Page 28 of Of Lies and Earls (Inglorious Scoundrels #2)

“ W hat?” Honoria sprang from the bed, clutching the bedsheet to her naked form. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a frightened bird. “Why? Where?” Her voice cracked, rising higher than normal, betraying the panic already surging within her.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” he said, avoiding her gaze. “I was going to sneak out and not tell you anything, but I can’t lie to you.” Finally, he looked up, his expression grave. “I’m dueling your husband. It’s what he demanded.”

No, no, no. This cannot be happening.

“This is madness!” she cried, rushing to him. Her trembling fingers gripped his sleeve. “I am not letting you out of the house!”

Jacob’s jaw tightened. “You have to. This isn’t just about your honor. It’s about mine.”

Honor. Always honor with men. She pressed her palms to her temples, trying to contain the fury and fear swirling inside her head.

“Who the hell cares about honor?” Tears pricked at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “My honor was sullied a long time ago. Please, let this go.”

“I can’t, dear. I’m sorry.” Jacob’s voice softened. He reached out and caressed her cheek with his knuckles. “He hurt you for years and deserves to pay.”

Honoria clutched at his forearm, her nails digging into the fabric of his coat. “No. You’re not leaving.”

“I am.” The quiet certainty in his voice terrified her more than any shout could have.

She searched his face, desperate for a crack in his resolve. His eyes were steady, his breathing even. A cold sweat broke over her skin.

“How can you be so calm?” she demanded, her voice shaking.

“Don’t worry. Bradshaw’s a terrible shot,” he said, his face impassive. Was he joking?

“Right, which means he could hit you accidentally!” Honoria released his arm to gesture wildly, nearly losing her sheet. She grabbed it tighter, knuckles white. “Are you mad? What if you’re injured—or worse? Are you going to leave the children without a guardian because of your pettiness?”

And our unborn child. She didn’t say the words aloud. This wasn’t the right time.

“Pettiness?” Jacob’s voice hardened, and Honoria flinched at the cold fury in his eyes. “The man hit you, starved you, left you for dead. I’m not going to let him walk away from that.”

“Are you going to kill him, then?” she asked sharply.

“The court proceedings will take years, and they’ll ruin you, while he’ll just shrug it all off,” Jacob argued, pacing now, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “There will be no consequences for him!”

Honoria stepped into his path, forcing him to face her. “Answer me! Is that your plan? Are you going to kill him?”

He was silent.

And that silence told her everything.

“I’m coming with you,” she said, already striding toward her dressing room, the sheet trailing behind her like a queen’s train.

“What are you talking about?” Jacob’s startled voice followed her.

She reached for a simple dress, her movements sharp and deliberate. “If you refuse to listen to reason and insist on this stupid revenge, then I’m coming with you—and you’ll have to kill a man in cold blood with me watching.”

Jacob appeared in the doorway, his face darkening. “You are not going.”

Honoria met his gaze defiantly as she stepped into the dress and pulled it over her shoulders. “Then you’re not going either.”

“Honoria,” he growled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

She raised her chin, fighting the trembling in her fingers as she fastened the buttons. “Yes, Jacob?” she asked coolly, though her heart pounded so loudly she was certain he could hear it.

“Leave this now.” His voice was low and dangerous.

“Only if you do.”

“Do not be stubborn,” Jacob said, taking a step toward her.

“I’m not the one risking being shot at twenty paces or killing someone. I’m coming with you. And if you leave without me, I’ll follow you. And if you lock me in my room, then you are no better than Bradshaw.”

A sharp intake of breath told her the barb had landed. “Really? You compare me to him?”

Honoria turned to face him fully, her eyes burning with either tears or fury, she didn’t know which. “Only if you act like him.”

* * *

The morning mist hung low over the field as Jacob and Honoria arrived at the dueling ground. Honoria walked beside him, her face pale but determined. Her presence was both a comfort and a torment—he hadn’t wanted her to witness this, but it seemed he had no other choice.

Her words haunted him even now.

And if you lock me in my room, then you are no better than Bradshaw.

Several figures were already gathered at the site. Bradshaw stood with his second, a thin man with a perpetual sneer. An elderly doctor lingered nearby with his medical bag, casting anxious glances about as if hoping the duel would be canceled.

Lucien Drake, Jacob’s second, raised an eyebrow in surprise at the sight of Honoria.

“Watch her, would you?” Jacob murmured, pressing his pistol case into Drake’s hands.

His friend nodded. “Of course.”

“Jacob.” Honoria grabbed his hand. “Please.”

Jacob squeezed her fingers briefly and winked at her. “Don’t worry.”

“Are the terms agreed on?” he asked Drake before striding away.

“As discussed. Twenty paces. Turn. Shoot. One shot only.”

With a nod, Jacob approached the spot designated as the center. Bradshaw met him with a cruel twist of his lips. “Brought your whore, I see,” he sneered. “Just know that once I kill you, she’s coming to warm my bed again—like she did for years.”

Jacob held in his anger, not letting this weasel of a man rattle him. “Don’t worry, Bradshaw,” he said calmly. “I’ll make it quick and painless.”

They turned their backs, pistols in hand.

One. Two.

Jacob started walking to the count of Drake’s voice.

Five. Six.

The breeze tickled his face, cooling his burning cheeks.

Fifteen. Sixteen.

He concentrated on the weight of the pistol in his hand, visualizing shooting Bradshaw straight through the chest. Nothing else mattered.

Nineteen. Twenty.

He stopped.

Pivoted. Then raised his arm in a steady, duelist’s stance—body angled, arm fully outstretched toward his opponent.

With his spectacles on, he could see Bradshaw perfectly—the barrel of his gun aimed at Bradshaw’s chest.

The distance between them seemed both vast and negligible. Time slowed as his finger tensed on the trigger.

“You compare me to him?”

“Only if you act like him.”

Jacob grimaced. In a split-second decision, he adjusted his aim—slightly down and to the left.

Two cracks split the morning air almost simultaneously. Jacob felt the wind of Bradshaw’s ball pass harmlessly over his shoulder, but his own shot found its mark.

A strangled yelp erupted from Bradshaw, more indignant than pained. He toppled awkwardly, landing inelegantly on the damp grass.

Honoria let out a gasp, covering her face with her hands.

“I’m hit! The blackguard shot me!” Bradshaw howled, rolling onto his side.

The bullet had grazed his posterior, ripping through the fabric of his fine breeches. A crimson stain spread across the buff-colored material as Bradshaw clutched at his backside, his face contorted with equal parts pain and humiliation.

“Good God,” Drake muttered, fighting to maintain his composure. “You’ve shot him in the—”

Arse . He’d shot him in the arse.