A Kiss of Lies (34 page)

Christian removed his coat and waistcoat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He swung his arm in an arc, rotating his shoulder in wide sweeps. Thankfully it was more mobile than it had been in a long while. However, in order to win, he’d have to finish Dennett off quickly. His shoulder would tire sooner than Dennett’s.

Although he’d not had much practice with the rapier, the war had seen to it that he’d used a sword. The feel of steel in his hand once more was comfortable, like a friend he’d not seen in a long time. He practiced with a few thrusts and parries.

Soon the call came for the two men to take their places. Christian shook hands with Hadley and Arend, closed his eyes and prayed for victory, and tried to put all thoughts of Serena from his mind. Totally focused, he turned and walked to face the man who had the one thing he wanted more than life itself. Serena.

He would not fail her.

“Ready to die, Markham?” Although Dennett’s words were spoken confidently, there
was a line of sweat beading his upper lip and forehead.

Christian performed a mocking bow. “Only one of us will be dying today, and it won’t be me.”

“Pretty confident for a man who up until a few days ago had limited use of his arm.” He barked a harsh laugh. “I knew you’d be stupid enough to issue a challenge, and you fell into my trap.” He took his stance, whispering so that only Christian could hear, “How long do you think Serena will survive once you’re dead? So easy to lose someone at sea, but we’ll have a chance to reacquaint ourselves before she is washed overboard.”

Christian flexed his blade. “You really are a bastard, Dennett. I hope once I’ve skewered you, you die a slow, agonizing death.”

With that, Dennett came at him with a flurry of thrusts. Christian immediately went on the defensive. Usually, defending adequately won the duel. Very rarely did an aggressive attacker win, but Christian didn’t have the luxury of a long battle, and by the looks of it, Dennett knew that. He knew if he kept Christian in a defensive pose he’d wear him down.

Keeping his body centered and upright, Christian parried each of Dennett’s thrusts. His strategy was to wait, defend well, and seize the opportunity when it came.

And it would come. If he pretended to tire, Dennett would become overconfident and an opening would present itself to thrust directly into Dennett’s black heart.

Only flaw was, he might actually tire first. Remorselessly, Christian parried each of Dennett’s thrusts. Dennett pushed him round, forcing him back.

The fight raged, and it didn’t take long for his shoulder to start burning. He pushed the pain from his mind. Dennett must have sensed weakness, and his thrusts became more aggressive. Serena’s face smiled at him from behind his eyelids, and suddenly rage overtook Christian. He moved from defense to attack, his thrusts imbued with the strength of a man fighting for the woman he loved. He used his feet well, lunging to his left while forcing his sword up and under Dennett’s sword arm. Christian’s rapier’s point touched bone; he’d sliced Dennett’s armpit.

“Now we’re even—your shoulder’s damaged too,” he snarled to his nemesis.

Dennett let out a roar, his teeth bared, his eyes burning with hatred. He renewed his attack, blood dripping down his side from his injured armpit.

Up until this point Christian had ignored the rumblings of the crowd, but now they rose to
a roar. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a horse or pony barreling toward them. His lack of concentration cost him as Dennett’s rapier grazed his scarred cheek. He could feel blood flow.

At the scratch, a feminine scream rent the air and the pony barreled into the fighters, sending Christian flying one way and Dennett the other.

“Don’t you hurt Lord Markham, you horrid man.”

Oh, my god, it was Lily. And Jack! He’d kill Thomas for allowing his ward near the fight.

Christian scrambled to his feet, desperately looking around for Arend. Dennett was on his feet and moving toward Lily’s horse. Fear clenched in his gut. If Dennett tried to hurt her … But then Lily moved her horse closer and belted him over the head with her crop. “You leave Lord Markham alone. I’ll not let you kill him, you bully.”

Her words saw the fifty-plus men around the dueling field burst into raucous laughter.

Just then two more horses arrived with Serena and Maitland riding upon them. Maitland grabbed the bridle of Lily’s horse and began to lead the child from the field.

Serena saw the trail of blood running down Christian’s cheek, and her face paled. She jumped down and ran to his side. “Please don’t do this. Please … for me. I couldn’t bear it if you were killed.”

They stood staring at each other, both breathing heavily.

