‘She is fatigued, and not well at all,’ Sophie replied, hoping he was too proper to consider the possibility of a noblewoman being drunk.
‘I see,’ he said with a swift nod. ‘We will escort her away then. I have also brought a carriage as promised, with supplies,’ he continued, as though midnight flights from the Palace of Versailles were the most commonplace occurrence. ‘And, as far as I know, Rotherby’s pastor still waits in Chartres. I believe it would be fairly simple to persuade him of our attachment, if you have reconsidered at all? I concede our hearts are not engaged, Miss Fairfax, but I’m certain that with friendship and time, they could be.’
Sophie inhaled deeply, briefly wondering how one gentleman could be so selfless, while others so stubborn they would rather endanger their own lives than concede, and yet there was no more time left.
‘I thank you for your kindness Sir Weston, truly, but I have not changed my mind and there is an urgent matter?—’
‘Le combat! Le combat!’
Sophie felt the colour drain from her face as the faint shouting interrupted them. Swiftly, she glanced across to one of the entrances of the palace, which had spilled open to reveal two swordsmen silhouetted in flickering torchlight. Crowds of drunken guests had followed them, drowning out the musicians with their slurred carousing, while harassed footmen attempted to retrieve their ice buckets of champagne in vain.
For a second she could only stare, aghast, as the clashing of steel filled the night air. Rotherby was on the attack, his high brow creased in concentration, while Damerel was deftly parrying every thrust thrown his way. Then Damerel feinted a high attack before switching to a lunge that narrowly missed Rotherby’s thigh, while the watching crowd groaned. Sophie caught her breath and tried to control her thumping chest, though she was conscious of Sir Weston’s watchful gaze too.
‘I would say your brother-in-law has this matter well in hand,’ Sir Weston offered calmly, ‘and it is time for us to take our leave, Miss Fairfax.’
‘But, we can’t leave just yet!’ Sophie protested, her voice betraying her fear.
He frowned as she gathered her skirts in her hand.
‘This is all my fault!’ she added guiltily, ‘and while I am certain they are thinking of theirownhonour before mine– they do seem quite determined to keep going until one of them is murdered too! Please Sir Weston, we have to stop them!’
‘On the contrary, Sophie,’ Sir Weston replied unexpectedly, his hand closing over her gloved wrist. ‘Much as I commend your instincts, their duel has actually created the perfect opportunity for our exit. The distraction will ensure our head start, and by the time they realise we’re gone, we’ll be halfway to Rouen– which is best for everyone, isn’t it?’ He paused to smile faintly. ‘And besides, there is also your friend Madame Dupres to consider for she does, indeed, look most unwell.’
Sophie glanced down at Sir Weston’s hand, as his use of her first name echoed around her head. She blinked. Sir Weston was her trusted friend, and any lapse in formality had to be attributed to the situation.
‘Miss Sophie?’
She glanced up, suddenly so grateful to see Horace’s familiar figure emerge from the darkness, swinging his gaze between her and the duel in the grand Versailles courtyard.
‘What ’appened, miss?’ he asked with his usual disgruntled expression. ‘Why’s the guvnor lookin’ fit to murder the fancy gent?’
Sophie thought rapidly, realising Rotherby’s fiercely loyal groom could be her last hope.
‘I believe it may have something to do with agame of faro, Horace?’ she replied urgently.
Horace’s expression hardened, as Sir Weston looked on intently.
‘Does it now. Well, I hope the guvnor trounces him good’n proper then, for he deserves it!’ Horace said.
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Sophie agreed swiftly, ‘though I think perhaps if he weremyguvnor, I might try tostopthe duel?’
‘Stop it, miss?’ Horace replied in horror. ‘But it’s a matter of honour, miss! You must know his lordship won’t thank me for getting in the way.’
‘I do know,’ Sophie frowned anxiously, ‘but the viscount’s skill should not be underestimated, and his lordshipisalittle worse for wear, which hardly makes it fair, given his recent injury…’
Horace’s eyes darkened, before he nodded.
‘Aye, t’is hardly fair miss,’ he growled. ’Right you are, leave it with me miss!’ Then he turned and disappeared back into the crowd, leaving Sophie to meet Sir Weston’s curious gaze.
‘The viscount is my brother-in-law, and I’ve no wish to add murderess to my list of crimes,’ she offered, a flush creeping into her cheeks.
Sir Weston nodded as he helped Lu Lu to her feet.
‘But of course, Miss Fairfax,’ he replied, ‘I wouldn’t imagine anything else.’
ChapterTwenty
DENOUNCING ALL RAKES AND LIBERTINES
