Chapter Sixteen

H attie alternated between concern and fury on the ride to Hyde Park. How could her husband be so intelligent in some things but so dumb in others? She wound the strings of her reticule around her finger and released it more times than she could count, and through it all, Simon remained silent at her side.

"I cannot believe you are going through with this," she whispered into the darkness as knots of worry pulled tight in her belly. "You already know I am against this."

"That has been made clear in more than a dozen ways," he replied, and she heard rather than saw the grin in his voice.

She huffed in response.

"After tonight, Mr. Toppin won't bother you again."

"You can't know that."

"Trust me."

The warmth of him beside her called out to her, urged her to distract him enough so the dueling time would pass while he remained safe with her, but she also knew Simon was a man of honor. He wouldn't allow any of that to happen.

"And what of you, Simon?" Turning her head, Hattie glanced up at him and was struck once more by how handsome he was. "You already paid so much for your service to the Crown. You'll let a degenerate nodcock strike you down?" She couldn't help her ire. "How much more do you think you need to pay until…"

"Until what?" His perfect lips formed a frown, made even more grim by the play of light and shadows when they moved past a gaslight.

"Until someone chooses you, until you are finally content with life that you will cease to think about the sea, until you accept yourself as whole?" Were any of those musings true, or was she taking stabs in the dark?

Or perhaps she wanted to hear him use another term of endearment, for it was so lovely when he'd done so in the corridor not a half hour past.

"It won't come to that. I have no intention of indulging the dolt."

Her stomach heaved, and she swallowed a few times to stave off retching. "He isn't nearly as honorable as you, and that is why I'm worried."

"Do you think he is the superior match for you?"

"What? No, of course not."

"Are you in love with him?"

"Absolutely not."

"Do you regret marrying me?"

"No." She could barely force the word out of a tight throat. "Oddly enough, that is one thing I have done that I feel was always meant to happen."

"In this, I agree with you; I will remain safe."

"My dreams say otherwise, and that terrifies me."

"Fair enough." He slipped an arm about her waist and encouraged her head onto his shoulder. "However, I can't help but remind you that not once in your dreams did you see my dead body—lion or otherwise."

That was true, and something she hadn't given thought to. "The threat is there."

"And it served as a warning. I will be vigilant, and I have seen my fair share of men of Mr. Toppin's ilk." He patted her arm. "Be that as it may, I am prepared."

To meet his maker? To die? To leave her a widow before she'd had a chance to fully be a wife?

"Men," she whispered to herself in an annoyed tone. "I would lecture you, but I don't want those to be my last words to you." When her voice broke, he put his other arm around her and simply held her.

She said nothing else for the remainder of the drive.

Every step that brought her closer to the prearranged clearing had dread stacking in the pit of Hattie's belly. Snow flurries drifted down around her shoulders and blanketed the ground with a thin layer of white. Her breath clouded about her head while a sense of impatience settled in her gut.

Why couldn't he see that she needed him more than he needed to do this?

At the clearing, she glanced about and frowned. They were the first to arrive. Now was as good as time as any for one last chance. She touched the captain's arm, brought him to a halt until he looked at her. "Simon, please don't do this. I've told you enough about my dreams, and I… I couldn't bear it if you are killed tonight. I am not yet ready to become a widow."

"Sweeting, I promise you that I will be all right." When he took her gloved hands in his, she trembled. "Do you trust me?"

It had taken much for him to convince her, but she did. Without fear, Hattie held his gaze, peered into his eye, and nearly lost herself in the sapphire depth of that orb. Honesty and something brighter, stronger, softer glimmered there in the starlight, something she didn't dare name lest she was wrong. Finally, she nodded. "Yes, I do. In everything."

"Good." He brought one of her hands to his lips, kissed the middle knuckle. "When I tell you things will be well, they will be. That is all."

Then he was hailed by Lord Ashbury and their moment alone was lost. A couple of men within the contingent the viscount headed held lanterns, and those were quickly hung in strategic places to lend what she considered the field of dishonor eerie shadows.

With a sigh, Hattie pulled the folds of her cloak tighter about her person, but the light winter breeze still seeped through her skirting. As she peered at the small contingent of people walking toward the clearing, she frowned. This was truly happening, and all her words had fallen on deaf ears. Why did men feel the need to posture in front of each other?

