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She searched his face, desperate for a crack in his resolve. His eyes were steady, his breathing even. A cold sweat broke over her skin.

“How can you be so calm?” she demanded, her voice shaking.

“Don’t worry. Bradshaw’s a terrible shot,” he said, his face impassive. Was he joking?

“Right, which means he could hit you accidentally!” Honoria released his arm to gesture wildly, nearly losing her sheet. She grabbed it tighter, knuckles white. “Are you mad? What if you’re injured—or worse? Are you going to leave the children without a guardian because of your pettiness?”

And our unborn child. She didn’t say the words aloud. This wasn’t the right time.

“Pettiness?” Jacob’s voice hardened, and Honoria flinched at the cold fury in his eyes. “The man hit you, starved you, left you for dead. I’m not going to let him walk away from that.”

“Are you going to kill him, then?” she asked sharply.

“The court proceedings will take years, and they’ll ruin you, while he’ll just shrug it all off,” Jacob argued, pacing now, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “There will be no consequences for him!”

Honoria stepped into his path, forcing him to face her. “Answer me! Is that your plan? Are you going to kill him?”

He was silent.

And that silence told her everything.

“I’m coming with you,” she said, already striding toward her dressing room, the sheet trailing behind her like a queen’s train.

“What are you talking about?” Jacob’s startled voice followed her.

She reached for a simple dress, her movements sharp and deliberate. “If you refuse to listen to reason and insist on this stupid revenge, then I’m coming with you—and you’ll have to kill a man in cold blood with me watching.”

Jacob appeared in the doorway, his face darkening. “You are not going.”

Honoria met his gaze defiantly as she stepped into the dress and pulled it over her shoulders. “Then you’re not going either.”

“Honoria,” he growled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

She raised her chin, fighting the trembling in her fingers as she fastened the buttons. “Yes, Jacob?” she asked coolly, though her heart pounded so loudly she was certain he could hear it.

“Leave this now.” His voice was low and dangerous.

“Only if you do.”

“Do not be stubborn,” Jacob said, taking a step toward her.

“I’m not the one risking being shot at twenty paces or killing someone. I’m coming with you. And if you leave without me, I’ll follow you. And if you lock me in my room, then you are no better than Bradshaw.”

A sharp intake of breath told her the barb had landed. “Really? You compare me to him?”

Honoria turned to face him fully, her eyes burning with either tears or fury, she didn’t know which. “Only if you act like him.”

* * *

The morning mist hung low over the field as Jacob and Honoria arrived at the dueling ground. Honoria walked beside him, her face pale but determined. Her presence was both a comfort and a torment—he hadn’t wanted her to witness this, but it seemed he had no other choice.

Her words haunted him even now.

And if you lock me in my room, then you are no better than Bradshaw.

Several figures were already gathered at the site. Bradshaw stood with his second, a thin man with a perpetual sneer. An elderly doctor lingered nearby with his medical bag, casting anxious glances about as if hoping the duel would be canceled.

Lucien Drake, Jacob’s second, raised an eyebrow in surprise at the sight of Honoria.