But...” She couldn’t believe it was over. Just like that. A fullminute hadn’t passed, and it was done. So much anticipation and vitriol, over instantly. She deflated with overwhelming relief. Her father picked up Chadwick’s hat from the dirt and stuck a finger through a hole at its center, just below the midline. Just where one might imagine the crown of a man’s head might be.
“He shot his hat off,” Blakewood said in astonishment. “He nearly scalped him.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Lady Amelia asked, peering at Chadwick, still on the ground.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon pushed to her feet. “Mr. Cameron, you’ve scared him witless.”
