Chapter Eleven
Willa and Dax left before the second poetry reading, mainly because Willa was starving and the champagne she’d drunk made her head spin just a little.
“Thank you for a charming evening,” Willa said to Mrs. Holt as they left. It wasn’t even disingenuous. She knew she’d been a social success, and it was, besides, the first she’d accomplished on her own, without either Dax or the benefit of his friends looking out for her.
“What were you thinking of?” Dax demanded as they made their way along the passage and downstairs toward their own rooms. “Going there without me?”
“Well, you weren’t here to go with me,” Willa said reasonably.
He blinked, clearly forced to acknowledge the truth of that, if not the logic.
“Besides,” she admitted as they approached their door. “I thought I might find you there already.”
He paused, staring at her for an instant before pushing open the door and almost yanking her inside by the wrist. Fortunately, there was no sign of Carson or Clara, for he kicked the door closed behind them and spun her against it, towering over her. Her heart lurched, with more than a hint of fear, for she’d never been on the receiving end of his anger before.
“You know who she is?” he said abruptly. “What she was to me?”
“I guessed,” she managed. She took a deep breath “The necklace you gave me—you bought it for her, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “But we had one quarrel too many and I never gave it.”
Still, Willa could swear Mrs. Holt had recognized it.
“Throw it away,” he said impatiently. “I never expected to encounter her here. There seemed to be no harm in your wearing it.”
“Is there harm in it now?” she blurted. “Will it offend her?”
Dax frowned. “I don’t care,” he said deliberately and bent his head, swooping to catch her lips with his.
It was an invasive kiss, hungry and possessive. She clutched his shoulders, then slid her fingers up into his hair, opening to him as he demanded. His hips pushed into her, pinning her to the door while he devoured her mouth. Nothing in the world had ever been so thrilling as his kiss, his hard, urgent body against hers, his hands in her hair, then roaming wildly down her side from breast to waist and thigh.
“When I kiss you,” he said huskily against her lips, “I could almost imagine you loved me, just a little.” He raised his head. “Do you?”
Already befuddled from his kiss, she almost blurted out the truth. Of course I love you. I always have, and now it’s so overwhelming it frightens me. But her tongue wouldn’t move. She could only stare up at his hot eyes, darkened with lust, and his beautiful, sinful mouth.
A rueful smile flickered across his face. “Of course, you don’t. You have no idea what binds a man and a woman. I think it might be time I took you to bed and showed you.”
Another wave of heat thrilled through her. She stood on tiptoe, pulling his head back down to reclaim his lips. His body caressed hers as he kissed her, and she thought she might burn up in bliss and need that she barely understood.
And then a loud knock thundered in her ear, making her jump and gasp. Half laughing, Dax whisked her up in his arms and strode with her into her bedchamber, where Clara waited, openmouthed with shock.
This was a situation Willa had never even thought of. What did one do with one’s maid when one’s husband visited?
“Go away,” Dax growled. “Her ladyship will ring for you.” He didn’t appear remotely embarrassed. In fact, he didn’t even wait for the door to close before he buried his mouth in Willa’s and lowered her to the bed.
He came with her. There was an instant when she felt his full, glorious weight upon her. He groaned, lifting himself a little so that he could kiss her throat and shoulders. Beyond the sitting room, the urgent knocking at the outside door stopped abruptly.
Willa was glad. Trembling and desperate, her fingers tangled in her husband’s hair. Somewhere, beyond the pleasure, she was aware of Clara’s voice denying Lord and Lady Daxton to their caller.
“I know they’re at home, so stand aside,” Lord Tamar’s voice said. And then, closer. “Dax? I know you’re in there. Come out.”
Dax raised his head, swearing beneath his breath. A violent conflict raged in his eyes. Then, reluctantly, he eased himself off her. “I’ll get rid of him,” he muttered, standing and straightening his coat before he strode out of the room.
Willa sat up slowly. She could still feel the imprint of his kisses and his hands on her shaking body, but at least without his overwhelming presence she could think again. Was this truly the time to become his wife in every sense? He’d spoken of love, but it was hers, not his, he’d been concerned with.
She’d never expected him to bring up the subject of love, certainly not this evening when they’d just come from his mistress’s rooms. And even if he truly imagined he was finished with Helena, it didn’t seem to Willa that Helena was finished with him.
The door opened again and her eyes flew to Dax. She knew at once he wasn’t staying, for he didn’t come in, merely stuck his head around the door.
“Sorry, Will, I have to take care of something. Why don’t you order us a light supper? And I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Of course,” she said easily. She should have been relieved, but in truth, she was horribly disappointed.
