Page 92 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke
“Am I? So I am! Thank you Redmane. Very well!”
He reached into a pocket and the two duelists straightened their backs, raised their pistols, and braced themselves.
“Oh, damn and blast. I haven't got a handkerchief. Can someone lend me a handkerchief?”
The tension snapped. The two men sagged visibly and Sir Thomas hurried to the Regent with a handkerchief. He raised it above his head and the tension returned in the air as though a thunderstorm was about to break. He let the handkerchief drop.
“Proceed!” came the command.
Damien’s fingers interlaced with hers, and Emma instinctively tightened her grip. The damp grass beneath her boots, the chill in the morning air—none of it registered.
Only Charles did.
His stance was rigid—but not rigid with confidence. She knew her brother too well. That was fear in his spine. That was the strain of resolve where certainty should be.
The two men began their twenty paces.
Isaac was first to turn, smiling as he lowered his pistol to the horizontal, aiming carefully. A duck chose that moment to burst from the pond with a splash and a frenetic flapping of feathers.
Isaac jerked.
His pistol fired.
Emma flinched, eyes flying to her brother—
His hat flew from his head, spinning once before it landed in the grass some feet away.
Gasps erupted across the field.
But Charles did not fall. He did not move. He stood perfectly still, pale as the morning mist, gaping ahead as though he could not quite believe he still stood.
And then—slowly—he lifted his arm.
He let out a single, long breath, closing one eye and sighting carefully.
Isaac's color had vanished with his pistol ball. With a choked cry, he dropped to his knees, tossing the pistol aside and clasping his hands together.
“Mercy!” he screamed. “I take it back. I forgive the debt. I forgive the insult—there was no insult! Show mercy!”
Charles slowly lowered the pistol, a look of incredulity on his face.
“Let there be no more talk of debts or insults!” the Regent cried hastily, stepping forward and waving an arm to put an end to the duel. If Emma had not known better, she might have presumed this referee was not so neutral after all. “Divine providence has spoken and House Montrose is vindicated. There shall be no further talk of blood or honor!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Damien watched Emma as she sat on the stump of a tree, watching the placid water of the pond.
The duel was over.
The Regent had declared the need for sustenance and Sir Thomas had been quick to offer his house for breakfast. The twins had cried off and received a disapproving glare from their sovereign. Charles had been blessed with a stupendous clap on his back and the honor of being addressed by his first name.
The Duke and Duchess of Redmane had been forgotten, fading into the misty background. They had largely forgotten the others, lost in silent looks and unspoken words.
She looks desperately unhappy. And I have caused it. I would sever a limb to spare her unhappiness. No, I will not pretend. I could have spared her by telling her all of my secrets. I chose not to. Ichoosenot. I am to blame and must accept it.
Damien hated himself, felt the urge to scourge himself for the crime of causing such a beautiful creature pain. He took a step towards her, started to speak but could find no words.
There was nothing left to say except to tell her what he had sworn to tell no one.
