Only Scandal Will Do (38 page)

“We shall, Mr. Redmond. What is to be the determination of the winner? Will first blood do?” She took her place opposite the man she longed to kill, though her primary goal was only to distract him.

“First blood to last blood, Lady Dalbury. You die tonight, regardless. Why not let it be with a sword in your hand? You profess such a love for the blade. Would you not wish to die in your lover’s arms, so to speak?”

“Only if you would.”

He laughed at that and lunged, his sword engaging hers instantly. She had suspected he would attack without warning, so fended him off easily. Redmond received a very nasty shock for he had, of course, completely underestimated her skill. When she parried his initial thrust, his face changed from incredulous surprise to grim concentration as she pressed her attack. Metal rang on metal as she advanced, pushing him down the attic, only to have him turn and press her back.

“Hah!” Her opponent crowed openly as he landed the first blow, a light slash to her left arm that cut the material but did not draw blood.

Finding a way under his guard, she landed a solid thrust to his thigh.

“You bitch!” he shrieked, punctuating the cry with a wild slash.

Maintaining her guard, she waited cautiously for her next opportunity. That she was tiring more easily concerned her. Nevertheless, she intensified her demand for endurance from her body. She could not collapse now.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Nigel slip out of the door, and the momentary distraction cost her a cut across her shoulder, the sting of the blow telling her, this time, Redmond’s sword had bitten deep enough.

Silently she cursed her flagging strength, her shorter reach, cursed Duncan for not showing her that damned disarm. She would have to attempt it anyway; her strength was fading. Her strained breaths, hot in her lungs, screamed for her to end the match now.

With a fury born of desperation, she whipped about, sword singing, redoubling her effort to drive her opponent down the chamber. She picked her moment, as he blocked a swipe to his head and lunged, attempting to disarm him. Another commotion from the hallway proved a distraction that caused her to knock his blade awry, but did not disengage it from his fingers. He retaliated by thrusting his sword all the way through her upper left arm.

Her scream echoed loudly in the chamber. God, her arm was on fire! Any movement of the embedded sword sent unimaginable agony through the limb. Would she vomit or faint? She swallowed hard and tried to focus. Noting her opponent’s smug countenance, she whipped her blade around and slashed it against his right side.

The astonishment on his face was replaced by pure rage, then he pulled on his sword. She gave another echoing shriek as his blade tore out of her flesh, and sat down hard. Redmond lurched toward her, sword once more upraised. His mouth moved, but a roaring in her ears drowned out whatever he was saying.

Lethargy stole over her as she tried to raise her weapon to fend him off, but her arm would not do her bidding. As he staggered toward her like grim Death himself, she dug down into her innermost reserves. Redmond pointed his blade down at her heart, raised his arm for the kill. She tilted her blade up and plunged it into his groin.

His high-pitched scream deafened her. He stared down at her, arm hovering, then crashed backward onto the floor, dragging the sword out of her hand.

As he twitched and moaned, the horror of the moment filled her. She had killed a man, but could feel nothing but thankfulness she was finally safe from him. Continuing to observe the jerking body, she became aware of boot heels pounding across the floor toward her. She turned to meet this new menace and found herself scooped up in strong arms. Her husband’s face hovered over her, white-lipped and ashen, but a beloved sight to see.

“Katarina! My God, I died a thousand times watching you and Tommy!” He squeezed her to him as though he would hide her inside himself. “I could do nothing lest I distract you and give him the advantage. My love, you were insane to engage him. He almost killed you.”

Lethargy stole through her again, and she closed her eyes. Hard planks lay beneath her back, so he must have lowered her to the floor. Then, a curious ripping sound. Despite fatigue so deep she longed to sleep forever, the noise roused her. She opened her eyes. Duncan, bare-chested, tore his good linen shirt into strips. Why was he ruining his shirt? Her sluggish brain tried in vain to reason it out, until he lifted her arm and fire shot down it in a searing sweep. A shrill scream escaped her lips.

