Page 26 of Doxy for the Ton (Misfits of the Ton #7)

A row of trees towered over the path, their bare branches like thin, taloned fingers stretching upward to claw at the sky.

Alexander’s foot caught on a stone and he stumbled sideways, colliding into his companion and second.

“Shit.”

A flock of birds rose from a treetop, cawing angrily at each other while they circled the air, then settled once more into their roosts.

“Careful there, Sawbridge—you’ll not defeat your opponent if you’re too inebriated to shoot straight.”

“I may be a fool, Foxton…” Alexander began.

“Of that, at least, we’re in agreement.”

“…but I’m not so much of a simpleton as to lengthen my odds of success by getting foxed.”

Foxton let out a chuckle. “From what I hear, Mayhew’s hardly a crack shot. You’ll be the more experienced of the two.”

“I’ve not fought a duel before,” Alexander said.

“Really? Given the number of women you’ve compromised, I find that astonishing.”

“I’ve never been moved enough to want to kill a man for the sake of a woman.”

“Until today,” Foxton said. “You’ve fallen hard for our little widow, haven’t you? I should have realized it when I first saw you with her.”

“Then you can bask in the superiority of knowing that you were right,” Alexander retorted.

Foxton snorted. “I can’t understand a man who makes an arse of himself over a mere woman . Bed her, then shed her—that’s my rule. There’s far too many women to be enjoyed to want to restrict yourself to just one.”

“If you’re going to insult me, then I’ll do this on my own,” Alexander said.

“Don’t be so stuffy!” Foxton laughed. “Heavens—if this is what love does to a man, I must take care never to lose my heart.”

“No great challenge, given that you’re not in possession of one.”

They rounded a corner, and Alexander’s chest constricted.

His opponent stood in the center of the lawn, next to another man carrying a slim wooden box. Behind them, a hackney carriage formed a dark shape against the backdrop of the Serpentine, which glistened malevolently in the rising moonlight.

Alexander stepped toward his opponent.

“Pleasant night for it, Mayhew.” He glanced at the earl’s second. “Sir Heath Moss—I should have guessed. I said to myself I was sure Mayhew had a friend somewhere in the world. Reason dictated otherwise, but the world is large enough to make it a mathematical possibility that two such creatures as you existed in it.”

“I think that’s the pleasantries done with, don’t you?” Mayhew said, his breath misting in the air. He nodded to Sir Heath, who opened the box to reveal a pair of pistols nestling together on a bed of velvet. “Choose your weapon.”

“Wait!” Foxton cried. “Permit me to inspect them.”

“For what purpose?” Mayhew asked.

“To ensure a fair fight.”

“I give you my word as a gentleman.”

“Gentleman—ha!” Alexander roared. “Is that the same gentleman who tried to violate Lady Rex?”

A muffled cry came from the hackney carriage.

“Get on with it, then, Foxton,” Mayhew said. “I’ve not got all night.”

Foxton lifted the weapons and inspected each one. Then he nodded.

“They’re sound,” he said. “Both loaded. But just in case, Sawbridge should make first choice.”

“Why not?” Mayhew said, smiling. “I can be generous—it’s all the same to me.”

Why did the blackguard look so damned sure of himself?

Alexander plucked a pistol from the case and felt the weight in his hand. Mayhew stared at the box and smiled, triumph glittering in his eyes.

“What’s the matter with you, Mayhew?” Foxton asked. “Get on with it! I, for one, have no wish to get caught by the authorities.”

Mayhew turned toward the carriage. “You can come out now!”

A slim form climbed out—a masked man dressed in dark breeches and jacket, with a tricorn hat. His eyes gleamed behind the mask, then widened as his gaze settled on Alexander and Foxton.

Alexander’s gut knotted with horror.

“Are you…”

“Gentlemen,” Mayhew said, “may I present my proxy—the Farthing.”

A second form climbed out, equally clad in dark clothes and mask. He gestured to Mayhew. “My master requires payment before we begin.”

“Very well,” Mayhew said. “Twenty guineas, wasn’t it?”

“Fifty, and well you know it.”

“I’m of a mind to spend a little less. How about thirty? What does your master say to that?”

Wordlessly, the Farthing retreated toward the carriage.

“Stop!” Mayhew cried, but the Farthing ignored him.

Alexander let out a chuckle. “Why don’t you stamp your foot?”

Mayhew rounded on him, teeth bared. “Fine words for a dead man,” he snarled. “All right! Fifty it is.”

He drew a sheaf of notes from his pocket and handed them to the manservant, who made a show of counting them. He nodded, and the Farthing returned and picked up the remaining weapon. He held it as if it were an extension of his arm, then, with his free hand, caressed the barrel before aiming it toward the trees.

Alexander’s blood froze. The man’s arm barely moved—not a tremor nor a shake.