The viscount came to a stop in front of the captain. "Are you certain you wish to do this?" In one hand, he carried a wooden case with a leather handle, no doubt the resting place of the dueling pistols.

"I am." Simon nodded. He turned to address the Duke of Masterson. "I am entrusting the care and safety of my wife to you. Keep her protected no matter what occurs this night."

"I consider it a high honor, Captain." The duke nodded and offered his crooked arm to Hattie, who having no other recourse, slipped a hand into the bend of his elbow.

The Earl of Pennington came across the field to confer with Simon and the viscount. "Toppin is an idiot, Captain. There is no need for this."

Remarkably, her husband grinned. "Perhaps not, but fear is a reliable motivator, and at the end of this Drury Lane drama, I will have removed this particular thorn in my side."

"Very well." The earl nodded. "I shall be here if you have need of me."

"Thank you." Simon glanced at Lord Ashbury. "Did you bring a doctor?"

"I did, and I examined the dueling pistols myself." The viscount patted the case. "Shall we go meet with Mr. Toppin and his second?"

"We might as well. It's nearly midnight." With a fleeting look at her, Simon nodded. He touched the brim of his beaver felt top hat, gave her a confident grin, and then followed his friend to the middle of the clearing, where Mr. Toppin waited with a second man Hattie didn't recognize.

"Oh, dear God," she whispered and clutched at the duke's gloved hand. "This is the very definition of insanity."

"I would have to agree, but then, I would never be put in the same situation," he said in a low voice that was threaded with humor. "It is difficult to shoot with any accuracy when one is blind."

Despite the graveness of the situation, the corners of her mouth twitched, but she didn't laugh. Instead, she merely held onto the duke's hand tighter. "I appreciate your presence here, Your Grace, else I might have fainted by now."

Not that she should have been here at all. A dueling field was no place for a woman. Yet as she glanced around the darkened clearing, on the opposite side, partially hidden within trees was the same veiled woman she'd seen at the ball. Why was Mrs. Dove-Lyon out here to witness a ridiculous duel? This was certainly not something listed in the marriage contracts.

Perhaps she suffered morbid curiosity like everyone else. But then the duke's solid presence beside her served as a lovely distraction; he smelled divine like country air after the rain with the veriest hint of mint.

"One can always tell the caliber of a man by the friends he keeps. The captain, my dear, is fortunate." The duke patted her hand. "Try not to fret. Your husband is quite clever."

She truly hoped so.

"Are you certain you wish to go through with this folly, Toppin?" Simon asked of her former suitor. Oh, he was magnificent in his evening dress, greatcoat, and top hat, but she shuddered when Lord Ashbury offered him a pistol, whose barrel gleamed in the starlight and beneath the lanterns' illumination.

"I haven't changed my mind, Captain. Since you had the audacity to steal my woman, you will pay, conceivably with your life." Mr. Toppin accepted his own pistol from the viscount, and once his second inspected it, they both nodded.

"If you never offered marriage to the lady, if you always met with her in secret, if you only want her for her family's coin, she is not yours, and you went about winning her for the wrong reasons."

Mr. Toppin snorted. "What else is there for a female in our society? She goes from her father's house to her husband's, and no one cares." He shrugged. "But an earl's daughter has worth, which would lend me that as well."

Lord Ashbury scoffed. "Your own father thinks you a wastrel and a cad. I expect he'll hang onto his title and health for as long as he can simply to prevent you from inheriting it and running it into the ground."

Anger twisted Mr. Toppin's face into a gruesome mask. He gestured with the pistol. "Shall we get on with it? I am rather anxious and want to claim my prize."

"I am not something that can be won or bartered, Samuel," Hattie bit off as annoyance collided with worry in her chest. "Captain Huxley knows the difference; he treats everyone with respect, unlike you."

"No more bickering." Simon held up a hand. "Toppin, since you are the offended party, your second needs to advise us of the terms of this duel. It isn't well done of any of us to keep the ladies out here in the cold."

Across the clearing, Mrs. Dove-Lyon watched the proceedings. Was she appalled or entertained by them? It was anyone's guess.

