Chapter 34

34

The floorof the carriage rattled under Richard’s feet. Feeling the heavy stares of Preston and Sebastian, he refused to meet their gazes and just looked out of the window as the trees and bushes passed by on their way to Hampstead Heath. Fallen trunks, moss, and endless grass. Even though the door was closed, he could smell the fresh scents of nature—flowers, grasses, leaves, and morning dew.

It was still very early, and the sun was low above the horizon, sunrays peeking through the branches and leaves. The sky was pale blue with hints of gold and pink lingering from the sunrise.

Perhaps this would be Richard’s last day on earth. A beautiful day to die.

“Is it really worth it, brother?” asked Preston carefully.

It was strange to see Preston’s expression so soft. Normally arrogant and distant, there was real concern in his brother’s dark eyes. Sebastian, who sat on the opposite bench in the carriage, nodded his dark blond head and looked at Richard with his eyebrows raised, his features in an exaggerated question.

“I offended her honor,” Richard said. “I must pay. Thorne is right.”

Preston scoffed. “You and your character. Why can’t you kidnap her or something?”

Both Sebastian and Richard stared at him in bewilderment.

Preston sighed and showed his palms in a placating gesture. “I know. I know. Barbaric.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised this is coming from you,” said Sebastian with a chuckle. “You used blackmail to claim Penelope’s hand.”

Preston’s gaze softened. Richard shook his head and turned around to the window again. “I am going to duel him if he does not see reason. But it’s not about that.”

“What, then?” demanded Preston.

When Richard said nothing, Sebastian shifted and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

“You know she’ll never forgive you or her brother if you hurt each other. Or kill each other.”

Richard tapped the side of his palm against his knee. He knew that. He’d already thought about that, and the thought of killing anyone, let alone someone Janie loved, made him want to cut his own arm off.

“Seb is right,” said Preston, turning to Richard with his whole torso. “If you kill or hurt him, she will never marry you. And if he hurts you—” Preston’s voice broke, and it sounded like he’d swallowed his own words.

“He’s not intending to hurt me. He’s intending to kill me. And she will never marry me, anyway.”

Richard’s own words came out cold and cruel, but he didn’t mean them to be.

“I can’t lose another brother, Rich,” Preston said hoarsely, his black eyes watering. “I just can’t!”

Richard’s skin crawled at the thought of what this duel may mean to his whole family. They’d just lost Spencer nine months ago, only to get some hope of recovering him. And now he…

“But did you really ask her?” asked Sebastian.

“I asked her more than once. And she gave me her definitive answer yesterday. You all know what it was.”

Preston shook his head firmly. “I’m sorry, brother. I know it must have been devastating. After Lady Charity broke off the engagement, you were never the same.”

Richard wanted to reply that he was quite recovered, that he was ready for anything, but he couldn’t quite say the words. Preston was right.

Jane’s no yesterday had wrapped its clawlike fingers around his throat, pressed, and choked him until it killed his will. It made him realize how silly he had been to hope. To heal. To imagine a woman like Jane could love him.

Just like Lady Charity’s rejection, Jane’s no had showed him he was better off numbing himself with alcohol, parties, and women.

He just couldn’t withstand the pain.

The footman opened the door of the carriage for him, and he climbed down with dread spreading through his body like frost. As he walked towards Jane’s brother, Preston’s words kept thundering inside his head.

Each step Richard took was a symphony of sensation—the gentle pressure of dew-kissed grass under his leather boots, the subtle chill of the morning seeping through the fabric of his breeches. He could almost taste the damp earthiness of the heath, intermingled with the crisp freshness of the river water. The muted chirruping of the birds was a bittersweet serenade, almost drowned out by the soft rush of the river.

Thorne stood tall and imposing in a sea of grass. His ebony coat and pantaloons were a stark contrast against the brightening day, making him stand out even more prominently. Despite the imminent duel, Thorne looked every bit the nobleman—from the top of his carefully coiffed hair to his shiny boots.

To his side, the three men who’d accompanied him the night before each bore an air of brutish strength, their broad shoulders and stern faces silently challenging.

Richard sucked in a breath, cool and slightly misty, tasting the dawn in his mouth—sharp, clear, with a tinge of the inevitable. The scent of the nearby forest and the moist grass filled his nostrils, grounding him in the reality of the situation.

His, Preston’s, and Sebastian’s boots squelched softly against the damp grass as the three of them paced forward. There was a prickling at the back of Richard’s neck, a heaviness in his gut.

The glistening waters of the river reflected the first light of day, casting a soft glow on Thorne’s face. Despite the serenity around them, Thorne’s expression was etched with an icy determination.

Richard’s palms itched, the skin stretched taut over his knuckles. He flexed his fingers, and his ears buzzed, almost drowning out the low murmur of the river. The faint odor of gunpowder reached him. The scent of death.

