Page 127 of Doxy for the Ton
Foxton snorted. “I can’t understand a man who makes an arse of himself over a merewoman. Bed her, then shed her—that’s my rule. There’s far too many women to be enjoyed to want to restrict yourself to just one.”
“If you’re going to insult me, then I’ll do this on my own,” Alexander said.
“Don’t be so stuffy!” Foxton laughed. “Heavens—if this is what love does to a man, I must take care never to lose my heart.”
“No great challenge, given that you’re not in possession of one.”
They rounded a corner, and Alexander’s chest constricted.
His opponent stood in the center of the lawn, next to another man carrying a slim wooden box. Behind them, a hackney carriage formed a dark shape against the backdrop of the Serpentine, which glistened malevolently in the rising moonlight.
Alexander stepped toward his opponent.
“Pleasant night for it, Mayhew.” He glanced at the earl’s second. “Sir Heath Moss—I should have guessed. I said to myself I was sure Mayhew had a friend somewhere in the world. Reason dictated otherwise, but the world is large enough to make it a mathematical possibility that two such creatures as you existed in it.”
“I think that’s the pleasantries done with, don’t you?” Mayhew said, his breath misting in the air. He nodded to Sir Heath, who opened the box to reveal a pair of pistols nestling together on a bed of velvet. “Choose your weapon.”
“Wait!” Foxton cried. “Permit me to inspect them.”
“For what purpose?” Mayhew asked.
“To ensure a fair fight.”
“I give you my word as a gentleman.”
“Gentleman—ha!” Alexander roared. “Is that the same gentleman who tried to violate Lady Rex?”
A muffled cry came from the hackney carriage.
“Get on with it, then, Foxton,” Mayhew said. “I’ve not got all night.”
Foxton lifted the weapons and inspected each one. Then he nodded.
“They’re sound,” he said. “Both loaded. But just in case, Sawbridge should make first choice.”
“Why not?” Mayhew said, smiling. “I can be generous—it’s all the same to me.”
Why did the blackguard look so damned sure of himself?
Alexander plucked a pistol from the case and felt the weight in his hand. Mayhew stared at the box and smiled, triumph glittering in his eyes.
“What’s the matter with you, Mayhew?” Foxton asked. “Get on with it! I, for one, have no wish to get caught by the authorities.”
Mayhew turned toward the carriage. “You can come out now!”
A slim form climbed out—a masked man dressed in dark breeches and jacket, with a tricorn hat. His eyes gleamed behind the mask, then widened as his gaze settled on Alexander and Foxton.
Alexander’s gut knotted with horror.
“Are you…”
“Gentlemen,” Mayhew said, “may I present my proxy—the Farthing.”
A second form climbed out, equally clad in dark clothes and mask. He gestured to Mayhew. “My master requires payment before we begin.”
“Very well,” Mayhew said. “Twenty guineas, wasn’t it?”
“Fifty, and well you know it.”
