Page 39 of A Spinster’s Folly (Courting the Unconventional #2)

His cousin stood at the far end of a clearing, feet planted unsteadily, a pistol in his grip as he stood a short distance away from his opponent. Charles breathed a sigh of relief. He had arrived in time. The duel hadn’t commenced yet.

Without hesitation, Charles urged his horse into a run. The pounding of hooves echoed through the stillness as he closed the distance. He didn’t slow until he was mere feet from Philip, pulling his horse to an abrupt halt and swinging down with practiced ease.

Philip turned, startled, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Whatever are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to put an end to this madness,” Charles said, striding towards him. “What the devil are you thinking?”

Philip gave an infuriatingly casual shrug. “I came to teach Mr. Kingston a lesson.”

Charles clenched his jaw and looked heavenward, seeking patience.

He then turned his attention to Mr. Kingston, who stood a few paces away, his expression a mask of unwavering resolve.

Beside him, his sister shifted uneasily, wringing her hands together as she cast nervous glances between the two men.

“This duel ends now,” Charles declared, his tone brooking no argument.

Mr. Kingston shook his head. “I demand satisfaction, my lord.”

“And you shall have it,” Charles countered. “I will personally see to it that Philip takes responsibility for his child.”

Miss Kingston stepped forward then, her eyes wide and pleading as she grasped her brother’s arm. “Please, Henry. Don’t do this. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”

Mr. Kingston’s chest puffed out with self-importance. “Nothing will happen to me. I am an excellent shot.”

Philip scoffed. “As am I.”

Something in the way Philip slurred his words made Charles snap to attention. His keen gaze flicked over his cousin, taking in the slightly unfocused eyes and how he swayed slightly on his feet.

“Are you drunk?” Charles demanded.

Philip lifted a hand, blinking as he attempted to count on his fingers. “I may have had one or two drinks before I came.” He paused, waggling three fingers. “Or was it three? ”

Charles swore under his breath. “You are in no condition to duel.”

Philip waved a hand dismissively. “That’s not true. I tend to think best when I’m a little bottle-weary.”

Charles turned his glare to Mr. Kingston. “You intend to go through with this, knowing full well my cousin is inebriated?”

Mr. Kingston considered him for a moment before saying, “I will agree to drop the duel under one condition.” His expression turned calculating. “That you, Lord Bedford, marry my sister.”

Charles’s brow lifted in incredulity. “That is not an option.”

Miss Kingston gasped, her face draining of color. “What are you doing?” she asked, turning to her brother in horror. “That isn’t what we discussed! I don’t want to marry Lord Bedford. I don’t even want to marry Mr. Ellsworth.”

“But you would be a countess,” Mr. Kingston argued, as if that should outweigh all else.

Charles’s patience was hanging by a thread. This was turning into more of a debacle than he had anticipated. And if he didn’t put an end to it soon, there was no telling how far it would spiral.

“I am not going to marry your sister,” Charles said firmly.

Mr. Kingston’s expression darkened. He lifted his pistol, the barrel now aimed directly at Philip’s chest. “Then your cousin will die tonight, and his death will forever weigh on your conscience.”

Charles’s mind raced for a way to settle the situation. He needed time. “Where are your seconds? The doctor?” he asked, glancing around.

“There was no point in them being here,” Mr. Kingston replied. “We are dueling to the death.”

Charles stiffened. “You are breaking the sacred rules of a duel by sending your seconds away.” His frustration mounted. The entire purpose of seconds was to mediate, to ensure that dueling etiquette was upheld—not to turn the event into outright murder.

Mr. Kingston remained unbothered. “My only concern is that Mr. Ellsworth pays for what he has done to my sister and the disgrace he has brought upon my family.”

A small, shaky voice cut through the tension. “What if I told you that Philip isn’t the father of the baby?” Miss Kingston asked, her hands pressing against her stomach.

“What are you talking about?” Mr. Kingston bellowed, his grip tightening around his pistol.

Looking entirely unsure of herself, Miss Kingston rushed to explain, “I attended a ball and I made the unfortunate mistake of taking a turn in the gardens with Mr. Steele.”

