Page 31 of The Defiant One
"The idea has merit," Celsie ground out.
"And furthermore, I suggest that you lend a certain gravity to what might otherwise be considered a rather frivolous matter by playing for stakes. If you win, Lady Celsie, you will never have to hear another word about marriage to this brother of mine you find so odious, ever again."
"And if I win?" Andrew bit out.
"Why, if you win, then you earn the right to go back to your laboratory and never be bothered by the outside world, ever again."
"Ever again."
"Ever again."
Andrew's lips curved in a slow, satisfied smile and he was seized by the absurd temptation to throw back his head and laugh like a madman. Oh, this was easy, too easy. These were the best stakes he had ever played for. All he had to do was nick her skin and no one would ever bother him, ever again? One tiny drop of blood and he would be forever left in peace?
Oh, yes. He would be a damned fool to resist such an overwhelmingly tempting offer.
Still holding her challenging stare, he calmly reached up, pushed the sword to one side, and gazed triumphantly down into those sparkling, silver-frost eyes. "Very well then. I will fight you."
"Good." She backed off, eyes flashing. "And when I beat you, I don't want to hear any more nonsense about marriage. Is that clear?"
"Very clear. And when I beat you, I want you out of my life for good."
Chapter 10
Gerald, mounted on a fleet chestnut mare, galloped onto the duelling field just as his stepsister, damn her eyes, was preparing to fight.
Incensed, he sent the horse charging through the spectators, not caring who he hurt or nearly trampled, not caring about anything but a blind need to reach the field in time to redeem himself. Not only had Celsie humiliated him by locking him up, she was stealing his only chance to permanently dispose of Lord Andrew de Montforte and remove the threat he presented to Gerald's financial well-being. Gerald just couldn't let that happen. Thank God he had been found by his valet, who had released him.
If he could only kill Andrew in the duel, he could keep Sir Harold Bonkley in the picture as a prospective bridegroom. And if Celsie continued to refuse the baron, well, Gerald could think of a score of other desperate suitors who wouldn't mind being married off to an heiress . . . at his price, of course.
He burst through the last of the crowd.
"What are you doing here?" cried Celsie, glaring at him as he yanked the mare to an abrupt halt. "This is my affair and I don't need your interference!"
"You are my sister and therefore it is my duty to defend your honor. So put the sword down, Celsie. Put it down now."
"Get off my dueling field, Gerald. Get off it, and get off it now."
He flung himself off his horse, the indignity of having this ridiculous argument in front of not only the de Montfortes, but the entire village of Ravenscombe, sending his temper beyond control. He stormed up to his stepsister, fists clenched, teeth bared. He wanted to throttle her. "I was the one who challenged de Montforte. He was the one who accepted. This is not your fight, damn it!"
"If it concerns me, it is my fight!"
"It concerns you only insofar as you were the cause of it!"
"And I will be the finish of it!"
"The devil you will!"
Celsie stamped her foot and, with a snarl of fury, turned away, trying to rein in her temper. She might have given in. She might not. She was never to know, for at that moment, Andrew, who was watching her with a mixture of sympathy, disbelief, and — could it actually be an admiring smile, of all things? — stepped forward.
The two men bowed stiffly to each other.
"Somerfield," said Andrew coolly. "No offense, but I daresay your sister is concerned about your welfare. She has just agreed to fight for certain stakes. I propose that you and I take up the duel, but allow these stakes to remain."
"And they are?"
"First blood only," Celsie cut in. "First blood only, and then we each win the right to be left alone."
Gerald frowned, and looked at her. "Is that all your maidenhood, your innocence, was worth, Celsie? A mere drop of blood?"