"Right." A man Hattie had not met before stepped forward. He had disheveled brown hair and a cravat knot that was slightly crooked. "I am Mr. Carruthers, cousin to Mr. Toppin, and we will follow the rules dictated by the Royal Code of Honor." The other two men nodded in acknowledgement. Apparently, it was something all men were well versed in. Her attention wavered as the man droned on, but she understood a few dictates. "There will be at least ten yards distance between the combatants. The pistols will not be cocked before I give the order to fire. Both combatants will walk ten paces, present, and then fire together without resting on their aim at the agreed upon signal. After discharge, both seconds will attempt a reconciliation. The duel will be to the death, and Mr. Toppin will not hear otherwise. And lastly, neither the victor nor the second will abandon the field without securing for him a proper conveyance home." He looked at both Simon and Mr. Toppin. "Do we have an agreement?"

"Yes, of course," the captain said with a glance at Lord Ashbury, who nodded.

"Get on with it already," was Mr. Toppin's only response.

Mr. Carruthers nodded. "Gentlemen, please stand back-to-back in the middle of the clearing and I will count you off."

Both the captain and Mr. Toppin did so while Mr. Carruthers and Lord Ashbury waited on opposite ends of the clearing. That was where the duelers would turn and fire upon each other.

Hattie's stomach clenched. "Oh, I can't bear to watch." Why did men do this?

"Then don't." Masterson maneuvered in front of her so she couldn't see what was happening on the field. "I shall block all unpleasantness for you. Unfortunately, I cannot keep you from hearing it, though."

"If only you could," she managed to whisper. Whether due to the cold or what was to happen, she couldn't stop trembling.

Mr. Carruthers cleared his throat. "We will now begin the paces. After ten, you will turn and then fire at your discretion."

Dear heavens, will Samuel cheat?

"One, two, three…"

Hattie's heart beat so loud she was sure every person there must hear as the agonizing countdown continued. "Please let him remain safe," she whispered to no one in particular.

The duke took one of her hands and held it tightly in his.

Mr. Carruthers droned on. "Eight, nine… ten. Turn!"

Fear played icy fingers down her spine as she dared to peek at the proceedings around the duke's shoulder.

Simon raised his pistol, but at the last second, when the whole world seemed to freeze, he pointed the nose to the side and well away from any of the onlookers.

Bang!

The ball was exhausted, which meant he would need to reload before he got off another shot, but apparently that wasn't in his plan, for he then tossed the weapon to the ground. While glaring at Mr. Toppin across the clearing, he slowly shook his head. "I refuse to kill you, Toppin. There is already enough fatal violence in the world, but I will be glad to clean your clock with my fists. Dueling with pistols is the coward's way to settle a disagreement."

Did that mean it was over?

As she watched in petrified curiosity, Mr. Toppin shook his head.

"No, you are the coward, captain. You only married Lady Hattie due to a wager at a gaming den. You never wanted her."

"And you only wanted her for the wrong reasons," Simon responded without giving away his thoughts.

Samuel gestured with the pistol as impatience lined his face. "That doesn't matter. We would have rubbed along well enough together, and the gist of the duel is the same. She is mine, and you are in my way." Slowly but surely, he lifted his pistol and trained the nose on the captain.

Bang!

The sound of the pistol's report echoed horribly in the quiet stillness of the night. Then everything following seemed to happen in slow motion.

As Hattie gasped, Simon grunted. His eye reflected surprise as he put a hand to his chest. A dark reddish substance came away on his glove. A rapidly growing stain spread over his waistcoat and shirt. "Bloody hell. I didn't expect that." He stumbled backward a few steps before falling to the ground, landing on his back.

He didn't move again.

"No!" With her scream of denial, time went back to its normal rhythm, but everything had changed. She broke away from the duke's hold. "Simon!" When the duke reached for her, she evaded him in favor of running over the cold ground toward her fallen husband, but it was the viscount who caught her with his arms about her waist, keeping her away from the grisly scene.

"This isn't something a lady of breeding should look upon," he said in a low, choked voice. "Go back to Masterson."

"No!" Half crazed, she tried to wrench herself from his hold as tears wet her cheeks and her heart felt as if it would explode from pain, grief, and anger. "Please let me see him!"

