Page 47 of Enlightened
“Enough of this, Balfour,” a deep voice interjected from the back of the room. “She’s his wife and his business. Leave it be.”
Balfour didn’t even look round. “Stay out of this. Anyone who cares to stand at the shoulder of thisdogis going to get the same that’s coming to him.”
Whoever it was that had spoken fell silent. Murdo smiled at Kinnell. A wolf considering how to take down its prey.
Kinnell tried to gather his dignity about him, but his fear was pouring off him now. He cast a look of loathing at David.
“Is this what comes ofassociatingwith commoners?” Kinnell loaded his words with enough disgust to clearly imply that there was something untoward about David. David kept his eyes on Murdo and Kinnell, but he felt the gazes of the audience to this drama moving over him. Heard their murmurings as they speculated about his identity.
Fortified by the reaction of the onlookers, Kinnell added more arrogantly, “Besides, what business of yours is my wife?”
Murdo smiled again, and again David thought of a wolf, that unblinking regard, that predatory stillness. Kinnell’s arrogance faltered. He saw that Murdo was pleased by the question and couldn’t understand why.
“Oh, your wife is very much my business,” he said, his voice ringing clearly for all to hear. “When she left you, she came to me. She’s been sharing my bed for months.”
“No, Murdo—” David said, horrified, but no one paid him any attention. Every gaze was fixed on Murdo and Kinnell.
Murdo was moving in for the kill now, stepping right up to Kinnell, crowding him till the man had to step back to put space between them. Step back and then step back again, till he collided with a table and could go no farther.
“Murdo—for God’s sake!”
David turned—everyone did, every head in the room swinging round to see the Marquess of Balfour standing in the doorway on the other side of the room, Hartley at his elbow. The marquess’s expression was rigid with shock and fury, and Hartley looked ready to have an apoplexy, his already ruddy features practically puce.
“It’s not true,” Kinnell said loudly, and, of course, it wasn’t. But no one would ever believe that. Murdo had just delivered a staggering insult, and everyone present realised there was only one way a gentleman of honour could react to such an insult. A cold blade of panic slid into David’s gut as he waited for the inevitable.
“What kind of man are you?” Murdo taunted. “If you had any self-respect, you would throw your glove in my face right now. But you’re too much of a coward.”
There were gasps at that, and a few shouted protests from their audience. Bad enough to call the man out for cruelty and announce you were his wife’s lover. But to call him a coward? The men gathered around waited, impatient for Kinnell to do the right thing.
Kinnell looked sick with misery and fear, but he knew too. There was no escape from this, not with any pride or honour left intact. At last, he lifted his arm and dragged his glove off with shaking fingers. The blow he struck to Murdo’s cheek had little vigour, and Murdo merely grinned to feel its impact.
“I demand satisfaction,” Kinnell said, his gaze bleak. “Name your second.”
Murdo’s wolf smile grew. “Mr. Lauriston will be my second. And yours?”
Kinnell looked about the room. The companion he’d arrived with appeared to have melted away entirely. He scanned the crowd of observers.
“Lennox?” he said at last. “Would you?”
The onlookers parted, and a man stepped forward, a man David knew very well. David’s heart began to thud in his chest as the man’s gaze flickered briefly to David, then back to Kinnell. His face—that once dear, familiar face—carried a trace of panic, but when he answered Kinnell, his voice was sure.
“I will,” said Sir William Lennox.
Will Lennox. David’s first love. The man who had once broken his heart.
Once the challenge had been issued and accepted, a number of the gentlemen stepped forward to offer their advice. The two principals were separated, and an older gentleman, a military type, took it upon himself to educate the two seconds on their duties and obligations, ushering them over to a group of chairs on the far side of the room.
“Do you know each other?” he asked first.
David opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Will held out a hand.
“Sir William Lennox,” he said. “And you are?”
David followed his lead, disappointed and relieved at once. “David Lauriston.”
They shook hands briefly. A distant part of David’s mind noted that Will had lost the willowy grace of his youth and the prettiness of his boyhood features. His features had settled into a blander maturity, though he was a pleasant-looking man.
Their guide introduced himself as Major Donaldson. They sat down to listen while he explained the business of how a duel worked. In the first instance, he began, the seconds should meet, to see what could be done to resolve matters by apology or otherwise. If that wasn’t possible, there were arrangements to be made—a location to be agreed upon, weapons to be approved, a surgeon’s services to be secured. The major sent a footman for pen and ink so he could write down the name and direction of a surgeon who was discreet and “good at patching up bullet wounds”.