*
Leaving Willa at that moment was one of the hardest things Dax had ever forced himself to do. It had been a spontaneous rather than a planned seduction, but her instant, melting response to his kiss had inflamed him almost to the point of no return.
But perhaps Tamar’s intervention—damn him—was for the best, for though Dax no longer felt drunk, he had been drinking all afternoon and one was not at one’s sensitive best in such a condition. For Willa, he should take account of such things. He’d never had a virgin before. All his lovers—and since he’d been in his teens he’d known them from all classes—had been experienced women of the world, skilled in physical love. Willa, he was afraid of hurting with his lust.
In any case, he couldn’t ignore what Tamar had just told him.
“I’ve just come from Helena Holt’s. No, I wasn’t invited, but she claimed she would have sent me a card if she’d known I was in Blackhaven these days. I suppose I’m still a marquis, albeit a poor one. Anyway, there doesn’t seem to be much wrong with her health. She was quite thick with that Jeremy Leigh chap.”
“Yes, he was sniffing around Helena in London,” Dax remarked. “He’s probably her latest flirt, to call it no plainer. He was also very attentive to Willa. I’m not sure I like that.”
“I don’t,” Tamar agreed. “For I think your Helena’s up to something. She spoke quite a lot to Shelby, and to his mother and sister. And they are still spreading the story of Willa stealing from them. The purse is no longer mentioned, just missing items which disappeared with Willa on the night you eloped, making it sound as if the purse—which everyone knows Shelby lost to you—was just one of those items.”
“An alliance between Helena and the very proper Shelbys? Who’d have thought it. I suppose I’d better go and call Ralph out.”
“You’re very casual about it,” Tamar observed, as Dax swept up his hat and gloves and strode to the door. “And Dax? You really don’t want to drag your wife’s name into it.”
“Since when did you become this model of propriety?” Dax demanded.
“I suppose I must have absorbed it somehow,” Tamar said thoughtfully. “Though to be sure, I never pay a blind bit of attention on my own account. Never been married or likely to be.”
“It does make you stop and think,” Dax said ruefully. “Which in my case, is probably a good thing. I was pretty much going to the devil.”
“According to most people, you’d already gone,” Tamar contributed.
“Oh no, one can always go further. But I can’t really drag Willa with me. Wouldn’t be right.”
Tamar’s lips twitched. “No, it wouldn’t,” he agreed gravely.
Dax eyed him without favor. “Stop laughing at me or I’ll shoot you, too. Where is Shelby? Still at Helena’s?”
“No, he left just after you did. My guess? Pinkie’s place.”
“What the devil is Pinkie’s place?”
“The brothel,” Tamar said candidly. “We met outside it last week. Pinkie won’t like you picking a fight, though.”
“Oh, I’ll be discretion itself,” Dax said savagely.
*
Pinkie’s was aptly named. The Madam, presumably, was called after her favorite color which was reflected in her gown and in the décor of the establishment. Apart from that, the public room into which Dax and Tamar were shown, could almost have been some society drawing room.
A young woman in a flounced yellow gown played upon the piano forte and sang rather beautifully, while several other women circulated amongst the gentlemen, refilling glasses and making conversation. As Dax sat, taking it all in, one gentleman rose with the lady beside him and discreetly left the room. A moment later, another middle-aged gentleman came in and sat down with a smile upon his face. Dax had rarely seen anyone look so pleased with themselves.
“What brings such a handsome man as you to our establishment?” a girl asked, sitting beside him. Her accent was local but not so thick that he couldn’t understand her. And she was eye-catchingly pretty with jet-black hair and smoldering dark eyes.
“I’m glad you asked,” Dax said. “In fact, I’m looking for someone.”
She smiled cheekily. “Is it me?”
“I wish it was. I understand he’s become a frequent visitor here over the last week or so. Shelby is his name.”
The girl’s smile vanished, which was when Dax knew the bastard hadn’t changed. “Is he a friend of yours?” she asked.
“Not exactly.”
“Perhaps there’s something I can do for you while you wait. A glass of wine, perhaps?” She picked up a nearby bottle and poured him a glass, which he accepted. “And some company?”
“I like your company and if I was looking for a girl, it would be you,” Dax said frankly. “Sadly, I’m only here for a word with your other…guest.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, laying her warm hand on his knee. “I can tell,” she said, her hand gliding upward over his thigh, “when a man is in need of love.”
“I expect you can,” he said ruefully, catching her hand and holding it on his leg before it could roam any higher. “Only it isn’t always the kind you pay for that’s needed.”
“No,” she agreed, “but it’s better than nothing. And if you pay, you’re not being unfaithful.”