"Not yet. The doctor needs to examine him so we can conclude the duel."

The shorter man with thinning black hair she assumed was a physician kneeled at Simon's side. Dear God, the captain's face was far too pale, and he hadn't moved since he'd fallen. But the doctor didn't rush his examination. When he glanced up, he looked straight at Lord Ashbury. "It is my professional opinion that Captain Huxley has been shot dead with a ball to the heart." He tugged a pocket watch from his waist coat. "Time of death occurred at twelve thirty-five on the fifteenth of February the year of our lord 1818."

Hattie's scream of anguish and denial split the silence while Mrs. Dove-Lyon pressed a hand to her chest from her vantage point at the opposite side of the clearing. The strength in her knees gave out, but the viscount supported her with an arm about her waist, allowing her to lean against him as she shook from grief.

The duke sauntered over to where Samuel stood with the pistol still in his hand, faint smoke curls seeping from the nose. His frown was quite fierce then he addressed both Samuel and his second. "You have murdered one of the ton's most upstanding citizens and a masterful tenor on the stage besides." The words rang on the crisp air. "There is no hope for you now, Mr. Toppin, and it is highly unlikely you will win over Lady Hattie after killing her husband."

"I… But he could have fired…" Panic lined his face as he gave Mr. Carruthers the pistol.

"That matters not, Mr. Toppin." The duke shook his head. "Your best chance for a future that doesn't include the noose is to flee before the authorities know of your direction."

Samuel took a few steps backward. "I only meant to scare Captain Huxley away from her, give up his claim. I didn't plan to kill him."

"What a bammer." Lord Ashbury finally released Hattie, then came forward to address Mr. Toppin. "That point is moot now, Mr. Toppin. You have done this and essentially murdered a great man. His blood is on your hands." The viscount glared. "I will testify against you once the courts are involved in an investigation."

"As will I," the duke added.

"Oh, God." Mr. Toppin quickly conferred with his second in low tones that Hattie couldn't hear. Then he nodded. "I plan to leave for America immediately. The authorities won't be able to find me there. No one will know who I am—"

"Or what you've done," the viscount said with a fierce growl in his voice. "You are a criminal in England, Mr. Toppin, a murderer."

"The hell I am." Without another word, Samuel pelted from the clearing, and he didn't glance back.

"Such a coward." The viscount shook his head.

Hattie couldn't listen to these men any longer. It was all immaterial, for she'd lost the most important person in her life. With a sob, she fell to her knees beside Simon's body even though the doctor attempted to stop her. "Why did you have to leave me so soon?" Tears came so fast her vision blurred. "When we wed, I didn't believe in love because my heart was bruised from the last time, but you managed to change my mind because you are wonderful." She rested a hand on his shoulder then traced his cheek.

How can I go on without him?

She peered into his impossibly still face. "I should have told you I'm coming to love you, that each day we spend together sends me deeper into those feelings, but I feared you might have rejected me on principle due to being forced to wed."

The doctor softly cleared his throat. "I am going with Mr. Carruthers to make the appropriate arrangements for transporting the captain home."

"Thank you," Hattie whispered as she scrubbed at the tears on her cheeks. She smoothed Simon's hair, but the curls refused to be manipulated.

Once the doctor and Mr. Carruthers departed—after he gave the pistol back to Lord Ashbury—the viscount tucked both weapons into his case and did up the straps. Then he joined the duke where he stood at Simon's other side. "You are in the clear, my friend." He nudged the captain's side with the toe of his shoe. "It is not yet time to give up the ghost."

Hattie frowned. "What are you talking about? He is dead, Lord Ashbury."

The blond man shook his head. "Oh, but he is not."

When she returned her gaze to her husband, Simon opened his eyes, and with a wince, he struggled into a sitting position. "Hallo, sweeting," he said as soon as he saw her. A groan quickly followed the greeting.

There was no other recourse except to scream. She sprang backward and landed hard on her rear end. "How is this possible?" What sort of sorcery was this? Dead was dead.

The men—including the captain—chuckled with indulgence. It was the Earl of Pennington who answered. "It would seem Captain Huxley is quite clever and has connections all over the city for his various needs."

"What does that mean?" This night had been far too emotional, and if she wasn't careful, she would succumb to a faint.

