Page 98 of A Scandalous Kind of Duke

“I didn’t do it, in truth. I only said I did because I saw an excellent opportunity to anger you.”

“I’ll still shoot you. No one speaks of her like that and lives.”

“You won’t shoot me, Polly. Papa Duke told you to look after me.”

“I’ll look after your corpse. Give you a nice funeral and send your winnings to your mother.” He touched a finger to his brow. “See you at dawn, brother mine.”

He spun back around. The crowd subdued before his scowl. Among the faces was a slack-jawed Thomas Macey. His mouth snapped shut when Leo informed him that he would be his second in the duel.

“But my—” Macey stepped closer and whispered, “I mean to be married again soon, recall. You promised a special license.”

“And a license you will have.” Leo clapped him on the shoulder. “So long as neither of us gets shot.”

CHAPTER25

The hammering on the front door vibrated through Juno’s house, at the in-between hour when the first faint hints of daylight edged the corners of the sky.

She was already mostly awake, thanks to the eerie howling of a cat fight and the general discomfort of having slept in her clothes. But she had, at least, finally managed to pack up the last of her things.

Rumpled, bleary, and mumbling curses, she stumbled down the stairs to open the door. There was Beatrice Prescott’s coachman, fist raised mid-thump, and Beatrice herself, face creased with worry.

Juno was suddenly very, very awake.

A swish of her arm sent the door slamming toward them, but the coachman caught it and Beatrice cried, “Oh, Juno. You must help me.”

A bark of disbelieving laughter flew out of her. “I? Helpyou?”

“I know you detest me, and you’ll never forgive me, for what I did was unforgivable, but they mean to shoot each other and I don’t know how to make them stop.”

“Who is going to shoot each other?”

“Have you not heard? Dammerton went mad! Completely mad! He assaulted Prescott, who called him out, and then Dammerton assaulted his own half-brother and calledhimout, and now they’re all in the park counting their paces as we speak!”

Juno’s heart stopped, then thumped, then did a few somersaults for good measure. Her eyes were on Beatrice, but all she saw was Leo: his face like stone when she sent him away, his bow so formal before he went. She had ordered him to leave, insisted he could do nothing, and he had— Started fights?Leo?How could this be? His weapons were chilly silence, a slicing set-down, a disappointed sigh. He didn’t go around hitting people. He certainly didn’t shoot them.

Or, heaven forbid, be shot.

Because of her?

“But why?” she asked.

“There is no time to discuss this! Our civilizing influence is required at haste! It is my ball tonight, and with Prescott in the middle of a scandal—”

“Do you think I care tuppence for your wretched ball? What if someone gets hurt?”

“Precisely.” Beatrice leaned closer, as if confiding a terrible secret. “How often in one’s life does one have the opportunity to stop a duel? Hmm?”

A herd of emotions stampeded right through Juno’s feeble efforts to think. She grabbed up her outerwear and they piled into the carriage. The coachman near yodeled in excitement as he set the horses moving.

In the cramped space, Juno struggled to pull her pelisse over yesterday’s gown and her bonnet over her morning hair. She had no choice but to tolerate Beatrice’s help, along with her stream of insufferable chatter.

“Oh, Juno, I am so, so sorry for what we did to you. I wish I could undo it. There is no excuse. None! I was just so angry after those things you said, and so tired from how hard it’s been, and I ranted at Prescott, and I said— Oh, I don’t even know what I said, but I never dreamed the man would repeat it, let alone publish a letter for the entire world to see!”

Dressed, Juno fell back onto the seat. Beatrice fell back too.

“If only I could fix it for you, but I have ruined everything! I am a terrible patroness, a terrible friend, a terribleperson. Oh, please forgive me! No,neverforgive me.”

Juno had little patience for this self-flagellation. “How did you even know about the figure drawing?” she asked. “Those drawings were well hidden. Was it Mr. St. Blaise who told you?”

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