Free A Matter of Duty by Sandra Heath Page A

surgeon, Mr Thomson, who looked decidedly uneasy about the whole business. William, Lord Rowe, was forty years old, and of slim, aesthetic appearance. His face was refined and aristocratic, but very cold and hard, and he was dressed in black. He had thinning dark hair, graying at the temples, and his eyes were a chill pale-blue; these eyes swung toward the newcomers the moment they appeared, giving them a calculating, malevolent glance that spoke volumes of the loathing he felt for them, especially Kit, because of the Mercury . He said not a word.
    Leaving Tom standing with Dudley, Kit went to confer with Dillington. The main purpose of this preliminary discussion was to see if the duel could, with honor, be abandoned, but as the fop struck a pose and exuded an air of ennui, Kit knew that there was no hope of this.
    ‘I thay, Highclare,’ lisped Dillington, flicking open his snuffbox, ‘can’t we get thith wetched bithneth over and done with ath thoon ath pothible? I confeth I’m devlish hungwy, and the Horth and Gwoom do a thplendid beef pie.’
    ‘A plague on your stomach, Dillington,’ snapped Kit. ‘This is much more important.’
    The fop was offended. ‘Ath you wish, of corth, though let me thay thwaightaway that me fwend here ith thet on eight patheth at the motht.’
    Kit was appaled. ‘Eight paces? Convention demands twelve, no more and no less. I won’t agree to anything else.’
    ‘But—’
    ‘Twelve paces,’ insisted Kit, determined not to allow Rowe any more advantage than he already had over poor Tom.
    Dillington closed the little box with a snap. ‘Vewy well, twelve patheth, if you inthitht. It don’t thignify much anyway, your fellow’th ath good ath dead.’
    ‘There’s no need for anyone to die, Dillington. All you have to do is get Rowe to admit he was a little slippery-fingered, and then we can all toddle off to the Horse and Groom for beef pie.’
    ‘Your fellow’th at fault, Highclare, he’th the one who mutht weetwact.’
    ‘If that’s what you believe, sir, we have stalemate.’
    The fop affected to stifle a yawn. ‘Thith ith gettin’ tediouth, Highclare. Shall we pwotheed?’
    ‘Very well, but at twelve paces.’
    ‘Whatever you thay,’ drawled Dillington, turning and strolling back to Rowe and the surgeon.
    Kit returned to Tom and Dudley. Tom smiled a little nervously. ‘It’s all set, then?’
    ‘I’m afraid so. God damn it, Tom, why won’t you retract? To go ahead with this now is to throw your fool life away!’
    ‘If I step back from this, Kit, I’ll never be able to look anyone in the eye again. I have to go through with it, no matter what the price.’
    ‘None of this is worth your life.’
    ‘It is to me.’ Tom looked urgently at him then. ‘Kit, you must give me your word you’ll marry Louisa.’
    Kit was startled. ‘Tom, I can’t just—’
    ‘Of course you can. Please, for it means everything to me.’ Tom knew he was being grossly unfair, begging such a thing when the circumstances were so very dire, but he was absolutely convinced that the marriage was the answer to everything. ‘Your word, Kit. I implore you.’
    Kit didn’t want to promise anything, but the urgency in Tom’s eyes was very hard to resist. Reluctantly he nodded, hardly able to believe it was his own voice replying. ‘Very well, Tom, you have my word, but only if she wants such a match.’
    Tom thought of what he’d written in the letter and smiled. ‘She’ll want it, you have my assurance of that. Marry her quickly, my friend, don’t give yourself time to fall back into your old ways. Thea will give you nothing, my sister will give you everything. Promise me you won’t delay. I want no respectful but pointless mourning for me, I want the marriage to take place immediately.’
    ‘You’re not dead yet,’ said Kit uneasily. He was being cornered and didn’t much care for it.
    ‘Your word on all I ask, Kit. Please.’
    Kit nodded. ‘Very well.’
    Tom’s eyes cleared