Page 92 of Only a Mistress Will Do

Her stomach roiled and she bit back her gorge. Never again would she allow Tris to put her through such a thing. Her heart hammered as they passed through the gates that gave entry to the estate. The world spun and she grabbed the leather strap above her head.

“Are you all right, my lady?” Alarmed, Susan put out a hand to steady her.

“No, I fear I am not, Susan. Nor will I be until this ghastly ordeal is past.” Violet tried to smile at the maid, but couldn’t hold back the sob that broke forth instead.

“All we can do is pray, my lady.” Susan patted her hand. “I think we are here.” She nodded to the large pond that had come into sight when they topped a small rise. Two other carriages had pulled up next to the shore and two sets of combatants were milling around.

Violet spied Tris immediately and her tension eased a bit. “Thank God.” She rapped on the roof and Stokes opened the trap. “Take us down there, Stokes.”

“Wait, my lady.” Susan grasped her arm and Violet held a hand up to stay the coachman. “Did you ever think Lord Trevor may have left you at the inn for a reason? You don’t want to go down there and distract him when he needs all his wits about him.”

Violet sighed and leaned back against the leather seat. “I know, but I had to come. I would have gone mad with not knowing until they came back.”

“Tell Stokes to get us close enough to see what’s happening, but don’t get out until it’s done.” Susan squeezed her hand. “I cannot stand for very long in any case.”

This business would be the end of her. “Very well. Stokes, close enough to see, but not close enough to intrude.”

“Very good, my lady.” The trap snapped shut and they crept forward.

The duelists had taken their positions by the time the carriage halted, some yards from the area of combat. The two men saluted and Violet grabbed Susan’s hand, clutching it so hard her own fingers ached.

Tris raised his sword, the steel flashing in the full sunlight that lit the scene with too much clarity. He had doffed his coat and cravat, despite the cold, so the breeze fluttered his unfettered shirt. Attired informally, in buckskin breeches and stocking feet, splashed with mud, he nevertheless stood alert, like a coiled snake waiting to strike.

Simon Harper, similarly attired, lifted his sword over his head, a sickening smirk on his face. He said something and Tris smiled and replied, his gaze never wavering from his opponent. Both men seemed poised, waiting for the other to make the first move.

Suddenly Tris exploded forward, his blade ringing as it slashed back and forth, seeking the target. Harper, however, met each blow easily, both rapiers singing as they exchanged stroke for stroke. Graceful as dancers, the duelists slithered back and forth on the muddy ground. Pray God Tris did not slip.

Harper took the offensive, pushing Tris back toward the edge of the pond. The evil joy on Harper’s face brought her to her feet. “I’ve got to go out there.”

“No, my lady.” Susan’s hand stayed her.

She thumped into her seat and lowered her face into her hands. Much more of this would kill her.

“My lady.” The edge in Susan’s voice brought Violet’s head up.

Tris had ceased his retreat. He stood tall and with a mighty crash, knocked Harper’s sword upward, throwing the man backward, off balance. Tris grinned, pure pleasure in his face, as he swung his blade down across Harper’s thigh. Blood welled up immediately, staining the white breeches.

Clutching his leg, Harper yelled, and fell to the ground.

Still grinning, Tris saluted him, then offered a hand to his opponent.

Harper batted it away and shouted a name. Two men ran to his side. They dropped to their knees and seemed to be assessing the wound.

Tris turned away, heading toward the carriage where Mr. Matthews and the marquess stood, identical smiles on their faces.

Relief washed through Violet like a tidal wave. She cried and hugged Susan. “He’s alive. Oh, thank God.”

“I prayed the whole time, my lady.” Susan extracted her handkerchief and wiped her eyes.

“I must go to him.” Violet opened the door and slid to the ground. “Come, Susan.” She helped the maid to the ground, eager to set off toward Tris, who was talking to Matthews and Lord Dalbury. She slowed her gait, however, to match Susan’s hobbling pace. “Be careful of the mud.”

“Don’t wait for me.” Susan laughed, picking her way through the muck with her cane.

As Violet turned back to her, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye.

Mr. Harper’s seconds had staunched the bleeding and were tying a bandage around his bloody leg. They lifted him until he could stand, leaning heavily on the young man on his left.

A flash of metal and a pistol appeared in Simon Harper’s right hand. His grim lips pulled taut as he leveled his arm and pointed his weapon at Tris’s back.