A muscle in Mr. Kingston’s jaw twitched. “Mr. Steele is a known rake,” he said, his voice laced with barely contained fury. “What were you thinking?”

Miss Kingston wrung her hands together. “I wasn’t thinking. He took advantage of me and then left me. Philip happened upon me afterward and helped me.”

Mr. Kingston’s lips pressed into a hard line. “You are lying.”

“No, I am telling the truth,” Miss Kingston said, her voice resolute. “When I discovered I was increasing, I panicked. I was terrified. And I—” She exhaled shakily. “I named Philip as the father.”

Mr. Kingston shook his head. “I don’t believe you. You are merely trying to protect Mr. Ellsworth.”

“For once, I’m innocent,” Philip declared, smirking. “I’ve bedded many women, Kingston, but your sister is not one of them.”

Mr. Kingston didn’t lower his pistol. “This changes nothing. Either Lord Bedford marries my sister, or I will kill Mr. Ellsworth.”

“Henry,” Miss Kingston pleaded, stepping closer. “Didn’t you hear me? Philip is not to blame. ”

But Mr. Kingston’s expression remained hard. “These are lies,” he spat. “All of it. I know that Mr. Ellsworth visited you at our townhouse on multiple occasions. Did you think I was daft? That I didn’t know what went on under my own roof?”

Miss Kingston’s voice wavered. “Henry, please. He was just trying to help me. Nothing more. You have to believe me.”

“But I don’t believe you,” Mr. Kingston spat out. “You lied about everything else. Why is now any different?”

Charles took a measured step forward, placing himself between Philip and the gun’s line of fire. “I won’t let you shoot my cousin.”

Mr. Kingston’s grip on the pistol didn’t waver. His eyes burned with unrelenting anger. “Then you will die tonight,” he declared, cocking the hammer back.

The sharp sound of hooves pounding against the ground drew their attention.

Charles turned his head sharply towards the noise. A rider was fast approaching, hunched low over the horse’s neck, their cap pulled low over their face. But even through the shadows, he knew instantly who it was.

Eugenie.

She rode with purpose, her posture fearless as she reined in her horse with practiced ease. As soon as she dismounted, she moved swiftly and came to stand before him, her hand pulling free a muff pistol, leveling it at Mr. Kingston.

“No one is going to die here tonight,” she declared. Her voice was clear, sharp, and left no room for argument. “Lower your pistol.”

“You first,” Mr. Kingston snarled.

Charles edged closer to her, his voice dropping low as he demanded, “What are you doing here?”

Eugenie kept her gaze locked on Mr. Kingston, her pistol steady. “I thought you might need my help.”

“There was no need,” Charles replied. “I had it handled. ”

Eugenie’s lips twitched in dry amusement. “Is that so?” She gestured towards the pistol still trained on him. “Then why, pray tell, is a gun being pointed at you?”

Mr. Kingston interjected, “This will all end if Lord Bedford agrees to marry my sister. We could all walk away from this.”

Eugenie shook her head. “I’m afraid that is impossible because Lord Bedford is marrying me.”

Silence fell.

Mr. Kingston huffed. “You?”

Eugenie nodded firmly. “Yes.”

“But you turned me down,” Charles said. “Multiple times, in fact.”

“I did,” Eugenie admitted. “But I have since changed my mind.”

Charles stared at her, searching her face for any hint of falsehood. There was none. He wasn’t about to argue, but curiosity burned inside him. “Why?”

“Do we have to discuss this now?” Eugenie asked, keeping her sights on Mr. Kingston.

“Yes,” he said. “I would prefer it.”

A long sigh left her lips, and then, finally, she turned to meet his gaze. “Because I love you, Charles.”

His breath caught.

And he had never felt so utterly unmoored in his life.

“I have tried to deny it. I have tried to ignore it. But I am unable to do so,” Eugenie continued, her voice softer now, yet filled with unmistakable conviction.

“I honestly have no idea what’s going to happen next or how things are going to work out.

All I know for certain is that you make me happy and that is all I need. ”

Charles could only stare at her, stunned by the weight of her admission. She had never been so honest, so vulnerable before. He said the only thing that he could. “You rode your horse here for me,” he said, astonishment thick in his voice .