“I won’t lose, sweetheart. I have too much to live for. You.” He nodded. “Lily.” And then he covered her stomach. “And our children.” She made to speak, but he lifted his hand to cover her mouth. “I know his moves and I know how to kill him. Let me end this. Have faith in me.”

He watched her swallow hard. “I do have faith, but I’m so scared.”

He moved closer and was drawing her into his arms when a gunshot rang out across the field and Serena slumped into his arms.

Christian’s heart leaped into his mouth. Serena!

Lily screamed and the crowd stilled. Everything happened slowly. Serena began to sink to her knees, as Christian tried desperately to deny what he’d heard, what he was seeing.

There was always a doctor present at a duel, thank God. “Get the bloody doctor,” Christian yelled to the men standing openmouthed behind him.

Maitland had taken off in the direction the shot came from, his horse flying over the ground.

Hadley was holding Lily back; the child was sobbing and trying to get to him, but all he could think about was Serena.

He laid her gently on the grass. Her breathing was raspy, and he felt his world slipping away. She was his world, his future, his everything. He threw back his head and howled with pain.

Serena gulped in big breaths of air, trying to calm her panic. She was still alive. The euphoria of that fact waned as pain twisted like a knife in her chest. She knew she’d been hit with a bullet.

She looked down her body, trying to see the gaping wound, but her vision began to blur. Was she dying? She must be, for through a haze she saw Christian’s face filled with fear peering down at her.

Words tried to form, but she couldn’t get them out.

“Shush, sweetheart. I’m here. Save your strength. You’re going to be fine. Promise me you won’t die. Fight, Serena. Fight to live and be with me.”

Fight? To be with Christian, she’d fight. They’d have to drag her kicking and screaming into either heaven or hell before she’d relinquish her life.

Before the darkness overtook her she murmured, “I love you.”

“She’s been shot through the right shoulder. I don’t think the collarbone’s broken.” Christian’s voice was full of concern. “The bullet’s still in there.” He ripped off the bottom of his shirt and pressed it to the wound to stanch the flow of blood.

“Stand back, please. Let me through.” The doctor bent over her and cut the ties of her riding jacket with a knife. Blood was everywhere. Looking at Christian with pity, the doctor handed him a stack of cloths and said, “Push down on the wound. We have to stop the blood.”

Men were milling all around. Christian was on his knees beside Serena, the duel forgotten.

But Peter Dennett hadn’t forgotten.

Men and horses were everywhere, and all eyes were focused on Christian and the woman bleeding on the ground. Dennett snuck around the outside of the crowd, inching ever closer to Christian.

He drew a dagger from his boot and hid it in his palm, Christian’s back his target. He
knew just where he would plunge it: right through his neck. Christian wouldn’t be able to make a sound, and he would die quickly and quietly; some might think him overcome with grief. Plus the dense crowd might hide the assassin’s escape. He could be long gone before anyone ascertained what he’d done. He’d make for Great Plymouth and his ship, sailing home.

Both Christian and Serena would be dead. Her wound looked fatal to him, for blood soaked the ground. Either way, live or die, she would not have Markham.

So close now … He eased the dagger fully into his hand, twirling it round to grip the handle. When his hand rose like the head of a snake ready to strike, a surge of triumph sent his pulse pounding. But before he could thrust the blade home, pain lanced his chest and he looked down in disbelief to see the tip of Christian’s rapier sticking from his chest. He glanced in disbelief over his shoulder into the cold, hard eyes of Arend Aubury, Baron Labourd. The satisfied smirk breaking over his killer’s lips was the last thing Peter Dennett ever saw.

Maitland had seen the shooter before he fired. The South Wood provided good cover and he was having trouble keeping up with the culprit. However, in his haste to escape, the shooter was leaving an easy trail to follow.

Maitland knew he was close when a shot and ball whizzed past his head. He crouched low over his horse and rode forward. Through the trees he spotted a man running. Luck went his way once more. The shooter was on foot.

He kicked his stallion hard, and after a couple more long strides, Maitland leaped from his horse, tackling the culprit to the ground. They rolled in the dirt, pinecones digging into his back. Being a big man, he managed to land one resounding punch that rattled the shooter’s teeth and made his eyes roll back up into his head, out cold.