“A farthing at fifty paces,” he breathed. “Sweet Lord!”

“That’s just a rumor,” Foxton said.

“Rumors are founded on truth,” Alexander said. “Look at him! With a grip that steady, he cannot fail to miss. I’ll only be twenty paces from him, and my heart’s a considerably larger target than a farthing.”

“Then you must shoot him first.”

“That’s the point,” Alexander replied. “I don’t want to shoot him .”

The Farthing lowered his arm and glanced over at Alexander.

“Might I know my opponent’s identity?” Alexander asked.

“You may not,” the servant said.

How young was he? Both the Farthing and his manservant seemed like boys. The latter had the thin, reedy voice of an adolescent.

A little like Mimi’s footman…

No, surely it wasn’t Charles—not when he’d pledged to remain at the house and take care of Mimi.

But I made that same pledge this very evening.

“Come along!” Sir Heath snapped. “Like you said, there’s no time to lose. Stand back against each other. Walk forward one pace as I count and, on the count of ten, you’re at liberty to fire.”

“I know how it’s done,” Alexander growled.

He approached the Farthing and issued a mock bow. The two stood back to back for a heartbeat, then Sir Heath began to count.

“One, two, three…”

Alexander’s palms grew slick, and he tightened his grip on the pistol, holding the barrel with his free hand to quell the tremors in his arm, focused on placing one foot before the other.

Perhaps he might fire at Mayhew. But no—if he did that, the Farthing would shoot him dead.

“Nine…ten!”

Alexander paused, his ears ringing.

Ten…

Shit!

He whirled around and lifted his arm.

His opponent stood still, the barrel of his pistol gleaming in the moonlight, his aim steady and true.

He couldn’t fail to miss.

Alexander cocked his pistol, curled his finger around the trigger, then hesitated.

Could he shoot another man—a stranger with whom he had no argument?

Was he a coward—or a killer?

Coward…

He drew in a deep breath, his heartbeat thudding in his ears.

Why did his opponent not shoot?

“Well?” Mayhew cried. “What the bloody hell am I paying you for, man? Get on with it!”

Alexander’s arm trembled more violently as he tightened his grip—but he couldn’t bring himself to shoot a man with whom he had no quarrel.

I’m going to die.

His heart ached with despair. Not at the pain, or the thought of meeting his maker…

…but at the thought of never looking into her eyes again.

“Forgive me, Mimi.”

A crack shattered the air, and a puff of blue smoke burst from the muzzle of his opponent’s pistol. Moments later, Alexander heard a soft whistle in the air, then a sharp, hot pain tore through his ear and he jerked backward and dropped his pistol. He reached up and touched his ear, which was slick with a hot, sticky liquid, then he inspected his hand.

His fingers were smeared with blood.

Bloody hell—that hurt!

Foxton sprinted toward him. “Are you all right?”

Alexander nodded.

Foxton retrieved Alexander’s pistol and uncocked it. “You’re one lucky bastard,” he said.

“I’ll say so,” Mayhew yelled, his voice shaking with fury as he turned toward the Farthing, who stood, erect, his arm lowered, the pistol at his side. “What the devil do you think you were doing?”

“My master did what you paid him to do, your lordship,” the manservant said, while the Farthing placed his weapon back in the box. Foxton approached with the other pistol and the Farthing darted back—almost as if he feared him.

“Do you not speak?” Foxton asked. The Farthing shook his head and retreated.

“ I speak for my master,” the manservant said. “The terms of the contract have been fulfilled.”

“No, they haven’t!” Mayhew snarled. “I wanted him dead!”

“Then you should have stipulated that in the contract,” the manservant said. “My master agreed to win the duel as your proxy, and he has done precisely that. Honor has been satisfied with relatively little blood spilled.”

“Honor be damned.” Mayhew grasped the loaded pistol and strode toward Alexander. “Say goodbye, Sawbridge.”

“No!” a female voice screamed, and hurried footsteps approached. “Stop—please!”

Alexander froze as Mimi appeared, sprinting along the path.

The Farthing let out a low cry.

“Hush!” the manservant said, pulling the Farthing toward the carriage. “It’s time we left.”

“But—”

“It’s too dangerous,” the servant said. “You can’t help her.”

Mayhew watched the exchange with amusement, then aimed the pistol at Mimi.

Alexander darted toward her and shielded her with his body.

“Shoot if you wish, Mayhew,” he said. “But you shan’t harm the woman I love.”

Mayhew laughed. “Very well, seeing as you’ve given me permission.”

He squeezed the trigger, and Mimi let out a scream, pulling Alexander to one side and stepping into the line of fire.

The pistol clicked, but did not fire.