Whether he lived or died today, he would never see Jane again. Would never know true happiness with her.

Because stuck in the depths of his heart, he still had a shard that Lady Charity had left when he’d handed her his heart and she’d betrayed him. And that shard cut and stabbed, and he still bled, no matter how much he wanted to be rid of it.

He had asked Jane to believe in him, but he hadn’t taken that risk himself. He had held back from exposing his already-wounded heart. Lord Richard Seaton, a romantic at heart who understood people and wanted love, kept himself safe within his walls of protection. He knew if he truly opened up, it would bring both pain and joy. Now he was ready, but it was too late.

He stood in front of Thorne and nodded to him. Thorne eyed him coolly from under his dark eyebrows.

The moment Richard locked eyes with Thorne, a shiver ran up his spine, settling like a cold weight in the pit of his stomach. Thorne’s eyes, dark and icy, carried a chilling promise of death.

“This is Brace Sterling,” Thorne said, nodding to the man next to him. “He’s a physician.”

The man had a muscular build and an attractive face. His eyes were a piercing blue, and his blond hair was tied back.

“These are my seconds, Mr. Morgan and Mr. Tristan Nightshade,” he said, gesturing at the two identical men with broad shoulders and chestnut-brown hair. Tristan had a mischievous smile while Morgan had a dispassionate expression.

Richard nodded to the gentlemen, all of whom eyed him with cool interest.

“These are my seconds,” he said, looking at Preston, “the Duke of Grandhampton and the Duke of Loxchester.”

“I believe we’ve met,” said Blackmore. “The Duke of Grandhampton that is no longer welcome in my club.”

“I believe it is so,” said Preston. “Not that I need your club anymore.”

“I am sure you do not,” said Blackmore. “A happily married man, as far as I hear.”

“And you, sir, should have told us months before that our brother may be alive. You could have spared us all grief.”

“But then you wouldn’t have married your beautiful wife, would you?” asked Blackmore with a smirk. “Besides, I do not owe you anything.”

“Have you no shame or honor, sir?” demanded Sebastian. “Spencer was…is…like an older brother to me.”

“It is true, I have no shame,” said Blackmore. “But I most certainly do have honor. If it is a different honor than yours, that is not my concern.”

Richard pondered if he was ready to die without trying to win Jane back. He knew she loved him; he saw it in her eyes, felt it in her touch, heard it in her voice. He needed to help her see beyond her fears, but to do that he needed to see beyond his own. He was going to be a knight fighting for his lady—his enemy was fear.

Not Thorne.

“Blackmore,” he said. “I do not wish to fight you. I told you before, and let me repeat this. I wish to marry your sister, whether you approve or not.”

“Too late,” said Thorne as he picked up one of the pistols from the box that Brace Sterling held. “I will not accept you as a brother-in-law. I demand satisfaction. You caused pain, suffering, and humiliation to my sister. You dishonored her. And you will pay.”

“Blackmore,” said Preston, standing slightly between Richard and Thorne. “Is there truly no way to resolve this in peace?”

“Pick up the pistol, sir,” said Thorne tightly.

The distant determination in Thorne’s eyes turned into icy rage.

Richard nodded. “I will. But know I have no intention to kill the brother of the woman I love.”

Thorne spat out a terrible, vulgar oath. The twin dressed in black behind him raised his eyebrows in amusement.

“You may kill me,” said Richard. “You may wound me. But I love Jane, and if I come out of this alive, I will fight for her. I will court her. I will woo her. I’ll make it my life’s mission to make her the happiest woman alive.”

Thorne gave out a low growl. “Sweet words, my lord, but they mean nothing. You already proved your worth by your actions. You gave me your word of honor and broke it, playing with my sister’s emotions.” He looked at Brace Sterling. “We’re ready.”

Sterling nodded and looked at Richard. “Sir, please pick up your pistol.”

With a heavy stomach, Richard nodded and picked up the pistol, its wooden handle smooth and cold in his palm and its body sinking heavily into his hand.

“Stand with your backs to each other,” said Sterling. “And when I say ‘walk,’ walk twenty steps in opposite directions.”

Richard held his pistol up close to his chest, feeling Blackmore’s back pressing against his. The wind ruffled his hair on his forehead and brought the scent of leaves and flowers and the nearby river.

Distantly, he heard splashing and the barking of a dog. But he didn’t give it a second thought. All his concentration was on the heavy pistol in his hand.

He wouldn’t shoot at Thorne. He wouldn’t be the man to kill Jane’s only remaining family. He’d shoot straight up and let Thorne decide what he wanted to do. Let this be on the man’s conscience.

“Walk!” cried Sterling.

Richard walked, counting his steps.