Page 30

Simon spat again whilst sitting up, and after wiping the blood away with his handkerchief, brushed the dirt from his over-bright trousers and coat.

“Name your second, Sterling.”

“No. There will be no duel, Andrews. You insulted a lady and got what you deserved for your insolence. And to think I was going to persuade Father to invite you and your wife to the house party he’s having. More fool I.”

Lord Sterling, a muscle ticking in his jaw, paced away as if he didn’t trust himself to remain near Simon. His long legs, encased in biscuit-colored pantaloons, ate up the ground as he stalked toward the conservatory. Shoulders rising and falling in his agitation, he raked a hand through his mahogany colored hair. Several ruffled strands remained poking upright in what might’ve been an endearing fashion if the situation weren’t so volatile.

A rush of relief so strong swept Eden that she closed her eyes and pulled in a long gulp of air. At least Lord Sterling had kept his head as far as a duel went. She’d never forgive herself if he, too, were shot because he felt the need to defend her honor.

“Too cowardly to meet me, are you?” Derision accented every terse syllable Simon sneered.

Why wouldn’t he let it go? Was he really so blood-thirsty? So reckless?

So blasted foolish?

He was addressing a peer of the realm, a future duke. Had he lost his senses entirely? The Andrews might be landed gentry, but Lord Sterling claimed generations of blueblood. The DeCourcys were powerful and influential. Commoners such as Simon, even wealthy landowners, ought to tread carefully before recklessly overstepping the bounds.

One glance at his tension-lined features revealed the answer.

Absolutely, he would.

Lord Sterling laughed, a cutting humorless explosion, as he swung around to face them.

“Not cowardice, Andrews. It’s called common sense and reason. Both of which you’d do well to employ more frequently. Unlike you, I’m thinking of your two young sons who need their father. For make no mistake.” He waved a careless finger toward Simon the way one waves an annoying fly away from a pastry. “You would not walk away from a match with me. I am not my brother, and you would not be the first or second or even the seventh man I’ve faced on a field of honor. I, however, have always finished unscathed.”

Simon’s bravado slipped, and his face assumed an ashen hue. He dabbed his sweaty, receding hairline with his bloodied handkerchief.

Eden’s jaw sagged, and she blinked twice in disbelief.

Had Lord Sterling said seven?

He’d fought that many duels?

Over what?

She wasn’t altogether certain she wanted to know.

Just what kind of man was he?

This angry, intimidating man with a temper easily triggered, or the charming, good-natured scamp she’d sat beside yesterday? Likely two sides of the same coin, for didn’t everyone harbor a bit of darkness, even if they hid it well?

For certain she did.

A charged silence ensued, Simon and his lordship glaring daggers at each other. In the end, Simon averted his gaze first.

“I shall not countenance it, I tell you, Eglantina.” Shaking his head, cruel satisfaction hardening the lines of his already lean face, Simon staggered to his feet. “You’ve brought disgrace upon me, my family, and our good name.”

No, Simon, your father did that when he despoiled my mother.

“Regardless of the embarrassment, I’ve endured you and your mother’s presence for far longer than I should’ve out of respect for my father’s wishes. I’ve paid the taxes on Briar Knoll and delivered your monthly allowances without complaint.”

Hardly without complaint: always grudgingly and demeaningly. Making certain Eden and Mama knew how beholding they were.

“But no more.” He stuffed his stained handkerchief in his pocket and slashed an unsympathetic glance to Mama, hovering with Mattie near the roses.

“I want you all gone from Briar Knoll within the week.”

Mama, her face as white as the knitted shawl about her frail shoulders, let out a distressed cry and clutched at Mattie’s arm.