The Wedding Duel (The Dueling Pistols Series) (15 page)

Her lack of reserve shouldn't matter. The saints forgive him, he should not be making love to his wife outside in February, whether or not she encouraged him.

The real question was, why would he get so carried away with her that he tried to lie with her on the cold ground? Any woman deserved the comfort of a bed, at least the first time. Even if it was only the first time with him, not the first time ever. "Come inside, Sophie, before we both catch our death of cold."

Christ, he had completely forgotten about Victor.

* * *

Keene found Victor slumped on the bench where he had left him. It had been nearly a month and a half since the duel. "Why is your wound still bleeding?"

"The surgeon has lanced it twice. He says it keeps growing putrid with infection. I daresay George managed to reopen it during our scuffle."

Keene tucked his arm around Victor's ribs, helping him rise to his feet. "Perhaps you need a new surgeon."

Victor leaned heavily on Keene. "Perhaps I need new friends."

They moved down the empty hallway. "Likely you do, but I daresay they will not punish you enough."

Victor laughed. It was a weak, coughing sound. "For heaven's sake, Keene. Go beat your wife if you feel the need to punish someone. I have done taking abuse from you."

Keene reached for the doorknob of the room assigned to his friend. He wouldn't punish Sophie. He hadn't a right to expect better of her. Spending one day in her father's house and her company in the last six years hardly made a reasonable foundation for a marriage. Damn Victor for overhearing everything, anyway. "But you are not done taking abuse from George?"

"The man is raising my child. I prophesy I shall take more cruelty from him."

Keene took note of his friends' traveling bags deposited near the door. "No doubt, for Mrs. Farthing has assigned you to the same room."

"Dear Lord. Shouldn't you have said something?"

Keene kicked the door shut. They hobbled toward the bed. At least it was rather large. "What should I have said? No, they cannot room together as Victor ruined George's wife, and they cannot stomach each other's company."

"Does George know?"

"No. He may be completely insensible by the time he is brought to bed, anyway."

"Ah, he is not the man we have known and loved."

Keene turned toward Victor as he helped him sit on the bed. Victor's observation rang with reality. George's reactions were not what either of them would have expected. In all their carousing over the past few years, George had been the one to temper their wildest urges, to remind them they were gentlemen and that everyone from the lowest violet seller to the tiniest chimney sweep deserved kindness and consideration. He had been the one to preach moderation in food and drink, reminding them that overindulgence would lead to headaches and hangovers. "It only goes to show how deeply hurt he has been."

Victor shrugged out of his jacket. "Amelia loves his restraint."

Pulling the jacket down Victor's arms, Keene was caught off guard by the sincerity and regret in Victor's tone.

The words could have easily been facetious given the latest turn of events, but they weren't. There was both longing and resignation in Victor's tone, as if he both wanted her and yet knew she wasn't for him, and had perhaps known all along. But why hadn't Victor married her? Why bed her and not offer the shelter of his name? He obviously cared for her in spite of his protests that she was too easily seduced.

Victor had also spoken of marriage for himself. While Keene couldn't bring himself to ask the complicated questions about Victor's feelings toward George's wife, he could needle him about his single state. "Are you so jealous of George's and my deep wedded bliss that you intend to emulate our state?"

"Something like that. You know those pistols we used in the duel have a curse."

"Yes, they are about as true as a sailor's wife."

"Truer than the sailor, no doubt." Victor smiled weakly. "You should be thankful for that, for I did not mean to miss. No, there is the legend that the true winner of the duel shall find happiness in marriage, and the loser shall be doomed to a wife from hell. Since you so obviously have been the loser in the parson's mousetrap, I must, of course, seek a wife."

"Now, there is a good reason to marry."

"Well as it is, I need a wife."

"Do you have someone in mind?"

"Perhaps a cit. You should have taken the five hundred pounds a year. Do you think I could find a girl in trouble whose father would pay me large sums to save her honor?"

Keene paused in pulling the shirt away from Victor's wound. He yanked it hard, feeling the tug of dried blood as the shirt ripped free.

"Damn, man!"

Victor covered the oozing wound with a folded handkerchief. Fresh blood soaked the cloth. A drop crept out from underneath the pad and trickled down his bare chest.

The sight tempered Keene's anger. He couldn't lambaste a man who was bleeding all over the place, and he would have to help him bandage the wound as it was his broken carriage that had forced all their valets to stay behind. He had to ask himself, was he truly angry at Victor or did Victor's willingness to probe at his wounds make him a useful target?

"I would ask you, sir, to not speak despairingly of my wife."

"You love her, don't you?"

The assumption floored Keene. "I daresay not. My father loves her pedigree." Which was information he had not intended to divulge. "Good God, Victor, do not ever repeat that or I shall have to find a better set of pistols."

Victor's brown eyes studied him as he spoke gently. "You know, Keene, killing me will not assassinate your troubles."

"Yes, but no one else would dare speak of them."

"So it is the reminders that are a problem, rather than the problems themselves." This time Victor's tone held sarcasm.

"No, it is that you are so deep in my concerns, it makes me deuced uncomfortable."

"I am deep in George's concerns. Ow!" Victor winced as Keene rubbed a wet flannel over the freshly exposed wound. "You have no need to cause me pain to ease yourself."

"I'm cleaning you. Do you have another jacket?"

"Not in that bag. I have a fresh shirt and some linen for a new bandage."

"I daresay I must loan you one of my own. Do contrive not to bleed upon it."

"Deuce take it. I should not bleed upon anything if you had not shot me."

