“It’s urgent all right,” Race said, walking over to the sideboard.
“Damned urgent,” Morgan agreed and took a long drink from his glass.
“All right,” Blake said, his concerned gaze darting from one cousin to the other. “In that case, one of you best speak up quickly and tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s Gibby,” Race said. “I was in the park less than half an hour ago and while I was there, a man named Steven Prattle approached Gibby and challenged him to a duel.”
“What the devil?” Blake said.
Race handed Blake a glass of the dark red wine and said, “It’s true.”
“You were there and heard the challenge?” Blake asked with an incredulous expression on his face.
“Every blasted word.”
“Well, why in the hell didn’t you stop him?”
If only he knew.
Race was getting tired of the accusations, but losing his temper with his cousins wouldn’t help solve this problem.
A tired half chuckle escaped Race’s lips. “Give me some credit, Blake. It’s not as if I wasn’t trying like the devil himself to stop the whole thing. Do you think I want to see Gibby having a boxing match at his age?”
“Boxing?” Morgan asked.
Blake edged closer to Race. “With bare-knuckle fists?”
“Yes,” Race admitted. “As farfetched as it sounds, the man gave Gib his choice of weapons, and the old dandy chose his fists.”
“You can’t fight a duel by pugilism,” Morgan exclaimed. “That’s outrageous. What kind of tomfoolery are you asking us to believe, Race?”
“The cold, hard facts, Morgan,” Race said, raising his voice, too.
“All right, calm down both of you,” Blake said. “Just start at the beginning, Race. What were you and Gibby doing when he was challenged?”
“Having a conversation. I was there with the duchess, and I saw Gibby with a group of people who were waiting to see a man crawl into a cage with a tiger.”
Morgan’s gaze zeroed in on Race’s face. “You were there with the duchess?”
“Yes,” Race said innocently. “I took her for a ride in the park.”
“What duchess?” Blake asked, his gaze sweeping from one cousin to the other.
“That’s right,” Morgan said with a sudden twinkle in his eyes. “You didn’t meet her, did you?” Morgan turned to Race. “And you haven’t mentioned her to Blake?”
“It’s been only three days since I met her,” Race said, unable to hide his annoyance at being hammered with questions about Susannah and Gibby. “I haven’t seen Blake until now. He’s married, remember? He’s not attending the parties as often or visiting the clubs at night as he used to.”
Confusion wrinkled Blake’s brow and screwed up his lips before he asked, “What duchess are you two talking about, and what were you doing in the park with her?”
“Obviously, he was courting her, but what he was courting her for I don’t know.”
“Morgan,” Race said in a warning voice.
“Duchesses are usually married to a duke. What kind of trouble are you getting yourself into?” Blake asked.
“She’s the Dowager Duchess of Blooming. Ever heard of her?”
“I can speak for myself, Morgan.”
