Shadows flitted through Emmaline’s mind, forming an outline of a table. A gaming table. Next to it, sprawled across the floor, was a man, his eyes open and his lips parted. It was Lionel’s father.

She knelt beside him, desperate for him to wake up. But then the face changed, and it was Lionel, his blue eyes vacant and his flesh cold.

“Emmaline.”

She sat up with a gasp and blinked, completely disoriented. The cat jumped off her legs, and she looked at the room around her. Lionel’s office. Right. She’d fallen asleep on the settee.

“Emmaline, can you hear me?”

She turned to the sound of the voice. “West?”

He stood beside the settee, his face a mask of fear and concern.

“I need you to come with me. I pray you can talk sense into him.”

What the devil was he talking about? She swung her legs to the floor and rubbed her eyes. “Go where with you? Talk sense into whom?”

“Lionel.” West never called him that. He’d always been Ax. “Sir Duncan challenged him to a duel.”

She leapt to her feet, her blood racing. “No, he wouldn’t do that. He promised me.” He’d promised himself.

“Tell that to his ridiculous sense of honor. Sir Duncan says he stole you from him and demands satisfaction.”

“Sir Duncan can go to the devil. Where is Lionel?”

West exhaled. “Thank God. I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Why not?”

There was a brief pause before West answered. “I’m never quite certain how things are between the two of you. Today, when I first saw Ax, he was in one of his moods.”

“Yes, he was.” She was going to have to figure out a way to cure him of those. God, she hoped she could.

“Come, we need to hurry. The duel will be starting soon.”

She realized she didn’t know much about duels but was pretty sure they didn’t happen so quickly. “What happened to meeting at dawn?”

“You’d have to ask Sir Duncan why he’s in such a damnable hurry.”

She started toward the door. “Oh, I plan to do many things to Sir Duncan, and none of them involves talking.”

West grinned in spite of the dire situation. “I couldn’t imagine a better wife for Ax. I hope he appreciates you.”

“He does.” That wasn’t their problem. “You have your coach, I presume?”

“Yes.” As they stepped into the entry hall, West turned to the butler. “Tulk, please prepare for injury. His lordship is dueling again.”

Tulk pursed his lips. “He doesn’t get injured.”

“The challenger chose swords.”

“I see.” Grimacing, Tulk took himself off to do as West bade.

Emmaline grabbed West’s arm. “Why is that bad?”

West flinched. “Ax is terrible with a sword.”

“Which is why Sir Duncan chose them.” Fury burned up Emmaline’s throat as fear weighted her belly.

West opened the door for her. “Probably.”

She stepped outside and looked up as a raindrop fell onto her nose.

Once they were ensconced in the coach, she asked if the rain could delay or postpone the duel.

“It’s up to Sir Duncan, and I doubt he’ll decide to do that,” West said.

“Is he good with a sword?” The coach moved forward, and agitation curled through her, tensing her muscles and turning her stomach.

“Certainly better than Ax.”

She suddenly wished she’d practiced swordplay instead of shooting. “Do you have a pistol?”

“I do.” He patted the cushion beside him. “Beneath the squab.”

“Bring it with you.”

He shook his head. “I can’t do that. There are rules. Only those without honor break them, and Ax would never allow it. You don’t know this, but Geoffrey broke the rules. If he hadn’t, he’d likely still be alive.”

She couldn’t summon even an iota of surprise. “What did he do?”

“He fired before twenty. Ax fired in reaction, intending to cause a glancing injury in case Townsend decided to come at him. Townsend moved, and the bullet landed a more direct hit.”

“I’m beginning to think he wanted to die,” she said, shaking her head. She was suddenly quite done feeling bad that he’d died or guilty or that she somehow couldn’t allow herself happiness with Lionel because of what he’d done. Really, he hadn’t done anything except try to help a friend. Geoffrey had turned it into a disaster.

She peered over at West. “Lionel told you not to tell me.” Of course he had.

West nodded.

“Honor,” they both said in unison.

“Let us hope it doesn’t lead him to his death,” West said darkly. Rain pounded the coach in earnest, casting an even greater sense of gloom.

Her gut clenched as the coach turned into the park. She couldn’t lose him. Not now. Not like this. And definitely not before she told him how very much she loved him.

* * *

Lionel folded the parchment and set it on the cushion in his coach. He opened the door and jumped out, blinking at the rain streaming into his eyes.

He’d left his coat inside with the letter he’d written to Emmaline. If he didn’t see her again, he wanted her to know how much he loved her and how sorry he was to have found himself in this position once more.

Anguish sliced through him, and he doubled over. He took in several great breaths, trying to slow his pounding heart.

