Page 38 of Pistols for Two

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The amusement left his face. He looked frowningly at her, a hint of contempt in his rather hard eyes. He said in a dry tone: ‘No doubt to call upon his lordship?’

She put up her chin. ‘If you will be so obliging as to direct me to Lord Rotherfield’s house, which I believe to be in this street, sir, I need no longer trespass upon your hospitality!’

‘It is the last house in London to which I would direct you. I will rather escort you back to your own house, wherever that may be.’

‘No, no, I must see Lord Rotherfield!’ she cried.

‘He is not a proper person for you to visit, my good girl. Moreover, it is unlikely that you would find him at home at this hour.’

‘Then I must wait for him,’ she declared. ‘I am persuaded he will not be so very late tonight, for he is going to fight a duel in the morning!’

He stared at her, his eyes narrowed. ‘Indeed?’

‘Yes! – with my brother!’ she said, a catch in her voice. ‘I must – I must prevent him!’

‘Is it possible,’ he demanded, ‘that you imagine you can persuade Rotherfield to draw back from an engagement? You do not know him! Who sent you on this fantastic errand? Who can have exposed you to such a risk?’

‘Oh, no one, no one! I discovered what Charlie meant to do by the luckiest accident, and surely Lord Rotherfield cannot be so very bad? I know he is said to be heartless and excessively dangerous, but he cannot be such a monster as to shoot poor Charlie when I have explained to him how young Charlie is, and how it would utterly prostrate Mama, who is an invalid, and suffers from the most shocking palpitations!’

He moved away from the window, and pulled a chair out from the table. ‘Come and sit down!’ he said curtly.

‘But, sir –’

‘Do as I bid you!’

She came reluctantly to the chair and sat down on the edge of it, looking up at him in a little trepidation.

He drew his snuff-box from his pocket and flicked it open. ‘You, I

apprehend, are Miss Saltwood,’ he stated.

‘Well, I am Dorothea Saltwood,’ she amended. ‘My sister Augusta is Miss Saltwood, because no one has offered for her yet. And that is why I am not yet out, though I am turned nineteen! But how did you know my name is Saltwood?’

He raised a pinch of snuff to one nostril. ‘I was present, ma’am, when your brother insulted Rotherfield.’

She seemed grieved. ‘At that horrid gaming-hell?’

‘On the contrary! At an exclusive club, to which few of us, I fancy, know how Lord Saltwood gained admission.’

She flushed. ‘He prevailed upon that stupid creature, Torryburn, to take him there. I dare say he should not have done so, but Lord Rotherfield need not have give him such a set-down! You will own it was the unkindest thing!’

‘Certainly,’ he said. ‘Pray do not think that I have the smallest desire to defend Rotherfield! But in justice to his lordship I must tell you that your brother offered him an insupportable insult. His lordship has many faults – indeed, I sometimes think I dislike him more than anyone of my acquaintance! – but I assure you that in all matters of play he is scrupulous. Forgive me if I venture to suggest, ma’am, that your brother will be the better for a sharp lesson, to teach him, in future, not to accuse a gentleman of using loaded dice!’

‘Indeed, I know it was very bad, but if he meets Lord Rotherfield he won’t have a future!’

‘This is high Cheltenham tragedy with a vengeance!’ he replied, amused. ‘Rotherfield will scarcely proceed to such extremes as you dread, my dear child!’

‘They say he never misses!’ she uttered, her cheeks blanched.

‘Then he will hit Saltwood precisely where he means to.’

‘They must not, and they shall not meet!’ she said earnestly. ‘I am persuaded that if I can only tell Lord Rotherfield how it is with Charlie, he cannot be so cruel as to persist in this affair!’

‘You would be better advised to prevail upon your brother to apologize for his conduct.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed mournfully. ‘That is what Bernard said, but the thing is that Lord Rotherfield is so deadly a shot that Charlie would never, never do that, because everyone would think he was afraid to meet him!’

‘And who, may I ask, is Bernard?’


Tags: Georgette Heyer Historical