Honor. Dueling. The audacity of men to attach so much importance to rules they made up infuriated her. However, that same honor was never impugned by lies, adultery, and disrespect toward others they perceived of as less. Men could do horrible things and still consider themselves honorable. Hogwash, that’s what it was. A system they built for their own avarice and then forced others to uphold.
Felicity didn’t know if Tristan followed. She rode home with Lady Amelia and Blakewood in the carriage and went straight to her room to unpin her hair and take off this blasted gown. Matilda offered a bath, but Felicity only wanted a ewer of hot water to wipe away the smell of the Den and the stickiness between her thighs.
The duel had spoiled what should have been a night to remember. After cleaning herself up and putting on her softest, thickest nightgown, Felicity climbed into bed. It was then she noticed that it had started to rain. She thought of Tristan in his cold flat with the hole in the roof. She didn’t want to face him just yet, but she did feel sorry for him, shivering through the night under that thin blanket. Then she started to miss him.
Felicity blew out her bedside candle and punched her pillow before hunkering down in the covers and closing her eyes, willing herself to sleep, even though she didn’t want morning to come.
Her door clicked shut and then locked with a soft snick. Felicity pretended to be asleep, though she could hear the steps coming toward her bed, then the hush of clothing being removed. She was a ball of tension as he slid under the coverlet and tucked up against her back, his broad chest and thick arm cocooning her in his warmth.
She broke.
Felicity turned in his hold and the tears she’d fought all night burst forth as she buried her face in his chest and cowered into his hold.
“Please,” she begged. “Please don’t go.”
“Shh. If I ask you not to worry about it, what are the odds you’ll listen?”
“This isn’t a game. This is your life. My life. What am I supposed to do if he kills you? Marry Hugstead as my consolation prize?”
He stiffened. “He won’t kill me.”
“He could! He’s going to point a gun at you and shoot!”
“It’s a well-respected rule that opponents aim over each other’s heads or—if they’re really intent on harm—aim at an extremity.”
“You trust him? You’re willing to put your life in that monster’s hands?”
“Ye of little faith,” he said.
Felicity slipped her arm under him and hugged him tightly. “I can’t bear it. The thought of such casual violence. Why must the world be this way? You claim you’re not a gentleman, yet you’re willing to die for a gentleman’s honor? I don’t understand, Tristan. I’ll never understand.”
He sighed. “I don’t know that there is anything that I can say that will help you understand or make you feel better. I’m a gentleman on paper. I am landed gentry, aye. But more importantly, I’m a Scotsman. We’ve a long, bloody history of having to defend what’s ours with our lives. You’re mine, Flick, and I will defend you with my life. Our home, our future, our siblings. This is not about a word or its ambiguous meaning. It’s about trust, loyalty, respect, and my integrity as a person. If I don’t show up tomorrow, then I’m declaring that I’m too cowardly to defend those things and that I don’t deserve them.”
“But you do,” Felicity pressed.
“I know I do, which is why I have to go.”
Felicity wept harder.
“I must go. I will face him. We’ll both leave with our grievances settled, without bloodshed.”
“You’re certain?”
“As certain as any man can be.”
Felicity sniffed and looked up at his face. “Do you promise?”
“I promise.”
“Then I’m going with you.”
He sighed heavily. “It is not a place for women.”
“I’m going, or you’re not going, Tristan Chase Cameron.”
That made him smile. “I was wondering when you’d bring that up.”
“Why did you hide your name?”
