Page 129 of Doxy for the Ton
His opponent stood still, the barrel of his pistol gleaming in the moonlight, his aim steady and true.
He couldn’t fail to miss.
Alexander cocked his pistol, curled his finger around the trigger, then hesitated.
Could he shoot another man—a stranger with whom he had no argument?
Was he a coward—or a killer?
Coward…
He drew in a deep breath, his heartbeat thudding in his ears.
Why did his opponent not shoot?
“Well?” Mayhew cried. “What the bloody hell am I paying you for, man? Get on with it!”
Alexander’s arm trembled more violently as he tightened his grip—but he couldn’t bring himself to shoot a man with whom he had no quarrel.
I’m going to die.
His heart ached with despair. Not at the pain, or the thought of meeting his maker…
…but at the thought of never looking into her eyes again.
“Forgive me, Mimi.”
A crack shattered the air, and a puff of blue smoke burst from the muzzle of his opponent’s pistol. Moments later, Alexander heard a soft whistle in the air, then a sharp, hot pain tore through his ear and he jerked backward and dropped his pistol. He reached up and touched his ear, which was slick with a hot, sticky liquid, then he inspected his hand.
His fingers were smeared with blood.
Bloody hell—that hurt!
Foxton sprinted toward him. “Are you all right?”
Alexander nodded.
Foxton retrieved Alexander’s pistol and uncocked it. “You’re one lucky bastard,” he said.
“I’ll say so,” Mayhew yelled, his voice shaking with fury as he turned toward the Farthing, who stood, erect, his arm lowered, the pistol at his side. “What the devil do you think you were doing?”
“My master did what you paid him to do, your lordship,” the manservant said, while the Farthing placed his weapon back in the box. Foxton approached with the other pistol and the Farthing darted back—almost as if he feared him.
“Do you not speak?” Foxton asked. The Farthing shook his head and retreated.
“Ispeak for my master,” the manservant said. “The terms of the contract have been fulfilled.”
“No, they haven’t!” Mayhew snarled. “I wanted him dead!”
“Then you should have stipulated that in the contract,” the manservant said. “My master agreed to win the duel as your proxy, and he has done precisely that. Honor has been satisfied with relatively little blood spilled.”
“Honor be damned.” Mayhew grasped the loaded pistol and strode toward Alexander. “Say goodbye, Sawbridge.”
“No!” a female voice screamed, and hurried footsteps approached. “Stop—please!”
Alexander froze as Mimi appeared, sprinting along the path.
The Farthing let out a low cry.
