Page 31 of The Duelist for the Ton
“So is he,” Portia said, gesturing toward Maybury. “You’re fortunate my aim is true, sir.”
“You mean youmeantto shoot me in the shoulder?” Maybury’s voice took on a nasal whine reminiscent of a petulant child who’d been refused a second bowl of custard.
“Didyoudeliberately aim wide?” Portia asked. “That bullet went right over my head.”
“Ha!” Sir Heath laughed. “Maybury’s a poor shot—he’d have had a better chance hitting you if he’d aimed at that tree over there. Perhaps, Maybury old chap, you should consider hiring the Farthing yourself the next time you accuse someone of compromising your wife—though if others are as dishonorable as you and shoot out of turn, the Farthing may not be with us much longer.”
Nausea rose in Portia’s throat as the realization sank in. Today was the first occasion her life had been truly at risk. All it took was one man not obeying the rules of the duel, the unspoken oath of trust. And when had any man shown himself to be worthy of trust?
“You’re quite right, Sir Heath,” Maybury said. No longer clutching his shoulder—evidence enough that the injury was not as fatal as he’d previously declared—he approached Portia and fished several notes from his pocket. “I think five should suffice.”
“Or ten?” Portia said.
“You drive a hard bargain, sir. I may want to use your services in the future.”
“Then consider the extra five as a down payment for future services.”
She held out her hand, and he counted an additional five notes and placed them in her upturned palm.
“You have small hands, sir,” Maybury said, “and a rather light voice. You’re no man.”
Oh no…
“Perhaps if I removed that mask of yours, I’d find a mereboy.”
Portia forced a smile at the contempt in Maybury’s voice. “Imagine what your friends at White’s would think if they knew you’d been bested by amere boy.”
I shall have to laugh with Nerissa in secret about the fact that you were bested by awoman.
“If your father knew you were here, he’d give you a bloody good hiding,” Maybury said.
“The head of my familywouldgive me a hiding, sir, were he to know. But you should consider yourself fortunate that I was not aiming for your heart, Maybury. Perhaps next time I’ll aim elsewhere.”
“Next time?” Maybury asked.
Sir Heath barked with laughter. “Come, come, old chap. I’ll wager you’ll find yourself here again within a week—after your wife has parted her thighs for the next man.”
“So youdidlift her skirts, Sir Heath?”
“I did nothing that she didn’t beg for. Come to think of it, she spent most of the night on her knees. Which is where every woman should be.”
Dear Lord!Was this howallmen spoke of the female sex?
“Perhaps,” Maybury said, “but it’s not the done thing to rut another man’s wife.”
“I consider myself to be performing a service,” Sir Heath said. “Lady Maybury likes to be ridden daily—twice daily, so DeBlanchard tells me. If she gives your friends a little distraction once in a while, where’s the harm? You already have your heir and spare, so there’s no risk of any of my by-blows taking your title—unless she was sharing her favors during your honeymoon.”
“Why, you—”
“Oh, stow it, Maybury!” Sir Heath said, offering his hand. “Let’s shake on it and speak no further on the matter. Honor has been satisfied and we’re free to go about our lives.”
“Fair enough.”
“What about your wife, Lord Maybury?” Portia asked, unable to restrain the anger simmering inside.
“What of her? She’s content enough, having performed her duty.”
“Which is?”
