Chapter Eighteen

T he formal letter of challenge Anthony sent to Captain Brinkley's house in the morning read thus:

My resolve is as firm today as it was last night. I will see you bleed for your crimes against the honorable Lady. Instruct your second to meet mine today at two ‘o clock in the back room of the King George's Cup to discuss terms.

Your servant and your enemy,

— Anthony Maltravers, Viscount Stirling

Cecilia read the letter over his shoulder as he sat at the writing desk in his study. "Very succinctly put," she said.

"It would be a waste of time and ink to spend more words on him," Anthony retorted as he sealed the letter and handed it to the waiting footman. The man bowed and left.

"And now we must weave the web of deception just a bit longer," she said, relaxing onto the settee.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"On the day of the duel I will be your second," she explained. "But I can hardly show up at the King George's Cup today to meet his second. He would realize the ruse and refuse the duel."

"I see."

She smiled at him. "I'm afraid you must go yourself."

"And what do I say to explain that?"

"Explain that your second is indisposed. Knowing the company Lord Stirling keeps, Captain Brinkley will hardly be surprised." Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Are you calling my friends drunken sots?"

"Your words, not mine." They both laughed.

Anthony's brow furrowed. "I was wondering last night, as I was unable to sleep due to your naked form lying next to me in bed –" he chided her with a click of the tongue.

"I warned you," she snickered. "I always sleep in the nude."

"As I said, I was wondering, will he choose swords or pistols?"

She frowned, chewing her lip. "Is it true what you said last night? That you are not a particularly good swordsman? That was not merely false modesty?"

"Regrettably, yes."

"And is this common knowledge?"

"Amongst my friends, and at my club and my gymnasium, yes, it is well known that I am a better shot than I am a swordsman."

"Ah, good." She smiled, relieved. "Captain Brinkley is a thorough man. He will find this out. He will use the knowledge to what he thinks is his advantage. He will instruct his second to choose swords."

"And this is preferable to you?" He bit his lip to keep from expressing too much worry. Clearly, Cecilia thought herself an equal match for Captain Brinkley in a fair fight. Somehow, though, Anthony doubted the fight would be fair. After all, the Captain had no honor.

"Most decidedly, yes."

"Who will he choose as his second?"

"He has only one close friend in Bath just now, Lieutenant Lightman. Lightman's an honorable man. Second son of a peer, just like Brinkley. He'll probably choose him." She paused and made an impatient sigh. "Though I can't for the life of me think why Lightman allows himself to be friendly with Brinkley at all. He has much more honor regarding women. I know… well, George knew him. He came whoring with us a few times. He is ridiculously polite to women, even to prostitutes. He even once punched a fellow officer who slapped a prostitute's behind too hard." She laughed. "I'm sure he knows nothing of Brinkley's dealings with me, or he would not be his friend. Hopefully he will assume that my anger with the Captain is related to my brother, and not to myself. And if he suspects something, I doubt he would turn me in for killing Brinkley. He would assume my honor to be worth more than Brinkley's life."

"You assume a great deal," Anthony said quietly.

Cecilia shot him a puzzled look and frowned. "You have misgivings?"

He buried his face in his hands and shrugged. "How can I not? I think perhaps this is the most dangerous and foolhardy thing I've ever done."

"Foolhardy?" she asked, incredulous. "You think defending my honor is foolhardy?"

"No, not that. Just that I am helping you at all." He smiled up at her. "No one who knows my reputation would guess it in a million years."

"Well then," she said softly, limping over to him and sitting on his lap. "Your reputation is built on lies and those who know it know nothing of you. You are a rake, but that does not preclude you from having honor or empathy. Enjoying love making does not mean you forfeit your soul." She kissed him, brushing her breasts against his chest. "At least I hope it doesn't," she whispered. "I'd hate to think I am already damned."

He drew her into him for another kiss, parting her lips with his tongue, clutching her to him. She ran her hands through his hair and pulled his head back. Her lips brushed his Adam's apple, and he sucked in his breath, his heart pounding against his ribcage, deafening him.

"Promise me, if I die tomorrow, you will come find me in Hell," she said, her mouth tattooing every word into the skin of his throat.

He could not think it. He would not imagine it. "Cecilia," he began, but she silenced him with her lips over his. He held her to him, refusing to let her words steal this moment from him, until she pushed him gently away.

"I will see you tomorrow morning." She whispered in his ear, her voice calm and resigned. "And I will be ready."

"Yes," he finally managed to say, but she was already gone, and the fear slinking its way across his chest would not let him follow her.