Page 54 of The Duelist for the Ton
“Then—”
He was interrupted by a shout.
“Well, old chap, you’ve been caught with your breeches down, haven’t you?”
The voice was Foxton’s.
Lady Portia’s eyes widened in fear, and she smoothed back her hair, glancing about her. Stephen drew her close to preserve her from her brother’s fury.
Then he saw him.
Foxton was standing with his mistress—but he was not looking toward them. His attention was on another couple.
Sir Heath Moss and Lady Francis stood beside the building, not completely concealed in the shadows. By the state of the lady’s dishabille, and the expression of triumph on the gentleman’s face—if Sir Heath could be called a gentleman—there was no doubt what they had been doing.
And beside them stood Lord Francis.
“Heavens!” Lady Portia said. “Have Sir Heath and Lady Francis been—”
“Hush!” Stephen whispered as Foxton glanced in their direction. He pulled her deeper into the shadows. “Or do you want him to catch us?”
“I thought you disliked deception.”
“I dislike the notion of your brother running me through even more.”
She stifled a giggle.
Several onlookers approached, whispering to each other, some holding ices.
“I see the crowd is in search of some entertainment while they enjoy their dessert,” Lady Portia whispered.
At that moment, the crowd let out a cry in unison as Lord Francis stepped toward Sir Heath, pulled off his glove, and hit him smartly across the cheek.
“You blackguard!” he cried. “I’ll see you at dawn tomorrow.”
Lady Portia stiffened and took a step toward them.
“Make it dusk,” Sir Heath replied. “I must make the proper arrangements.”
“If you need to find a second, I’m sure Dunton will oblige,” Lord Francis said. “I saw him wandering about tonight with that sour-faced wife of his. You’ve been standing him drinks at White’s all month, so it’s the least he can do.”
“A duel,” Stephen scoffed. “Why must they engage in such a thing, as if it’s a trivial matter to take a life?”
“I doubt that’ll be the outcome,” Lady Portia said. “Sir Heath’s a coward, and Lord Francis a poor shot.”
“How the devil do you know that?”
She stiffened, and he caught a flash of fear in her eyes. Then she shook her head. “Everyone knows Sir Heath’s a coward—after all, isn’t that the one trait shared by all bullies? As for Lord Francis, I competed against him in archery at a house party once. Isn’t archery the same as marksmanship?”
“No, it’s a different sport entirely. But Sir Heath—”
“Doyouenjoy archery, colonel?”
“I confess that I do.”
“I’m very much looking forward to the archery at Eleanor’s house party. The competition reminds me of what it must have been like hundreds of years ago, hunting for rabbit—though, of course, the targets will be fixed, which makes it a little less challenging.”
“Fixed?”
