Dueling was still against the law.
Very much so.
But when had that ever stopped the nobility from doing anything?
“Sebastian is due to arrive there at any minute,” Fairfield went on. “He’s challenged the Marquess of Aston to pistols at dawn. Lord Henwick is standing in as his second. It’s all been arranged, and word has already gotten out. The papers are getting ready to print as we speak.”
“Why?” Sterling managed through the tightness in his throat.
“Becauseyoutold him to. Last night. Don’t you remember?” Fairfield gave an exasperated shake of his head. “You were goading Sebastian into winning Lady Beatrice back after she chose Aston over him.”
Vaguely, through the thick curtain of a whiskey-soaked night that had involved a quick dip into an opium den, Sterling recalled teasing his brother about losing Lady Beatrice to Lord Aston. Sebastian had been sweet on the curvaceous little brunette foryears, but he’d been too focused on his duties as duke to do anything about it. Which was probably why the poor chit had finally given up waiting on Sebastian’s proposal and had accepted Lord Aston’s.
As it was one of the rare–if only–times that Sterling’s perfect brother had failed at something,of coursehe had given him grief over it. That’s what siblings were for. But he’d never actually thought that Sebastian would call for a duel, of all things! Good God, his brother never drove his carriage on the wrong side of the road for fear of setting a bad example. Now he was calling for pistols at dawn?
“How fast can we get to Wimbledon Common?” he said grimly.
“I’ve two horses waiting outside. But Sterling–”
“What?” he snapped over his shoulder as he strode towards the door.
“You’re naked.”
He glanced down.
So he was.
“Here,” Titania called, holding up his shirt from the night before.
“You’ll need these,” added Helena, brandishing his breeches.
“And these,” Hermia said, holding up his boots.
Sterling threw on his clothes and sprinted out of the house with Fieldstone right behind. They mounted their horses and tore off down the quiet lane as if the devil himself was at their heels, which he very well could have been.
Sterling’s tongue was dry. His stomach was in knots. He felt as if he were going to be sick, and, for once, it wasn’t because of pure overindulgence. He and Sebastian may not have always seen eye to eye, but they were brothers first and foremost. Bonded by blood, and the mutual loss of their parents in a boating accident five years prior.
If he lost Sebastian as well…
No.
He couldn’t even think it.
They would get there in time to stop the duel. Theyhadto.
And they almost did.
Almost.
The sound of the pistols exploding caused Sterling’s horse to sit back on its haunches and rear. He grappled for control, then gave it up completely as he sprang from the saddle. With a toss of its head, the horse galloped away. He paid it no heed, his gaze locked with slowly dawning horror on his brother wrapped in a plume of dark smoke.
His brother, falling to his knees.
His brother, keeling over onto his side.
His brother, lying motionless, one hand still clinging to his pistol as an uneven red circle began to spread across his chest.
For several precious seconds, Sterling could only stare. He was too stunned to move. Too shocked to fully comprehend what had just happened. His brother, his mentor, his hero…fallen. Then he was shouting, and running, and sliding onto grass already slicked red with blood.
