Race swore under his breath. The duchess and half the crowd gasped loudly before everything went deathly quiet.
Gibby’s shoulders flew back, and his chest puffed out proudly. “I accept!”
Race swore again and mumbled, “Be quiet, Gib,” before his gaze darted toward the duchess.
Her Grace looked concerned but not horrified, so he took that as a sign she was holding up under this unsavory situation, but he would have given anything for her not to have witnessed this. Gibby might have stolen a few kisses from a lady or two in his time, but damnation, men his age didn’t go around accosting ladies.
“There will be no duel, Prattle,” Race said firmly. “I have no doubt we can clear up this matter quickly if you will just be reasonable about this and exit the park.”
The man completely ignored Race and said, “Penelope was crying by the time we got home from Lord Tinkerton’s party last night. I asked her what was wrong, but she was too distraught to talk about it. This morning she admitted to me that Sir Randolph had accosted her on the portico of Lord Tinkerton’s home and forced her to do things she didn’t want to do.”
Gibby took a step forward, putting him closer to the man than Race wanted. “I remember meeting your sister on the portico last night, but as a gentleman, that’s all I’m prepared to say.”
“Ah ha!” the man yelled with such fury he almost popped the buttons on his waistcoat. “He admits it! Choose your weapons.”
Race stepped in front of Gibby this time, shielding him from the enraged brother. “Nobody’s choosing weapons, Prattle. He didn’t admit to accosting your sister. I insist we move to a more private place to finish this discussion.” Race turned to Gibby, who didn’t look in the least concerned about this man’s accusation. “I know you didn’t do this, Gib, but this is not the place to defend yourself. Let’s go.”
“He can’t go until he chooses his weapons. I’ve challenged him to a duel, and now he must respond.”
“Gibby, don’t say anything else,” Race warned in a stern but low voice. “I will handle this.”
“Choose your weapons!” Prattle yelled again and started toward Gibby. Two men from the crowd grabbed his arms and held him back as he struggled to get free.
“All right.” Gibby shoved his two clenched fists in the air. “These!”
Race was almost as angry with Gibby as he was with Prattle. “Gib, you are making this worse. You can’t reason with this man. He’s lost control of himself, and he needs to leave the park and calm down. Then we’ll discuss this privately with him.”
“What do you mean?” Prattle asked, blinking uncontrollably. “Is your choice swords or pistols?”
Gibby brushed Race aside and shook his balled hands at Prattle again. “I mean fists. My weapon of choice is my fists.”
The man struggled to get loose from his captors once again. His eyes were wild, and his coat was half torn off his arms. “You are insane. We’ll use pistols.”
Gibby pulled on the tail of his coat and squared his shoulders, seeming unperturbed by this turn of events. “I might be old, but I’m not stupid. I don’t see well enough anymore to shoot a pistol and hit anything, especially you. Fists it will be.”
“Stop this, Gibby,” Race said with anger in his voice. “There will be no duel or fight of any kind going on in this park or anywhere else.”
“Well, then we’ll use swords,” the deranged man said as spittle flew from his wet lips.
“I haven’t picked up a sword in years,” Gibby argued calmly. “You told me to choose my weapons, and all these people heard you.” Gibby waved his hand at the crowd that had not only grown larger but had moved in closer. “You can’t take that choice away from me just because you don’t like my preference. We’ll have a pugilism match.”
“We will not!” the man yelled. More spittle flew from his mouth as he tried once more to break free from his captors. “It’s not my fault that you can’t see to shoot a pistol or that you haven’t picked up a sword in years. We’ve got to be gentlemen about this and use a gentleman’s weapon.”
“It’s gentlemanly to bare-knuckle fight. The prince himself enjoys going to matches. I’ll invite him.” Gibby looked at the crowd, smiled, and waved to them. “And we’ll invite all these nice people, too.”
Someone in the crowd yelled the word “Fight!” and suddenly everyone was shouting “Fight! Fight!”
This was lunacy, but Race didn’t know what to do, short of picking up Gib and throwing him over his shoulder and walking out of the park with him. He was powerless to stop Gibby, Prattle, or the crowd that was now part of this mayhem.
“I don’t know how to fight with my fists,” Prattle yelled in a hoarse voice to the crowd, and he seemed to go weak in the arms of the men who held him.
“Then you shouldn’t have given me my choice of weapons. That’s your fault. Not mine.”
Race held up his hands and said, “Stop this madness, both of you, before I call the magistrate and have you thrown in prison. Do I have to remind you two that dueling is against the law?”
“Pugilism isn’t,” Gibby said with an innocent grin.
That’s when Race realized why Gibby wasn’t more upset about this outrage against his character. He was loving the attention he was getting.
