Rogue's Honor (38 page)

Marcus greeted him at the door, having but
that moment arrived home from a series of social engagements. "Good
you stopped by, Luke. We haven't yet discussed the details for the
morning. Still six o'clock at Primrose Hill is it?"

"Unless you've heard again from
Bellowsworth's second," Luke said, helping himself to a dollop of
brandy from the sideboard in Marcus' library.

"Haven't heard a word since Ribbleton called
on me Wednesday evening. I've still got to say this was a damned
poor idea, even if you don't mean to kill him."

Luke shrugged. "Tempting as it is, I've given
my word. And I suspect the experience will do the fellow good—
provided he doesn't bring his mother along."

They both chuckled at that, then Marcus said,
"Say, why don't you stay here tonight? We can jaw a bit before bed,
have a bite in the morning and ride over to Primrose Hill
together."

As he had nothing in particular to return to
at Hardwyck Hall, especially with Flute in the country, Luke
readily agreed. They spent a pleasant hour over brandy, discussing
various duels remembered and rumored, then began reminiscing about
their time at Oxford.

"I envied you, did you know that?" Marcus
asked at one point. "You never seemed the least bit worried about
what would happen if we were caught climbing out of a window or
picking a lock, while all I could think of was what my father would
say if he knew. It must have been nice to have your family so
comfortably remote."

Luke regarded his friend thoughtfully. He
fully expected tomorrow's duel to come to nothing, but one never
knew for certain how such things would go. This might be their last
conversation.

"More remote than you knew," he said. "In
truth, I had no family whatsoever —and quite envied you yours,
hectoring older brothers and all."

"No family? But your uncle in Italy, your
Aunt Lavinia in the country? I admit sometimes I suspected there
were things you weren't telling me, but—"

"Quite a few things, in fact," Luke admitted
with a rueful smile. "But I want to tell you now." As briefly as
possible, he gave his friend a sketch of what his life had really
been like.

Far from the censure he had feared, Marcus
seemed utterly fascinated, asking question after question.

"So you were never answerable to anyone," he
finally said, apparently more envious than ever. "How tame our
exploits at Oxford must have seemed after risking life and limb
daily on the streets! Even Peter's and Anthony's wartime stories
can't compare. And just think what the Saint can do now you have
the Hardwyck resources at your disposal!"

But Luke shook his head. "The Saint has
retired."

Marcus regarded him knowingly. "The Lady
Pearl? Does she know—?"

"She does. And yes, it's for her sake that
I've hung up my mask, so to speak— not that I often wore one."

"Pity," said Marcus with a shake of his head.
"Makes me more determined than ever that no woman will ever get her
hooks in me."

Luke had to grin. "Tempting fate, are you?"
Then, at his friend's comical look of mock-alarm, he added, "It's
not so bad, I assure you."

Marcus protested such a possibility, and
after a few more minutes of such banter, they finally made their
way to bed.

Clarence, Marcus's valet, roused Luke before
first light. Dressing hastily, he went down to join his friend for
coffee and a muffin.

"I must stop by my own house before we go,"
he commented after draining his cup. "Can't show up with a rumpled
coat and cravat— won't inspire the proper dread at all. Would you
mind lending me Clarence for half an hour? Flute is unavailable, as
I said last night, and I haven't had a chance to look for another
valet as yet."

"Certainly. I'll use that half hour to fetch
the surgeon. For Bellowsworth, of course." Marcus grinned, but Luke
detected a trace of anxiety in his eyes. "Shame the fellow didn't
choose swords. Are you still the shot you were at Oxford?"

Luke rose. "We'll know soon enough, won't
we?"

* * *

Wallis Knox surveyed the trees and shrubbery
skirting the field on Primrose Hill in the glimmering predawn
light. There. That copse would do nicely. Quickly but cautiously,
he crossed the clearing and edged through the thick greenery
beneath the trees, then turned and crouched.

Yes, he had a clear view of the field here,
and should be invisible himself to all but the most discerning eye—
not that anyone would be looking for him. He pulled out a gleaming
pistol and checked it one more time. He'd had no opportunity to
tamper with his nephew's pistol, but no matter. In an hour, if all
went as planned, his lands and title would be restored to him.