Her eyes never left his as she replied, “I did. I couldn’t stand by and do nothing—not when you were putting yourself in danger.”

A strange, overwhelming sensation flooded through him—pride, admiration, and something far deeper.

He took a slow step forward, positioning himself beside her.

“What you did was reckless and foolish,” he murmured, his fingers grazing the sleeve of her coat, “but…” He let out a slow exhale, as if coming to terms with the depth of his emotions.

“But I have never loved you more for it.”

Eugenie’s eyes went impossibly wide. “You love me?”

A slow, steady smile curved Charles’s lips. “I do,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Hopelessly.” He swallowed hard before adding, “One kiss. That is all it took for me to know.”

A brilliant smile broke across Eugenie’s face. “I feel the same way,” she whispered.

Charles leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as if only for her ears. “I don’t think I could love you more if I tried. But then you smile, and my heart expands, making me realize—” His fingers brushed against her hand. “There is no end to how much I can love you.”

A sharp, irritated voice broke through the intimate moment.

“This is all very sweet,” Mr. Kingston interrupted, his scowl deepening. “But Lord Bedford will be marrying my sister. And that is final.”

Miss Kingston let out an exasperated breath. “Henry…”

Before she could finish, a loud, commanding voice rang out from a short distance away.

“Lower your weapons!”

Charles turned his head swiftly towards the sound.

Emerging from the darkness, Warwicke strode towards them with an air of authority, his overcoat billowing slightly as he moved. Behind him, two men in red waistcoats—clearly Bow Street Runners—trailed closely, their expressions grim and unwavering.

Mr. Kingston straightened, his grip on his pistol tightening. “Who are you?” he demanded, his bravado slipping just slightly.

Warwicke closed the distance in a few quick strides and wrenched the pistol straight from Mr. Kingston’s grasp.

“I’m someone you’ve made very upset,” Warwicke stated, inspecting the firearm before tucking it away.

Mr. Kingston looked utterly gobsmacked. “You took my pistol.”

“Yes, because you don’t need it anymore.” Warwicke gestured towards the two Runners, whose gazes were locked on Kingston with the patience of men accustomed to dealing with foolish offenders. “My friends here are ensuring that this duel doesn’t proceed.”

Mr. Kingston narrowed his eyes. “This is between me and Mr. Ellsworth,” he declared.

“Not anymore,” Warwicke said. “Or have you forgotten that duels are illegal?” He studied Kingston with barely concealed irritation. “Where are your seconds?”

“Mr. Kingston sent them away,” Charles offered up, folding his arms.

Warwicke clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Then it’s a good thing we arrived when we did. This isn’t a duel; it is an execution.”

“But I demand satisfaction,” Mr. Kingston said, though the words now lacked the burning conviction they once held.

Warwicke’s expression turned steely. “If any harm befalls Mr. Ellsworth or Lord Bedford,” he warned, his voice carrying a dangerous edge, “you will answer to me.”

Mr. Kingston swallowed hard, the fear evident in his expression .

“Do I make myself clear?” Warwicke asked, his tone brooking no argument.

After a long moment, Mr. Kingston finally gave a stiff nod. “Yes.”

“Good.”

“But what about my sister?” Mr. Kingston asked, his eyes flicking towards Miss Kingston, who still looked shaken.

Warwicke looked uninterested. “I suggest you remove yourself to the countryside for a while,” he said dryly. “Preferably after you are released from prison for the attempted abduction of Lady Eugenie.”

Mr. Kingston’s face paled. “I did no such thing.”

“The two men you hired turned on you, naming you as a co-conspirator,” Warwicke said. “You should have never done something so foolish.”

“I would do anything for my sister,” Mr. Kingston declared.

Warwicke placed a firm hand on Mr. Kingston’s arm. “Well, I daresay you will change your tune after spending some time in Newgate,” he said. “It is time to go.”

With that, the matter was settled.

The tension in the air slowly began to dissipate, but Charles barely registered it. His mind was still reeling—not from the duel, nor from Kingston’s empty threats, but from Eugenie.

From her words.

From her confession.

From the fact that she had risked everything for him.

And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he would never let her go.