The initial wound was a puckered round hole that was half healed, but two fresh slashes across it and the angry red flesh around it showed the questionable aid of the surgeon. Keene deeply regretted the duel, but what could he do about it now? Perhaps if Victor found a good woman to wed, Keene could assuage his guilt by believing in the curse and reminding his friend that he'd played a small part in the deed.

But to seek a wife among the cits? Victor had a title, he could look as high as he wanted. It could only mean one thing. "You have decided money shall bring you happiness."

"It shall keep my home in repair. It's not a choice, Keene. I go deeper into the cent-percenters each day. I must find an heiress who will tolerate me."

Keene knew his friend had inherited an estate in disrepair. Several years ago Victor had made him feel ashamed by implying that Keene had no knowledge of responsibility. Ashamed and misjudged, because Keene had more knowledge of fending for himself than most young gentlemen. But he'd always kept his circumstances to himself—but then, so had Victor.

Keene turned away. Nothing he could do would help. He couldn't offer Victor a loan or bail him out with moneylenders. In part, Victor's application for aid had begun a rift between them many years before.

"For heaven's sake, what are you brooding about now?"

"Forgive me, I have nothing to concern me, of course."

"I already know the worst, so you might as well tell me your thoughts. What do you mean to do about Sophie?"

At one time Keene would have told Victor anything, had told him much more than most, but a lot of things had happened since that time. He moved across the room to retrieve Victor's bag. "I mean to do nothing."

"And live as your father did, with the constant reminder? Or do you hope that her child resembles her?"

Keene felt the floor under his knees. He dimly registered surprise. He had only meant to bend over to pick up the bag. But since he was kneeling on the ground, he fumbled for the catch. He couldn't see the bag's contents. He wanted to talk of anything but Sophie, but he couldn't form another question to save his life. He finally accepted the inevitable. "I should not fault a child."

"For you will have much in common with it."

"But she is not with child."

* * *

Keene had led her into the house, brushing snow off her cloak before opening the door for her. He instructed the footman to send Letty to her room. He'd brushed his lips across her forehead and said, "I need to check on Victor. You should tidy up and return to the drawing room. I daresay we have both been absent far too long."

Disappointment wafted through her. Sophie couldn't even have said why. She climbed the stairs to her room. She could feel Keene watching her as if he would redirect her if she strayed from the prescribed path.

On one hand she was glad he was concerned about her welfare, concerned enough to follow her into the cold. And she was glad he'd finally decided to give her a real kiss. She rubbed her lips absently as if she could recapture the feel of his mouth on hers. On the other hand, she wished he was following her to her room. She was impatient to learn where his kisses and caresses would have led if she hadn't whispered his name, if she hadn't panicked.

Although the truth be known, she was inclined to panic around him, like the time she had fallen in the river. She'd been about to remove the sodden heavy skirts weighing her down, but Keene had been there on the bank. She'd tried to tell him to leave, but water filled her mouth, and the current, rain swollen and much swifter than normal, tugged her under.

She'd resurfaced sputtering, and the thought of exiting the water minus her clothes had been almost as frightening as drowning. Although after he'd pulled her from the river, she couldn't pinpoint why she had been so frightened of losing her skirts in Keene's view. Except there had been something more powerful at work, something in the way he'd looked at her sopping-wet bodice.

All of it had been terribly confusing at the time. She'd been furious with herself for getting in such a predicament. If she had emerged from the water half naked back then, would there have been a similar episode to the one that had just happened outside in the snow?

In her room, Keene's valise rested near the door. The sight of it sent an odd shiver through her. He would be sleeping with her this very night, and whatever had started outside would be finished. She grabbed the bedpost, suddenly feeling lightheaded and weak in the knees.

No! She did not want the odd sensations residual from her fall from the horse to interfere with this day. That was her last thought as the floor rushed up to meet her.

Victor stared at Keene's back. Now that he had broken the man's composure, he regretted it. He shifted on the bed. He felt lightheaded and weak. He wasn't sure his legs would support him, but he slid from the bolster anyway. Pressing his hand hard against the washcloth he held over his wound, he took shaky steps across the floor. He wanted to sink down and lie on the carpet beside Keene, but then he would have to stay there, because there would be no way he could find the strength to stand again.

"No chance at all she could be bearing your brat?"

Keene shook his head and rummaged in the valise. Victor put his hand on his shoulder.

Keene stiffened.

"You are angry with her."

"I cannot be angry with her." The tightness of his voice belied Keene's feelings.

Victor awkwardly dropped to a knee. "You can and should, but do not allow it to fester. Trust me, I know. A festering wound is worse than a bleeding wound. Except that if I bleed to death, I should wish for you to blame that butcher of a surgeon."

"God forgive me, I thought George was the only one among us with honor."

"We all have honor, Keene. What we do not have is compassion. Although I think you have exhibited more than George or I. Now, tell me what you mean to do about Sophie. For you would not wish to give her the treatment your father gave your mother. Or do as George is doing to Amelia."

"My father loved my mother, as George loves Amelia more than life. I have only the blow to my dignity to consider."

Victor disagreed. He doubted a blow to Keene's dignity could bring him to his knees, but as he spoke, Keene regained his composure by perpetuating one of the illusions that kept him sane. If Keene wanted to believe he didn't care about his wife, Victor wouldn't challenge him on it. "So what shall you do with her?"

"I cannot take her to London. I will not have the whispers and speculation. If she is very far along, everyone would know that I could not have fathered her child."