Dax laughed. “Definitely I would have picked you,” he said, just as Ralph Shelby strolled into the room as if he owned it. Dalliance could do that to a man, but Dax was more than happy to burst his self-congratulatory bubble. He stood up.
Shelby came to an abrupt halt, staring at Dax in surprised alarm before the inevitable sneer settled on his face. “Surprised to see you here, Daxton. Conjugal bliss worn off already?”
Dax refused to be riled. “Didn’t come to sample fleshly pleasure, just to see you.”
“Should I be flattered?”
“God, no. I was a trifle bosky on the night I left for Scotland, so the memory’s been coming back to me in flashes. Tonight’s flash was you accusing me of cheating. I’ve come for your apology.”
Sudden silence filled the room. Neither the gentlemen clients nor the ladies of pleasure were the center of anyone’s attention any longer. Even the girl in the yellow gown stopped playing the piano.
Shelby wouldn’t apologize in public, whatever he might have done in private. It was one of the reasons Dax had approached him here.
“Apologize?” Shelby sneered. “The brandy has addled your brain, Daxton. Certainly your memory is faulty.”
“Not in this case,” some helpful gent said from across the room. “I was there and heard you say it, Shelby.”
Shelby shrugged irritably. “Well, I don’t recall it, so I’m damned if I’ll apologize for it.”
Daxton smiled. “Then I have no choice but to challenge you.” Tamar materialized at his side. “Lord Tamar will act for me.” He nodded curtly, then turned to kiss the hand of his black-haired companion. “Enchanté, mademoiselle.” And he strolled out, leaving the pink house and walking round to the tavern, where he expected Tamar to join him.
Barely ten minutes later, the impoverished marquis slid onto the bench opposite him. “It’s arranged for tomorrow morning, so you’d better stop drinking.”
“I shoot better in my cups.”
“No, you don’t. And he has chosen pistols. At dawn on the beach beyond the town. Apparently, the tide will be out. One shot each and honor is satisfied.”
Daxton nodded.
Tamar hesitated. “He’s not a bad shot, I hear. He practices at Manton’s.”
“So, do I. And he’s never fought a duel before. Plus, he’s a damned coward.”
“You think you can make him apologize?”
“I think I can make him shut himself and his mother up about Willa’s so-called theft. Though I’m contemplating killing him anyway and doing the world a favor.”
“Would Willa like that?” Tamar wondered.
“I don’t know.” Dax shifted restlessly. “He’s still her cousin, but she don’t like him much. Which isn’t to say she’d condone his killing.”
“Neither would the magistrate,” Tamar warned. “One more thing. He’s chosen Sir Jeremy Leigh and some chap called Tranter as his seconds. I can’t vouch for their discretion.”
“Which is why I’m offended by him calling me a cheat and not by his calling Willa a thief.”
“Tongues will wag,” Tamar warned.
“I don’t pay attention to that,” Dax said impatiently.
“Does Willa?” Tamar countered.
Dax gave a slightly twisted smile and pushed his beer mug aside. “Let’s hope not, since the poor girl is married to me!”
*
Willa woke to awareness of someone else in the room. For her, that was nothing unusual. It had happened so often in her aunt’s house as someone came to rouse her to deal with a trivial want. Half asleep, she lay perfectly still and hoped they’d go away, which is what she’d tried to do at her aunt’s when she was totally exhausted. It had never worked, just given her a few extra seconds.
The knowledge that she was no longer with her aunt, swam slowly through the clouds of sleep. Clara? Was it morning already? She was about to speak when something touched her hair in a gentle caress. Her breath caught, because she sensed him now, his touch, his scent. Dax.
He’d come back last night just as she was finishing her solitary supper and joined her in wolfing down what was left. His mood had changed completely from amorousness to cheerful companionship, but since the servants were in the room that was rather more comfortable. Unusually, he’d shown no signs of going out again, so when Willa had retired as normal to her own chamber, undressed for bed and dismissed Clara, she’d lain awake for some time, wondering if he would join her at last.
He hadn’t. But he was here now. She could hear his even breath as he stood by the bed, gazing down at her. She was afraid to move in case she spoiled the moment. Yet, she should speak, let him know she was awake.
She opened her eyes. The room was in total darkness, for he carried no light. All she could make out was a man-shaped patch of blacker darkness beside the bed. Longing surged, thrilling through her whole body. She wanted him to lie with her again, hold her as he’d done before the wretched Tamar had interrupted them. She wanted her arms around him, feeling the hard strength of his body, stroking his hair and naked back. She wanted his mouth on hers, his hands…
For a moment, the whole world seemed to stand still. Then he moved, turning and walking away from her. The door hushed across the floor and quietly clicked shut.