Sutton came up to him. “He still isn’t interested in a peaceful resolution.”

“No, I expect he isn’t.” Lionel stood, squaring his shoulders as tumult rioted within him. “Let us get on with it.”

They walked to the dueling field, where Sir Duncan stood with his second and a physician.

It was, by chance, the same man who’d attended his duel with Townsend. That didn’t seem to bode well.

Hell, he was dueling with a weapon he hadn’t used in years in the middle of a downpour and was fairly certain he wouldn’t be able to muster an adequate defense. None of it boded well.

A small audience—perhaps ten men—had gathered. Lionel preferred not to allow spectators, but this wasn’t his duel.

Lionel and Sutton approached the table that had been set up. On it laid the sabers.

Sir Duncan and his second joined them.

“Remove your shirts,” Sir Duncan’s second announced.

Lionel untied his cravat and tugged it off, letting it fall to the table. He unbuttoned his waistcoat next, stripping it away. He dropped the sodden garment next to his cravat. Finally, he pulled his shirt over his head, exposing his upper body so they could see he wasn’t wearing mail or any other sort of protection.

Sir Duncan did the same, moving quickly for a man of his years. “You know I served in the army?” he taunted.

“I do.”

The seconds unsheathed the sabers and measured them. Finding them equal, they handed the weapons to the opponents.

“The duel is to Sir Duncan’s satisfaction, which may or may not be first blood,” Sir Duncan’s second announced.

“So it could also be to the death?” Sutton asked with a wry tone that almost made Lionel laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Sir Duncan’s second smirked before turning and stalking to the edge of the dueling field.

Lionel hefted the sword in his hand. It was heavy and a bit awkward, if he were honest. He held it up and squinted through the rain at Sir Duncan, who was busy slashing his blade through the droplets filling the air.

“Take your places,” Sir Duncan’s second called.

Sutton edged close to Lionel. “It isn’t too late to refuse.”

Lionel didn’t bother replying. His mind darkened with thoughts of Emmaline. He didn’t want to contemplate the fact that he might never see her again, but he must. And maybe it was for the best. Maybe this was how it was all supposed to end for him.

Once they were on their marks, Sir Duncan’s second called for the duel to begin.

Lionel couldn’t move. He had to defend himself, but when he thought of going on the attack… What if he inadvertently killed Sir Duncan too? He couldn’t take that chance.

Sir Duncan thrust, spurring Lionel to finally move. He managed a weak parry as he darted to avoid the attack. Sir Duncan lunged again, and again Lionel barely avoided injury. This happened several more times before Sir Duncan howled. “Why aren’t you charging?”

Because he was just trying to find his damn footing and get used to the sword. Lionel didn’t answer but slashed his blade through the air to loosen his shoulder. Perhaps he could disarm the man. Yes, that was what he’d try to do. And pray to God he didn’t hurt him in the process.

Lionel danced forward, and Sir Duncan met him, his sword raised.

“Lionel!”

The sound of her voice distracted him just enough. Sir Duncan’s blade came down and sank into Lionel’s side. He staggered back and wondered why he wasn’t bleeding. He felt a sharp pain. Shouldn’t there be blood?

He looked down, his left hand coming against the wound. Red stained his flesh. There was, in fact, blood. And plenty of it. He hadn’t felt it because of the rain.

He staggered a few steps, then dropped to his knees. Mud sucked at him, and as he fell to the side, he saw Emmaline racing toward him. She threw herself to the ground beside him, her face pale but so beautiful.

She took the sword from his hand and stood, brandishing it toward Sir Duncan, who’d moved toward them. “If you come any closer, I will kill you. Axbridge didn’t steal me. I didn’t want you. I chose him. I love him. You are an abject fool, and now everyone knows it.”

Lionel couldn’t see Sir Duncan’s face. Rain had effectively blinded him as he lay on the ground, pain radiating from his side. He was vaguely aware of someone else approaching. Darkness threatened, but he didn’t want to go, not yet.

“Emmaline.” He fought to say the word and worried she wouldn’t hear him.

But she was there, kneeling beside him. Thankfully, he could see her at least.

“I’m here, my love.” She stroked his face, brushing the rain away. It was a pointless endeavor, for it simply fell and drenched him once more.

“I wrote you a letter. It’s in my coach.”

The physician—at least he hoped it was the physician—began prodding at his wound. He winced, then let out a groan.

Emmaline cupped his cheek. “You’re going to be all right.”

He tried to shake his head, but had no idea if he was successful. “Doesn’t matter. Knowing you love me means I can die happy.”

She glared down at him, her eyes blazing and glorious. “Don’t you dare die!”

“I love you, Emmaline.” He closed his eyes and surrendered to the void.