“You need to cock it again, you fool,” Sir Heath said, but before Mayhew reacted, Foxton snatched the pistol from his grip, cocked it, then fired into the air. The shot echoed across the park, and a volley of quacks of protest carried across the air from the Serpentine. The hackney carriage jerked forward as the horse startled, and the driver tugged at the reins, coaxing the animal into submission.

“Enough!” Foxton said. “You’ve had your satisfaction, Mayhew. Get your sorry arse out of my sight before I kick you into the next country.”

Mayhew hesitated, but Foxton stepped toward him, his powerful body dwarfing Mayhew’s form.

“Try it,” he said. “Cross me and there will be no proxy to save you.”

Mayhew shriveled under Foxton’s gaze, then scuttled off, Sir Heath in his wake.

Foxton turned to the Farthing. “You should be ashamed of yourself, sir, trading on the misery of others. Leave now, and pray to the Almighty that I never discover your identity.”

The Farthing hesitated, then slipped into the hackney carriage, his manservant following. Shortly after, the driver cracked his whip and steered it out of the park.

“Sawbridge, get yourself home and get that wound seen to,” Foxton said.

“You’re hurt?” Mimi asked. “Oh, Alexander—why did you do it?”

“For you, my love.”

She lifted a trembling hand to his face, and he winced as she brushed her fingertips across his ear.

“He missed,” she said.

“I don’t think so,” Foxton replied. “The Farthing’s too good a marksman. A death is always difficult to explain. This way he earns his fee neatly and quietly. Much like a whore, his motivation is money, not honor.”

Mimi stiffened, and Alexander drew her close.

“That’s enough, Foxton,” he said. “Leave me be.”

Foxton’s eyes widened, then he gave a sharp sigh and shook his head. He bowed to Mimi. “Ma’am, I trust you’re recovered from your ordeal at Mayhew’s hands.”

“A little, thank you,” she said, her voice wavering.

Foxton glanced toward Alexander, his eyebrows raised in expectation. Then he gave a mock bow.

“Oh, you’re welcome , Sawbridge,” he said. “There’s nothing I like better than to wander about Hyde Park in the dark for an ungrateful, lovesick fool.” He nodded to Mimi. “Your servant, ma’am.” Then he strode away, his footsteps crunching on the gravel.

Alexander began to shake. Mimi slipped her arm through his and steered him onto the path and toward the park gates.

“What were you thinking ?” she asked.

“I only thought of you,” he said. “I-I wanted to do something, to—to…”

“To what? Put your life in danger for the sake of honor?” She shook her head. “Honor is not worth dying for—at least your definition of honor.”

“My definition?”

“A gentleman’s,” she said. “Your idea of honor isn’t what’s good or what’s right. It’s merely an excuse to seek retribution on your enemies, or to punish others for not following the social rules you impose on them. Or”—her breath hitched as she clung to him—“it’s a stick with which to beat a woman who sells her body to earn enough to live on.”

“I don’t think less of you for being a…” He hesitated, unable to voice it.

“A whore,” she said. “It’s what I am. As a woman, I’ll forever be defined by what I did to survive, even if I intend never to do that again.”

“Foxton didn’t mean you when he referred to whores and money,” Alexander said.

“Nevertheless, it’s Society’s view of women like me.”

They turned a corner, and the buildings of Grosvenor Square came into view.

She gestured toward number sixteen. “No matter how fine a house you place me in, or the gowns or jewels you gift me, it makes no difference to what I am on the inside.”

“What you are is the woman I love,” he said. “Don’t you see that?” He stopped and pulled her to him, his heart aching at the bruise on her cheek. “I care not who you were, or what you have done. I love you regardless.”

She blinked, and her eyes glistened with moisture, then she shivered.

“Let’s get you inside,” he said. “Damnation!” he cried as pain throbbed in his ear. “I almost wish the Farthing had shot me in the heart—it couldn’t hurt more than this .”

She steered him up the steps, and the door opened to reveal a red-faced Charles.

“I want a word with you ,” Alexander said. “How the devil did Lady Rex find out—”

“That’s enough, Alexander,” Mimi said. “He isn’t at fault.” She turned toward the boy and gave him a sweet smile. “Charles, I’ll be wanting clean cloths and some of that tincture we used on Mrs. Brennan when she cut her hand the other week.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The footman scuttled off, and Mimi led Alexander into the parlor and toward the chaise longue. She sat him in the very spot where he’d tended to her earlier that evening—where he’d watched her fall asleep before abandoning her to shoot the bastard who had laid his filthy hands on her.

After Charles brought in the cloths and tincture, she dabbed it on his ear, and Alexander winced, letting out a groan of pain.

“Forgive me,” he said.

“What for?” she asked crisply. “There are many transgressions to choose from.”

“For not being as brave as you,” he replied. “You uttered barely a whisper when I tended to your cheek earlier.”

