Page 91 of The Duke of Seduction
“Have a contract drawn up. Hell, you can even write it yourself and say your solicitor did. That usually scares the cheek right out of them.”
“You seem to have considerable experience.”
Haywood shrugged. “You’re the one who called me an expert.” He laughed again, then finished his whiskey. His gaze roved until he spotted a footman, who inclined his head, indicating he’d fetch another glass.
Lowering his voice, Haywood leaned over the table and angled himself toward Beck. “If that course of action won’t work, may I suggest pennyroyal? It’s known to take care of unwanted babes, but if the bitch takes enough, you may be free of her entirely.” His brows climbed toward his bald pate just before he narrowed his eyes with a knowing tip of his head.
The words sank into Beck’s brain with a searing agony. Was that what he’d done to Helen? She’d been poisoned. Had she been with child? Beck nearly exploded in that moment.
But he held himself together. Instead, he feigned surprise. “Are you suggesting she could…die?”
Haywood flinched and waved his hand toward the floor because the footman had just arrived with his whiskey. The man swept up the empty glass and left before Haywood answered. “It can happen,” he whispered. “I gave it to a gel once—years ago—and she took too much of it, not that I minded. She demanded I marry her. Because of a babe, of course. But I’d no intention of doing that. Wasn’t quite ready to settle.” He stuck his lips out in an exaggerated pout. “Who was that?” The blackguard didn’t even remember.
It had to be Helen. Ithadto be.
With a shrug, Haywood picked up his new glass. “In any case, it was very effective, and I’ve relied on it a few times since. Pennyroyal—you can get it from any apothecary.”
Rage poured through Beck, almost paralyzing him. But he leaned close to Haywood as the man brought the tumbler to his lips. “Was her name Helen?” Beck whispered silkily. “Small, with dark hair, almost like a woodland fairy.”
Haywood blinked at him, the glass arrested at his mouth. “Yes, that was her.” Awareness crept over Haywood’s features.
“She looked nothing like me, despite the fact that we shared a father.” Beck snarled. “You murdered my sister, you son of a bitch.” He shoved at Haywood, sending the whiskey sloshing into his face and him sprawling from his chair.
From an ungainly heap on the floor, Haywood wiped at his face. “She was your sister? HelenBeckett. Christ, I’d forgotten.” His face went completely white. “I didn’t murder her. We just wanted to get rid of the babe.”
“‘We,’” Beck spat. “There was no ‘we,’ just you exerting your control over a vulnerable young woman. Get up.”
Haywood flinched. “Why?”
“So I can bloody challenge you.”
The man went even paler, if that were possible, and it seemed it was. “No.”
“Then I’ll do it while you lie there like a coward.” Everyone in the room had turned toward the commotion, and now Beck raised his voice to ensure they heard him. “I demand satisfaction. For the murder of my sister. Name your second. Mine is the Earl of Ware.” Beck hadn’t asked him, of course, but was certain Felix would agree. Hell, they couldn’t duel tomorrow—it was Sunday. “Dawn on Monday. Hyde Park.” He leaned down, baring his teeth. “And don’t think to escape town tomorrow. Iwillfind you.”
Goodwin returned and helped Haywood to his feet. Haywood wiped ineffectually at his face.
Beck gave in to the fury. “You missed a spot.” He sent his fist into the man’s chin, splitting his lip. Haywood went down again as blood ran from the cut.
“Was that necessary?” Goodwin asked angrily.
“More than.” Beck leaned over Haywood. “Send the name of your second to Ware by noon tomorrow along with your choice of weapon. I’m quite skilled with either pistol or sword.”
With a final sneer, Beck turned and stalked from the room. On his way downstairs, he passed curious gentlemen eager to get up to the coffee room to see what was happening. News of the altercation had spread and would continue to do so.
He put it from his mind and strode from the club. He could hardly wait for Monday.
* * *
Beck had arrivedfor church just before the service began, barely stealing in to sit beside Lavinia. They didn’t have a chance to speak, but she sent him a warm smile and brushed her hand over his. He flinched, his hand jerking slightly. Her smile faded, but he gave her fingers a quick, reassuring squeeze.
After the service, they walked out to the vestibule, where several people congratulated them on their upcoming nuptials. Lavinia was growing weary of all the attention, particularly since everyone felt it necessary to point out the brevity of their engagement, as if it were an oddity, which it wasn’t. She began to regret not obtaining the special license. She and Beck could be married tomorrow instead of in a fortnight.
Lavinia’s mother joined a small group of women in the corner while her father congregated with a handful of other gentlemen. As soon as she and Beck were without company, she took his hand. “Is something the matter with your hand?”
Before he could answer, her father strode toward them, his brow dark. He glared at Beck. “I think we should go outside.Now.”
Beck didn’t look the least bit surprised at her father’s tone or his expression of rage. Perhaps because Beck didn’t realize that her fatherneverlooked like that.
