“You will both regret this,” Warwick gritted out. “I will not let this go.”
Silas narrowed his gaze, shouldering his way into the door of the carriage and looming over the seated lord.
“Oh yes, you will, for you will be dead by tomorrow morning. I call you out, Warwick. Tomorrow at dawn, we shall settle this once and for all.”
“No,” cried Honora, struggling against Benedict’s hold on her.
Her brother hushed her. “This is the only way, Honora,” he murmured, flashing her a sympathetic look.
No. She would not allow this to happen.
She could not lose Silas just as they were beginning.
* * *
As much as Honora was determined to stop the stupid duel, she was so exhausted she could hardly keep her eyes open on the way home, falling into a deep slumber as soon as her head touched the pillow on their arrival at the townhouse.
Silas still hadn’t said a word to her, but she could see in his eyes that he was hurting, that he felt like he had failed her by not protecting her.
When she woke early the next morning, she rushed down to the entrance hall in her wrapper, completely uncaring of the scene she was causing as she demanded to know where the men were.
“They left before dawn,” said the butler with a sombre expression, and Honora burst into tears, falling to the floor as the stress and worry of all that had happened suddenly broke over her.
She was too late.
Silas would win the duel, she knew it for a fact, but he would be forced to flee England as a result.
She might never see him again, and the thought of him facing death without knowing that she loved him, that she wanted him, was utterly devastating.
Her maid came down and helped her back upstairs, where she dressed and pressed a cool cloth to her face in a lacklustre attempt to calm the blotchiness left by her tears.
Then, she returned downstairs to wait for her brother’s return.
Hours later, a carriage pulled up in front of the house, and Honora nervously jumped to her feet, pulling back the curtains as she searched for Silas’s form.
Starling stepped from the conveyance, then Benedict, their expressions serious and drawn.
A minute passed, then another, and Honora felt a fresh tear trace its way down her cheek.
Then, Silas appeared at the door, jumping down and pushing past the other men to lope up the stairs to the front door.
Unbelieving, Honora spun away from the window, rushing from the room just as the butler opened the door.
For a moment, Silas stood outlined in the doorway, then he was striding towards her, sweeping her up into his arms as she threw herself against him in relief.
“Why are you still here?” she mumbled against his cravat, digging her fingers into the solid slope of his shoulders. “You will be detained if you don’t flee.”
Silas kissed the top of her head. “I am not going anywhere. I am not leaving this house until you agree to wed me as soon as possible.”
“You know I would, but how could it be possible?”
Honora wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all.
“Warwick never showed. He fled England on a ship at dawn. There is nothing to keep us apart for another second.”
Honora froze, tilting her eyes up to meet his.
Silas’s brilliant blue eyes bored into her, his gaze warm but slightly uncertain.
