Page 1 of A Duke But No Gentleman
Chapter One
March 4, 1792
Malwent Commons, England
Norgrave was a madman.
With one hand on the hilt of his sheathed short sword, and the other gripping the warm metal handle of a lantern, Tristan Bailey Rooke, Duke of Blackbern, watched intently as his friend parried his opponent’s attack.The sharp, deathly clash of steel echoed in the night while Norgrave flirted as if the grim specter of Death was just another lady he needed to seduce into his bed.
No sane gentleman would duel in the fog at midnight, but too much brandy and pride had a way of dulling a man’s wits.When Viscount Caxton knocked over the marquess’s glass of brandy and issued his challenge, Norgrave eagerly accepted.
Caxton had been too blinded by his righteous anger to comprehend that he had been cleverly manipulated.If the gentleman had not been so generous in delivering his libelous insults not only to Norgrave, but to Tristan as well, he might have warned the man of his opponent’s proficiency with both pistol and sword.
Instead he had remained silent.
Wronged or not, the pompous arse deserved the bitter taste of humiliation for his insinuations, and Cason Brant, Marquess of Norgrave, intended to be the gentleman who forced every foul drop down the man’s throat.
“Already winded, and your elbow keeps dropping.”Norgrave made a soft sound of disapproval.“Do you wish to yield?”
Caxton bared his teeth at the suggestion.“Nay.”He brought his blade down, but it only stirred the air when Norgrave stepped out of range at the last second.“Not until I hear an apology from your lips.”
Tristan glanced over at the viscount’s second who was staring at the fighting men with the excitement of a chained dog that longed to be free of his tether.He paced the edge of the circle, his sword unsheathed.Tristan didn’t trust the man not to interfere to give his friend the advantage.
Norgrave grinned.“On the contrary, you should be apologizing to me for not being a worthy opponent.It is apparent you have been neglectful in keeping your sword skills honed for these unpleasant affairs.”
The viscount responded with the resounding clang of steel against steel.He used his hand to push the marquess away, but Norgrave was taller and slightly heavier.He held his ground, and it was Caxton who went stumbling.
“Hold, good sir!”Tristan ordered the viscount’s second when he took a step forward.What the devil was his name?Prigs?Twigs?No, that did not sound quite right, but he was close.His lips curved in triumph as he suddenly recalled the man’s name.“Briggs, your friend is fine.Do not interfere.”
Caxton did not even glance at his friend.He charged Norgrave.“Stay back, Briggs.This bastard is mine!”
The marquess turned sideways and countered the man’s blade.High and low, Norgrave’s blows struck with accuracy and a ringing force that proved minutes later to be the thirty-eight-year-old gentleman’s undoing.He had provoked the wrong man.
Norgrave shoved the viscount away from him.
“Are you satisfied, Caxton?”his friend taunted, his movements to evade his opponent swift and graceful.“Speak now, and you can return home to your sweet Audrey.”
His brown eyes flared with indignation.“How dare you!You have no right to utter her name.”
“I regretfully disagree.Audrey insisted that I take such liberties.As you know, it was just one of many,” Norgrave said, his silky insinuation puncturing the other man’s composure.
Anger strengthened Caxton’s arm, and his blade sliced the marquess’s upper arm.The viscount smiled at his small victory.“You might have caught her fancy, but her father accepted my offer of marriage, not yours.”
Norgrave paused at the gentleman’s words.“Who told you I offered marriage?”He cast an incredulous look in Tristan’s direction.“Audrey’s father accepted your timely offer because he knew—”
“Speak not another word!”the viscount roared as his expression darkened.“You are insulting my bride.If you continue, a mere scratch will not satisfy me.”
“You truly believe you have the skill to best me, Caxton?”
“Love and justice will guide my arm.”
“’Tis a noble declaration.A pity we did not invite a poet to our private gathering.He could compose a sonnet and deliver it to your widow.”
“Enough, Norgrave,” Tristan said in even tones.“An insult is not worth any man’s death.”
“Most evenings, I would agree,” his friend said, his gaze fixed on his opponent’s face.“However, I suspect Caxton is not planning to be reasonable.”
“So you admit it,” the viscount snarled.