Shifting to a more comfortable position, he
settled down to wait.

* * *

Urging her mare faster, Pearl watched with
growing alarm as the pink and lavender of dawn spread across the
sky. She simply
must
arrive in time!

"How much further?" she asked John Marley,
riding by her side.

"Half a mile, my lady. No more." His voice
gave no indication of whether he shared Hettie's disapproval of her
desperate venture —nor did she care.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour but
could only have been minutes, Primrose Hill came into view. They
climbed the rise, and at first she saw no sign of anyone. Had she
mistaken the time? The day? The place? But then she saw Luke's
black gelding tethered to a tree at one end of the field, with two
other horses beyond it. Was she too late? She spurred her mount
forward.

"My lady," John called urgently, pacing her.
"You cannot ride onto the field. It isn't done, and could put Lord
Hardwyck at additional risk if you distract him."

Though every nerve screamed at her to hurry,
she slowed her mount to a walk, then halted, still some distance
from the field. John was right. And if some dastardly plot was
afoot, as she suspected, she had more chance of discovering it by
stealth than by charging ahead blindly. Such a distraction might
provide Luke's enemy just the opportunity he needed.

Pearl slid from the saddle and continued on
foot, glad she'd had the foresight to wear her dark green habit.
The trees screened her view of the field until she was quite near.
Circling around to one side, she found a spot where she could see
the figures taking their places.

So far, all looked as it should, or so she
assumed from what she had read of duels. The seconds were pacing
off the distance, and a moment later Luke and Lord Bellowsworth
faced each other across twenty paces of lawn. The former appeared
completely at his ease, the latter pale and trembling. She
experienced a moment of pity for poor Bellowsworth, but reminded
herself that Luke had promised not to kill him.

Off to the side stood Lord Marcus Northrup
and Lord Ribbleton, who must be acting as Lord Bellowsworth's
second. Behind them stood another man holding the black satchel
that proclaimed him a surgeon. His presence drove home the
seriousness of the situation. How good a shot was Bellowsworth? Or
Luke, for that matter?

Recalling what Bellowsworth had told her of
Wallis Knox, Pearl scanned the periphery of the field, but saw
nothing.

"Positions, gentlemen," called Lord Marcus.
The two principals came to attention and raised their pistols.

Just then, Pearl noticed a rustling in the
shrubbery, not twenty feet from where she stood. She started
forward with a sharp cry, to investigate, and then several things
happened almost at once.

Lord Marcus gave the command to fire, and a
shot rang out across the field. Pearl whirled to see Bellowsworth's
pistol falling to the ground unfired, his right sleeve torn between
elbow and wrist. With a cry, he sank to his knees, clutching his
injured arm, and at the same moment she heard, closer at hand, a
muffled curse.

Luke still stood at his ease, a thin curl of
smoke from his pistol the only evidence that he had moved at
all.

The danger from Bellowsworth averted, Pearl
focused on the hidden threat. Without stopping to consider, she
plunged in the direction of that muffled curse, only to find
herself facing the barrel of another pistol, this one held firmly
in the grip of Wallis Knox, the man she had known for years as Lord
Hardwyck.

"So, my lady," he hissed, all trace of
urbanity erased from his manner. "You continue your penchant for
interference. I understand I have you to thank for my present
state, as my nephew would never have discovered his connection to
me unaided. It seems I have a score to settle with you, as well as
with him."

Her heart in her throat, Pearl forced herself
to speak calmly. The others, tending to Lord Bellowsworth, had not
yet noticed the drama unfolding in the bushes.

"I should think it is your own conscience
with which you need to settle, sir," she said. "That you are still
free and in England at all is a blessing you do not deserve, after
the crimes you have committed."

With a snarl, he lunged forward and grabbed
her by the arm, thrusting the pistol against her side. "Always so
very clever, my lady— or perhaps not. Come." Holding her arm in a
bruising grip, he walked her onto the field.

Lord Marcus was the first to notice them, and
at his startled movement, the others looked up. Luke, crouched by
Bellowsworth's side, rose and stepped forward with an oath. Then,
abruptly, he halted, his glance falling to the pistol Knox held,
still pressed firmly against Pearl's ribs.