Disappointment flooded her. Why didn’t I take his hand? Speak to him? Why didn’t he wake me? Why did he just stand there?
In truth, the last was so very unlike Dax that she began to wonder if she’d dreamed the whole thing. She wanted him there so much that she’d imagined it in her sleep, and when she’d wakened properly, he’d vanished.
Perhaps. But listening, she was sure she could hear him beyond her door, moving quietly across the sitting room. On impulse, she rose and sped through the darkness to her door, all but wrenching it open. But everything was dark there, too. No light shone beneath his bedchamber door that she could see. No one spoke to her.
She swallowed and turned back into her own room, closing the door and gingerly feeling her way back to bed.
*
Dr. Lampton, although he’d come in answer to Tamar’s summons, scowled ferociously at Dax in the lantern light.
“I should have known it was you. Haven’t you been shot enough?”
Dax grinned. His wound barely troubled him at all. In fact, it was almost healed.
Dawn on the beach was beautiful, spreading a grey, eerie light over the sea. Dax had walked down to the beach with his seconds—Tamar and, somewhat bizarrely, the vicar Tristram Grant.
“I thought we needed God on our side,” Tamar had said irreverently.
“Well, He isn’t,” Grant had retorted, “There are enough people blowing each other’s heads off in war. Why would He support two more trying to kill each over some imagined slight to their vanity?”
“Harsh,” Dax commented. “And convincing. I’m surprised you couldn’t negotiate an apology and reconciliation.”
“He tried,” Tamar said. “He tried very hard. I almost apologized myself. But surprisingly, Shelby would not consider it. He really hates your guts, Dax.”
“I should have brought the Watch,” Grant muttered as bobbing lights heralded the figures of Shelby, Leigh, and Tranter hurrying down the path to the beach and walked across the sand toward them.
“I wish you had,” Lampton said grimly. “I wish I’d thought of it.”
“I imagined you must have attended dozens of such affairs, with the barracks being here,” Dax said.
“If the officers decide to shoot each other, they use their own doctor,” Lampton retorted. “Although right now, the vast majority of them, including the surgeon, are on the Peninsula, being killed for king and country instead of for nothing.”
“You’re bad for morale,” Dax observed. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”
Tamar and Grant went again to consult with Shelby’s seconds, but again apology was ruled out. Tamar suggested moving further down the beach away from the path, but Shelby said impatiently, “Here is fine. Just get on with it!”
Since the sun wasn’t yet risen, looking into it was not an issue. The seconds placed lanterns strategically so that both men would be able to see in the poor light, but not be blinded.
Seizing his pistol, Shelby stood facing the sea. Dax strolled over and stood back to back with him, facing the shore.
“Twenty paces, gentlemen,” Leigh said quietly. “Then turn and fire.”
Dax had fought several duels before this. The excitement, the actions, were all familiar to him. But he couldn’t remember ever feeling this grim before. Almost…nervous. Afraid. Of course, he’d generally been bleary from lack of sleep, or even still foxed from the night before, but he’d never thought of himself as a fearful kind of man.
Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps he really would die today, failing to protect Willa’s honor. Willa… He wanted to live for Willa. In previous duels, he hadn’t much cared whether he’d lived or died. If he’d thought about it at all, he had a blind and quite unreasonable faith in his own survival. Plus, he was a good shot and he never aimed to kill, although such things tended to be in the lap of the gods.
Something glinted above the path. He thought they were about to get interrupted, but it was too late to stop now.
“Twenty,” said Leigh, and Dax turned, his side to the sea, his right arm stretched out as he took aim and fired.
The crack of the gunshots was familiar, too, though the sharp pain in his shoulder was quite unexpected.
The bastard hit me!
The “bastard” in question had gone down, so at least Dax had hit him, too.
Dax threw his pistol on the ground and ignoring all etiquette, strode across the sand toward Shelby, who lay on the ground, his coat ripped off his right arm, bright red blood staining the shirt beneath. His face was white, his eyes wild with pain and fear.
“Here, Dax,” Leigh protested. “Go away, old man. Let the doctor in.”
“I will,” Dax assured him, fixing his erstwhile opponent with his scowl. “I’m still standing, Shelby, so you lose. If there’s a next time, I’ll sue you in court and see which of us hates that more. Or I might just kill you.” He turned away. “He’s all yours, Dr. Lampton.”
“Sit down before you fall, man,” Lampton growled. “You’re hit in the shoulder.”
“Nonsense,” Dax said, striding back toward his friends who were hurrying to meet him. He was only half way there before the blood singing in his ears rose to a crescendo and the sand rushed up to meet him.