Maitland stood and brushed himself off, straightening his clothes and cravat. He whistled for Thunder. Thank goodness the shooter was small, for he managed to throw the prone body over Thunder’s back before riding back toward the dueling field. He prayed Serena was not dead. He’d almost lost his friend at Waterloo. Christian’s burns seemed to suck the life from him. He knew that if Christian lost Serena, he would become a dead soul.

He shuddered in the saddle. Part of him envied Christian’s ability to feel so deeply, while the rest of him was thankful he couldn’t, for Serena’s loss would be more than Christian could bear. He never wanted to become that vulnerable.

He found Arend’s carriage, bound the man’s hands and feet, and threw him on the floor of the conveyance to be questioned later.

Then he made his way to the now much smaller crowd on the dueling field.

Maitland approached Arend and was greeted by the words “Dennett’s dead and Sean Burcher has scarpered.” At Maitland’s surprised look he explained, “I caught Dennett about to stab Christian in the back while he was distracted by Serena’s injury, and skewered him first. With Christian’s rapier, which happened to be lying at his feet.”

“How poetic,” was Maitland’s dry response as he stepped over Dennett’s corpse. “I’ve got the shooter tied up in the carriage. He’s knocked out.” He looked to where Christian knelt beside Serena. “How is she?”

“The shot is not fatal. They’ve slowed the blood loss, but the bullet’s still in there.”

“Best we get her home, then.” With that, Maitland walked to Christian’s side. “Is she stable enough to move?”

The doctor rose to his feet, wiping the blood off his hands with a cloth. “Yes. Clean surroundings are required. We need to get that bullet out before infection sets in, and close the wound. She’s lost a lot of blood.”

Christian was in shock. His face pale and drawn. He cleared his throat. “Where’s Lily?”

“Hadley took her and Jack home. Come, let me carry her to the carriage for you.”

“No. I’ll carry her.” As he lifted Serena into his arms, she gave a small groan.

“The doctor will travel with you, while Arend and I follow in Arend’s coach.” Maitland was his usual cool, logical self, and right now Christian needed that to keep him from falling apart.

Please let her live
.

The interrogation being held in Christian’s stable was going relatively well.

The culprit, a man called Jock Fanselow, was hanging from the rafters by his arms. The position was most uncomfortable, verging on downright painful. Arend and Maitland didn’t care.

They wanted answers. After a few well-aimed punches and a threat to his manhood, it didn’t take long to get some.

“Lord Markham was supposed to stay in Canada. Then the Duke of Barforte would continue to think him responsible for raping his daughter, and Markham’s reputation would eventually be destroyed, and he’d also be ruined financially.”

“Ruined? But why, what did he do?”

“I don’t know. Didn’t care neither. All I know is now that Lord Markham was back in England, he had to die. My employer wanted him disgraced, then eventually killed. The aim is to destroy the Markham name and all who bear it.”

Arend eyed him suspiciously. “Only Lord Markham?” A well-aimed kick loosened Jock’s tongue further.

“No. All the other Libertine Scholars as well, all six of them.”

“All of them?”

“Aye. My employer has plans to ruin all of you. Then kill you. But I’m only contracted to kill Lord Markham.”

“So you weren’t to kill all of us?” Arend’s menacing tone left Jock in no doubt he meant business.

Jock shook his head. “No. I’ve no idea who the other assassins are. My employer’s right careful. If I’m caught, I won’t know anything else about the others and be able to spill the beans.”

“Your employer is astute, even if he’s not a good judge of employee. You shot the wrong person. You’re lucky Christian isn’t here. He’d kill you with his bare hands for hurting Serena.”

Something flickered in the depths of the man’s eyes.

“Or was it a mistake? I heard two shots fired.” Comprehension dawned and Arend leaned
in close. “You were supposed to kill her too. Why?”

“The lady might work out who has started this game of revenge. The rumor is, she knows my employer. She has five more men to destroy yet. Their reputations are to be tarnished too, and she doesn’t want loose ends.”

“She?” Maitland and Arend spoke together.

Christian paced before the huge open fireplace in his drawing room. Three times he’d crossed the room to go upstairs to Serena, but each time Hadley stood in his way.