At this, her eyebrows rose in concern. “Duels? I haven’t heard any such thing.” And then comprehending that he’d said duels, plural, she asked, “What do you mean,duels?”
Flavion swung his feet to the ground and sat up in one easy motion. “Your wishes are all about to come true. I am set to duel Daphne’s father tomorrow, and another chit’s angry papa the day after. The odds are against me. It’s highly likely you’ll be free of this marriage, free of me, within forty-eight hours. Less, if you’re lucky.”
She’d covered her mouth with one hand when he’d begun speaking.
“Oh, no! Flave! You cannot truly think that I would wish for you to die! What kind of a person do you think I am? I do not wish to be married to you, but not at the cost of your life! Oh, Flave, what have you done?”
He shrugged. “Nothing new, really. It just all seems to have caught up with me.”
“The first duel is tomorrow? Tomorrow morning?” She didnotwish for Flavion to die. Although not her favorite person in the world, he waspreciousto Stephen. Stephen would be devastated to lose his cousin.
“At dawn, I believe. Stephen is handling the details now. If I’m lucky, he will negotiate a truce, but I am not very hopeful.”
Of course, Stephen would be Flavion’s second.
“Weapons?” she asked.
“Swords tomorrow and pistols the day after.” He looked utterly hopeless. This could not be good.
“You must prepare! I believe Lord Blakely said he would be at White’s this evening. Why don’t you go over there and practice?” Hopefully, the earl would be helpful. With Flave’s present mindset, he was certain to lose. He needed to find some confidence somewhere.
He would not meet her eyes. “That’s what Stephen advised. I suppose you are both right.” At his words, he rose to his feet. Before stepping toward the exit, however, he turned and looked down at Cecily. “Thank you.” His voice sounded gravelly — strained. “I am grateful for your absolution.” He looked as though he would say more but instead pivoted and abruptly left. She did hope that this was not the last time she would see him alive. Blasted husband or not, she was not as bloodthirsty as she had thought she might be a few weeks ago.
It was quite possible she would be a free woman again, but this gave her no satisfaction. For she was also quite free of Stephen. And that was not what she wanted at all.
It was agreedthat each combatant would bring his own sword. The seconds had settled on a remote clearing deep within Hyde Park for the location of the duel, which was to take place at dawn.
The morning was a cool one for late in May, but the air felt good as Stephen and Flavion urged their mounts along the path toward their appointment.
Stephen had arranged two surgeons be present. He’d been unable to persuade Griffin’s second to convince the man to withdraw the challenge, but he had obtained a concession that it only be fought until first blood was drawn.
He sincerely hoped for Miss Cunnington that first blood did not amount to a fatal wound. For it was Miss Cunnington who stood to lose, regardless of the outcome of the duel. It would either be her father or her lover. According to Flave, she had gone to her father with her grievance against Flave when he had tried to break things off. Not a wise move on her part.
As they stepped into the open field, Stephen was both gratified and disappointed to see the other parties had all arrived as promised. Marcus awaited them as well.
Stephen dismounted and then left Flavion alone with Marcus to consult with Griffin’s second. He would make one final attempt at a reconciliation. He carried Flavion’s sword over to be inspected and measured along with his opponent’s. They were to be of exactly the same length. He would inspect Lord Griffin’s. They were to fight with sharpened blades. No foils today.
There would be no reconciliation.
The challenger appeared loose and ready to fight. Stephen was glad that Marcus was in attendance. He’d taken it upon himself to keep Flavion from tensing up, giving him pointers and encouraging him to stretch and loosen his muscles. When Stephen rejoined them, it was time for the duel to begin.
Placing one hand on Flave’s shoulder, he met his gaze directly and spoke with great conviction. “You can do this, Flave. I have every confidence in you.”
Flave nodded. He seemed slightly more confident than he had last night. Stephen wondered if his cousin felt any guilt for his dishonorable actions. He hoped so. If Flave lived through this, perhaps he would reexamine his character. “Come along then.”
Flavion removed his coat and handed it to Marcus before taking the sword Stephen held out to him. He’d wrapped a handkerchief around his fighting hand, as had Lord Griffin.
Stephen and the other second marked off the standing spot for each combatant and then stepped away. Flavion and the baron, both with their left hands behind their backs, held their swords to the ground and awaited the signal to fight.
Glancing at the other second and receiving a nod, Stephen gave the signal. “Allez!” he shouted firmly.
Both men tarried at first, testing each other with experimental lunges and thrusts. But as the fighting continued, the engagements gradually became more and more aggressive. And although Flavion had been somewhat tentative at first, he seemed to gain confidence as the fighting went on. His parries and passes became more and more agile, his attacks stronger as the older man began to tire.
And then, with swords clashed tightly against each other, Flavion made a quick motion with a strong twist of his wrist and threw the other man’s sword off to the side.
Griffin was without his weapon. Stephen held his breath and hoped against hope that his cousin was not too caught up in the fighting to do anything dishonorable now.
Flavion held the tip of his sword just below the baron’s chin and then, with a smooth flourish, swiped it upward, barely nicking the man, but drawing a very small amount of blood.