"So we meet at last by light of day,
Lord
Hardwyck
," Knox said mockingly. "But this time I seem to have
the advantage. I mean to use it to repay you for what you have made
me suffer."

Luke paused for a long moment, as though
sizing up the situation, then slowly took one more step toward
Knox. Pearl, alert to his every nuance, noticed that he kept his
right hand behind him, out of sight.

"I believe your accounting is in error, dear
Uncle." Luke's voice was calm— deceptively calm, she thought. "You
are the one with a debt only partially paid. I confess I was most
disappointed when you chose not to contest my claim."

"I was given little choice in the matter, but
I am here to contest it now." Knox swept the small group with a
glance, his eye lingering on Bellowsworth. "I knew I could not
safely delegate such an important matter to a lily-livered poltroon
like you."

Luke took another cautious step forward. "A
curious epithet from a man who uses a lady as a shield," he
commented lightly. "One, in addition, who was not above murdering
women and children in their beds."

A chorus of muttered exclamations broke out
from the group behind him at these words, and Knox scowled. "If you
value this woman's life, you'll say no more on that subject."

With her eyes, Pearl tried to convey to Luke
that he was not to worry about her, but he did not even look at
her, keeping his eyes on her captor's, gauging his mood.

"What will it profit you to harm her?" asked
Luke reasonably. He seemed to be walking a fine line, trying to
unsettle the man without goading him into unreasoning fury. For her
sake, she knew.

"It is I who stand in the way of all you
want," he continued. "I who stripped you of your lands, title,
power. If you have but one shot to use, would it not be better
spent on me?"

The pistol in her side shifted slightly, and
Pearl, fearing that Knox meant to fire on Luke instead, twisted
suddenly in his grasp. "No!" she cried, heedless of the risk to
herself. "Luke, don't!"

With a vicious curse, Knox thrust her away
from him. Pearl fell to her hands and knees, then looked up to see
him bringing the pistol to bear upon Luke. Dodging to one side,
Luke whipped another weapon from behind him— Bellowsworth's, which
he must have retrieved from the ground before approaching his
uncle.

Pearl let out a scream at the report of
Knox's pistol, but the ball whizzed harmlessly past Luke's ear.
Falling to one knee, Luke himself took aim and pulled the
trigger.

Nothing happened.

"What the devil—?" He glanced questioningly
over his shoulder at Bellowsworth, whose color was gradually
returning.

"I . . . I unloaded it," his erstwhile
opponent stammered. "Knox said that your pistol would be rendered
useless, so after what Lady Pearl told me, I thought that if
neither of us could fire . . ."

With another oath, Knox tossed aside his
spent weapon, and now Luke did the same as the older man advanced
on him, his face suffused with a rage that bordered on madness.

"You're all in league!" he shouted. "But I'll
have what's mine again. I won't be made a fool of by anyone."

Luke stood his ground, his own anger seeming
to turn cold and dangerous as his uncle's burned the hotter.

Pearl turned to Lord Marcus and Lord
Ribbleton, who both seemed frozen in surprise. "Do something!" she
cried. "You must stop this."

Thus summoned to action, they stepped forward
to intervene before Knox and Luke could come to blows, but Luke
spoke sharply, halting them.

"No," he said, "This reckoning is past due.
I've a score of my own to settle, and now seems as good a time as
any."

"With fisticuffs?" asked Pearl, aghast. Luke
was taller than his uncle, but the older man was both broader and
heavier —and angrier. She doubted Knox would fight fairly, in any
event.

Luke did not even glance at her. "Did you not
say you were here to challenge my claim?" he asked his uncle.

A slow smile spread across Knox's face,
though the fury in his eyes did not lessen. "I did. Name your
weapons, Nephew."

Pearl thought she saw a glimmer of
satisfaction in Luke's eyes. "As pistols have proven singularly
unproductive this morning, I'll choose the swords." He motioned to
Lord Marcus who, after a moment's hesitation, strode to the edge of
the field and returned carrying a long wooden case.