The next thing she knew, he had hoisted her into his arms again and rushed out of the room. Her arm felt caught in a vise, and she glanced down. A red-stained bandage covered the wound. Her husband’s handiwork, she supposed. Her head lolled against his shoulder. Through a jumbled impression of constables milling throughout the corridor, she saw Nigel and Will down on their knees, then closed her eyes against the whirling in her head.

When they emerged into the warm night air, she roused and gazed into her husband’s dear face long enough to ask, “Now will you show me that damned disarm?” Then her head fell back and darkness descended.

Chapter 35

Large volumes of books scattered around her, Katarina sat up in bed, fuming. In the three weeks since her ordeal, not once had she left her bed, not even to be carried down to the sitting room for a change of scenery. Even more disconcerting, she had been a captive audience for Duncan’s admonitions regarding her behavior at the House of Pleasure. His choice words regarding her fencing, her dishabille during the match, and her disregard for her own safety, had led him to vow not to let her out of his sight until she had recovered completely.

Of course, when he’d rushed up to the third floor and found his best friend thrusting a sword into her arm, he’d been badly frightened. He’d watched the rest of the match play out, terrified to interfere, though ready to assist her if the opportunity arose. His need to protect her was behind his ultimatums, but she did not relish being confined to the house for several more weeks.

To add insult to injury, this morning Dr. Pritchett, though pronouncing her arm healing well, had insisted on another week of bed rest. His concern was understandable, but she might just scream at more enforced idleness. Perhaps, she could get the sentence extended to include the whole house so she could at least be carried from room to room.

A light rap on the door, and Duncan appeared with a letter in his hand. He had shown Dr. Pritchett out, probably plotting with the man to increase the prescription for bed rest. But she smiled at her husband. The light in his eyes boded good news.

“What is it, my love?” She pushed several volumes away and patted the bed beside her. “Who is the letter from?”

Duncan leaned down, grazed a kiss over her lips then sat back on the bed. “It is from Reginald Matthews, sweet.” His eyes fairly glowed with a secret knowledge. “He has news.”

A gasp escaped her. She struggled to sit up further in bed. “Of Juliet! Oh, Duncan, how wonderful! Where is she?”

“A letter from a contact in Carlisle, near the Scottish border, reports that a man and woman took up residence at my property there in early July. The agent went to the estate, asking for Lady Juliet, but was turned away. The servants are being very closemouthed about whoever is staying there. It has to be Juliet, for they would have admitted no one else. So I am leaving first thing in the morning, love. I must get to the bottom of this matter.” He laid the letter on the bedside table and gathered her to him, mindful of her bandaged arm. “I will miss you sorely, sweetheart, but I should be back inside of three weeks.”

Head cocked, she gave him a withering look. “Do you really think I am going to let you go without me, Duncan? I can ride in a carriage as well as I can lie in this bed.”

“No, you cannot, Katarina. The doctor said another week of bed rest, meaning it is to be spent in a bed. You will not jeopardize your life again. God knows, you came close enough to losing it.”

The reproach seared her, and she cast her gaze down to the coverlet. Loss of blood from her wound and the exhaustion of the duel had almost killed her. According to Dr. Pritchett. though, she would mend. “Then, wait until I can go with you, Duncan. You did say you were not going to let me out of your sight. And you won’t be able to see me if you are off to the north and I am here,” she wheedled, and turned on all the charm she could muster.

He smiled, so it must be working.

“And I would miss you too dreadfully if you were gone for three weeks. Please stay with me?”

He played idly with her hand for a moment. “Five months ago, I believe, those sentiments would have been quite different, would they not, my dear?”

Kat smiled. “Yes, they certainly would have. And aren’t you glad they have changed? Stay with me, love.” She ran a finger over his lips. “Dr. Pritchett said it was safe for you to come back to my bed. You would make bed rest so much more appealing.”