Her lips curved into a smile. He took her hand and kissed it, but she withdrew it and resumed cleaning his ear.

“I never knew so small a wound could bleed so profusely,” he said.

“It’s slowing,” she said. “Once I’ve cleaned it up, you’ll hardly know the wound was there. The bullet must have just grazed the skin.”

“Enough to draw blood and secure victory, but not enough to cause great injury,” he said. “The Farthing is to be commended.”

“How can you speak so?” she said. “You could have been killed!”

“How else could I defend you, Mimi? Do you know how much it pained me to see that man, what he was doing to you, when I should have been there to protect you?”

“He didn’t violate me, Alexander,” she said. “I defended myself.”

“But he hurt you,” he said, placing his hand on her cheek. “My poor darling—he hurt you and I wasn’t there to stop him. But from now on, I’ll always be there. I love you, Mimi.”

She looked away.

“I love you,” he said. “It’s because of that love that I challenged Mayhew to a duel.”

“Lord Mayhew is but one man,” she said.

“And I can protect you from him—I want to. It’s my honor and pleasure.”

“Honor,” she said, shaking her head. “Why must it always be about honor? What about the others, Alexander?”

“Others?” He recoiled. “Were you another man’s mistress as well as Mayhew’s father’s?”

Hurt rippled across her eyes. “No—I mean all the other men who, as soon as they know what I am, will consider me fair game.”

“I’ll fight them also.”

“Each and every one?” She shook her head. “You can’t fight them all. You entered into our arrangement to restore your reputation, so that your association with a respectable widow might make your company more palatable in the eyes of your friends—and other women.”

His conscience stabbed at his heart. What a cad he’d been—seeking to use her for his own ends.

“Mayhew will tell the world who, and what, I am,” she said.

“You think I care?”

“Maybe not at first,” she said, “but you’ve been used to the adoration and admiration of all. A word of contempt, a sly look—you may brush them off at first. But when access to the best clubs and parties is denied you because of the woman at your side…” She shook her head. “We can never give each other what we truly need to be happy.”

“Can’t we try, at least?”

“The price would be too great.”

He swallowed his frustration. “Must you always mention the price? Can’t you take a leap of faith and trust in my love?”

“I wish I could, with all my heart, Alexander,” she replied, “but I couldn’t bear to see your love for me wither and die.”

“You think I don’t love you enough?” he said. “You think so little of me that my love is a mere fancy that will fade over time? Would I have risked my life had my love been a mere inclination?”

“I didn’t ask you to risk your life!” she cried. “And I cannot bear the thought that you may be compelled to do such a thing in the future.”

“Then I swear that I’ll never do such a thing again.”

“Just as you swore earlier tonight that you’d remain inside while I had need of you?”

The door knocked and Charles appeared.

“Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but Mrs. Brennan’s asking if she should start supper.”

Mimi withdrew from Alexander’s embrace and approached the footman. “Yes, thank you, Charles. And I think a sherry each before supper, if you could…” She leaned toward the footman and lowered her voice. He glanced at Alexander, then nodded.

“What did you ask him?” Alexander said when Charles had left.

“I asked if he could pour you a large glass, on account of your injury.”

He offered his hand, and for a moment she stared at it. Then she took it and he pulled her onto his lap.

“Let me stay tonight,” he said.

She placed a kiss on his cheek. “Of course.”

When Charles returned with two glasses of sherry, Mimi handed the larger to Alexander. Then she raised her glass.

“To tomorrow,” she said, smiling, though resignation shone in her eyes.

He clinked his glass against hers. Then she tipped her head back and drained hers.

“It’s good for the pain,” she said. “Wheeler procured it from a man called Trelawney.”

“Trelawney’s an excellent man,” Alexander said. “He supplies the very best. Perhaps I ought to savor it.”

“I’ve asked Charles to bring you another,” she said.

He drained his glass, his breath catching as the liquor warmed his throat. “A rather unusual sherry,” he said, licking his lips. “There’s a bitter aftertaste.”

“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows. “I have another bottle. You could try that instead.”

“Yes, that would be…” He blinked as the world shifted out of focus, then he shook his head. That injury must have affected him more than he thought.

But then, it wasn’t every day that a man got himself shot.

He relaxed back into the chaise longue, and she nestled into his embrace. The warmth of the fire caressed his senses and a delicious languor flowed through him. The woman in his arms took his hand and kissed it, and he curled his fingers around hers.

“Oh, Mimi, I love you so much…” he murmured.

“And I you,” she whispered. “Whatever happens, please believe that I love you more than I have ever loved another—or ever will.”

What did she mean, whatever happens ?

But it mattered not when her soft fingers caressed his face—when her warm, sweet lips kissed him.

With her whispered words of love in his mind, Alexander closed his eyes and welcomed the darkness.