Page 9 of The Allure Of Lord Devlin
Dharma had a wonderful idea to take Rosemary’s mind off the duel. “Why don’t you ask Hawthorne to take you for a stroll tomorrow at two? You could walk to my house and Fencourt and I could join you.” That way, she would not have to talk with Fencourt alone.
“Fencourt? He is keen?” Rosemary smiled. “Perhaps we could have a double spring wedding next year. That would be wonderful.”
She pressed a kiss to Rosemary’s cheek. “Devlin will be all right, I know it. Tobin will ensure he comes back alive.”
Rosemary looked over her shoulder to where her brother stood talking to Lord Clayton. “I can’t lose him too. Harry and George haven’t gotten over losing father. If they lost their big brother in the same manner… I don’t know what Harry would do… As for mother. Oh, God. How will I tell her?”
She hugged her friend tightly. “Perhaps, don’t tell her until it’s over. No point worrying her for nothing.” When her mother died, Rosemary’s mother was her rock. She got her through the pain and loss until Charlotte came into her life. She wanted to protect Lady Devlin in return.
“You are such a good friend,” Rosemary sniffed.
“Nothing would ever come between our friendship. I’ll come over to your house first thing. Try to get some sleep. I’m sure Tobin will work something out.”
“Good night, my dear friend.”
Dharma replied before she entered the carriage. “Try not to think on it. Hawthorne will call tomorrow afternoon and you need to look radiant.” But she knew, like her, Rosemary would never sleep until they learned Devlin was safe and unharmed. Men. She could throttle them sometimes.
She sat on the squab, pulling the surrounding rugs against the chilly night, and wished Tobin would hurry. Suddenly, there was a knock on the carriage window. She slid the window down to see Devlin standing there, and Tobin and Philippa still talking to their hostess in the foyer.
“Your brother has agreed you will join me in my box at the opera tomorrow night, or should I say this evening, since it’s actually already the next day.”
“Don’t you mean if you are still alive?” she snapped. “Call off this silly duel. You have nothing to prove.”
“Lord Campbell ensured every person in the ballroom heard him. How could I let that stand? My father was not a traitor and one day I’ll prove that. But until I do, I will vigorously defend his and my family’s honor.”
She must admit that she would likely do the same. Yet, the panic inside of her grew. Annoyance coursed through her veins. “You cannot change what happened to your father.”
“But I can clear him and make life easier and happier for Rosemary, my brothers and mother.”
Dharma wished she didn’t respect him so much. He was sacrificing a lot for his family.
“You didn’t answer my question. Will you join me at the opera?”
She hoped he lived through the duel, and her anger made her snap, “I may have made other plans.”You arrogant arse!
“Have you?”
“Well, no.”Damn it.
He smiled. “Then I will see you later this evening. Tell that young pup he won’t win your hand.” Then he was gone with only his dizzying masculine sandalwood scent filling the space. She hated that she took a deep breath and prayed for God to protect him. Worse still, she hated that the only thing she was looking forward to today was the opera, not the walk with a certain ‘young pup’.
ChapterThree
“If you get wounded, the extreme cold will likely make you unable to feel it.”
Clayton’s words were of little comfort on this chilly dawn morning in a private corner of Kenwood, Hampstead.
“The mist will make it damn near impossible for Campbell to see me. I doubt either of us will be in danger of being wounded, thank God.”
When Lord Campbell arrived on the field with his second, Lord Carthors, and the obligatory surgeon, Devlin simply wanted the whole damn charade over with. He picked the pistol closest to him and moved to his mark.
The count of twenty paces began, and he once more thought about his father and all the family had lost. He wasn’t about to let Lord Campbell slander his father’s name again. As they counted out the twenty paces, he tried one last attempt to halt this nonsense. “Apologize and I shall decamp.”
“Bugger off, Devlin. Like father, like son, I should think. A fitting way to die.”
Anger burned in the pit of his stomach and he was determined that he would not die tonight. He could not let his father down. He’d yet to uncover the man, or men, who’d framed his father. Devlin was determined not to rest until he accomplished that goal. No matter what he had to sacrifice.
“Gentlemen, on my mark, you may fire.”