“You asked the doctor that?” His tone was shocked, but his eyes twinkled.

“And you did not?” She drew him down for a scorching kiss designed to make him forget travel and any other plans for the day.

Duncan surrendered readily, taking her into his arms. “I suppose we could take this time to work on putting an heir in the nursery.”

Katarina smiled into his eyes, but shook her head. “No, we don’t need to do that.”

“But, sweetheart, I thought you said...I thought you meant...” Duncan frowned, looking puzzled.

“I mean, my love, that there is no more work to do.” She watched his face change as her meaning sank in, and laughed at the incredulous look that spread over it. “I am already carrying your child. So you can’t go north without me. Without us.” She rubbed her hand over her still-flat belly, then drew his hand there as well.

He gazed at her, disbelief stamped on his face. “You are sure?”

“Dr. Pritchett confirmed it before he left.”

“Oh, Katarina!” He seized her lips once more, deepening the searing kiss, then expanded it to include her earlobe, her neck, her breasts. She sighed and relaxed under her husband’s ardent ministrations. Perhaps bed rest was not a bad idea after all.

As he moved more securely onto the bed, several of her volumes crashed to the floor. He sat up with a frown and retrieved the nearest book, then looked at her quizzically. “You’re reading Shakespeare?”

She nodded, her smile widening. “I’m searching for names for this little one.” She patted her belly once more, glad her secret could now be shared. “This morning I finished
Two Gentlemen of Verona
, but I don’t think I liked any of those. I like Antonio from
The Merchant of Venice
. Both Shakespeare and Italian. Since I am not likely to see Italy’s sunny climes in the near future, I can at least hear the language in my son’s name.”

“Your son? You can’t know that for sure, love, though it would be convenient for you to produce an heir so efficiently.”

“Oh, it will be a boy, never fear.” His puzzled expression at her certainty caused her to shake her head in mock regret. “I do not doubt, Duncan, that anyone possessed of such a single-minded nature as you would ever sire anything other than males. If I bear ten children, I am sure they will all be boys and I will pine for a daughter all my life.”

“And yet, my dear,” he chuckled, “in truth, he could just as well be a she.”

She arched a brow. “Would you like to wager on that?”

“I am always happy to make a wager with you, love.” Duncan’s face radiated eagerness, an impish smile curled his lips. “I think I have an unbroken streak of good luck where you are concerned. What shall we wager?”

“If a boy, we will set out, overland, for Italy as soon as he is able to travel and I will learn your disarm from Signore Fucile.”

“Fair enough.” He picked her hand off the coverlet and began to nibble his way up her arm slowly.

“And if this is a girl, Duncan?” She prompted him after enjoying several moments of blissful chills running up her arm.

“If this child is a girl, love...” He paused his journey at her elbow to meet her gaze. His eyes warmed to a deep, chocolate brown. “We will try very,
very
hard to put an heir in the nursery inside of a year.”

Katarina pursed her lips in a deliberate pout. “No Italy?”

“Not if we still need an heir.” He lifted her face to his. “Do not be disappointed, my love. There will be...compensations.” He kissed her conveniently puckered lips then slipped deep into her mouth with a hunger that made her weak. “So you really should consider girls’ names also, my dear.”

Relaxed and smiling, she leaned back against the pillows. “If, and I truly doubt it will be the case, but if this babe turns out to be a girl, she shall be Miranda from
The Tempest
. A pretty name, but one I fear I will never have cause to use.”

“Well, we will see soon enough, Katarina. We have all the time in the world, my pet.” Duncan rubbed his hand across her flat belly once more. “Time enough, and love.”

About Jenna Jaxon

Jenna Jaxon is a multi-published author who has been in love with historical romance since she was a teenager. After a long absence, she’s returned to her early love and is ecstatic to be able to call
Only Scandal Will Do
her debut novel. She’s already hard at work on the next novel in the series, as well as several other historical romances. As you might guess, Jenna’s passionate about her writing!