"When I told you that I needed to make plans with Ashbury before the duel began, I wasn't lying." Samuel offered her a grin. "Look." He fumbled at the buttons of his tailcoat and then delved his fingers to the placket of his shirt, wrenching it open beneath the waistcoat. "We prepared for more than a few possibilities." As she stared, he revealed a heavy leather vest he wore over his chest beneath the shirt that had stopped the ball. "We utilized something similar in the Navy."

Confusion crashed with disbelief in her mind. "But what of the blood? It welled after you were shot."

"Stage makeup, nothing more. Some of my friends from the theatre and opera were all too happy to assist me with what I required." From beneath his shirt and waistcoat, he brought forth ruptured and empty packets made from a length of pig's intestine. "Nothing more than sugar syrup boiled with enough beetroot to render it as red and thick as blood."

She pressed a hand to her throat where her pulse pounded. "You staged this." It wasn't a question. He wasn't dead. This was all very much like a nightmare, and she fully expected him to collapse onto the ground, still once more.

"Yes." He nodded while the men standing about grinned like fools. "I refused to shoot that bastard, and I also knew Mr. Toppin was a coward. This is the best of both worlds, for without my death, he would have hung about. Now, he thinks he is a murderer." He shrugged but winced again. Even with the vest, being hit with that ball had no doubt hurt. "He will run to America, and they are welcome to him. Perhaps life will teach him a thing or two on managing his coin and acting with honor."

For long moments, no one spoke, then she blew out an annoyed breath. "I hate you, Simon Huxley." She slapped at his shoulder as reaction slammed through her veins, leaving her both exhausted and restless and uncommonly giddy. "You made me think you were dead. I was truly gutted."

"I know." He grinned and accepted Lord Ashbury's help to his feet, then he assisted her to hers. "However, you aren't a very skilled liar, dearest. I rather think you love me. Isn't that what you fellows heard?" With a glance, he looked about at his friends.

"Oh, quite," Pennington said with a nod. "She was very shameless about it."

Lord Ashbury snorted. "A declaration worthy of the stage, I'd say."

The Duke of Masterson was the only one who offered an apologetic grin. "Lady Harriett had every right to respond with grief and anguish, and there is no doubt that she loves you with all she is, so don't take that lightly, Captain."

"I don't intend to," he said, fully sobered.

Hattie tossed her head even as relief rushed through her chest. "I was out of my mind with grief, didn't know what I was saying." But she smiled, wanted to shout with joy, because he was alive, after all.

"Your speech was by far the sweetest I have heard," Simon said in a low voice, meant only for her ears. "And I would like to expand upon that topic as soon as we have the opportunity."

"Fine, but you are still highly annoying. Tricking me like that. You could have warned me." Hattie propped her hands on her hips while movement across the clearing caught her interest. With a grin curving her lips, Mrs. Dove-Lyon slipped silently from the area.

"There was no time to bring you in on the farce. Time was of the essence," Simon explained with a wave of his hand. "I trusted that my friends would take care of you and bring you comfort…"

She made a sound of exasperation, for he was so dear. "Oh, do shut up, Captain." Since the night had already skirted the edge of scandal, she threw herself into his arms. Despite the mess all over the front of his clothing and the wreck that was her gown, Hattie stood on her toes and kissed him with abandon. With a soft growl, he bundled her more tightly into his embrace then proceeded to kiss her back until his three friends offered protests.

"Well, now, this display is far too unseemly," Pennington remarked with a chuckle.

"Oh, indeed," Lord Ashbury said with a grin. "It's deuced cold out here. Perhaps we should clean up and return to the ball."

Simon didn't release his hold on her. "You know, sweeting, for a woman who doesn't believe in love, that embrace proves otherwise. "As he peered down into her face, he grinned, and her world tilted sideways. "With all due respect, fellows, I am going to escort my wife home. We have both had a traumatic night, and I rather doubt Lady Pennington wishes me to make an appearance in her ballroom looking like a cut-up corpse."

As good-natured laughter went about the group, Hattie sighed. Life was indeed surprising, and at times it took extreme measures for a person to realize what was truly important. Most surprising of all was the knowledge that love and happy endings did exist outside of story books.

And she couldn't wait to start hers.