“Does it? She did not mind showing me the birthmark.”
Mari glanced up again, her face draining of all color while her eyes went huge and dark with shock. The crowd issued another collective gasp. “I did not—”
“Hush, my love. There is no reason to deny it since we will be officially betrothed once the banns are read,” Nicholas said smoothly.
“She is nae betrothed yet. Ye have nae right to embarrass the lass.”
“I have no wish to embarrass Marissa.Fullnudes are quite the rage in France, part of the Romantic movement,” Nicholas replied in a condescending tone, “but I would not expect a northern barbarian to understand that.”
“Ye are trying my patience, Frenchman.”
Nicholas looked around the room at the now-twittering ladies and then back at Jamie. “Will you be throwing an uncivilized punch in front of these fine people?”
“Dinnae tempt me.”
Nicholas lifted an eyebrow. “Fisticuffs are hardly civilized. However, if you find my painting so offensive, perhaps you would be willing to meet me on the field of honor to decide which of us will own it.”
The room went silent.
“Are ye challenging me to a duel?”
An amused expression swept over Nicholas’s face. “I believe I am.”
“No!” Mari said. “I will not have someone killed.”
Both men ignored her while they glared at each other. The Earl of Sherrington broke through the crowd. “I believe this can be handled without killing,” he said.
Mari wrung her hands. “Please—”
Jamie instinctively reached for Mari, but the earl put an arm around her shoulders and drew her to him protectively. “Let me offer an opinion,” he said to Jamie, “since I was involved in a duel with your brother.” He faced Nicholas. “This is not a situation which needs to be fought to the death. The matter can be solved with sabers, not pistols. Whoever draws first blood has the right to keep the painting.” He looked from one man to the other. “Agreed?”
Nicholas’s face turned dark, but he muttered an assent.
Jamie folded his arms across his chest, his eyes on a tearful Mari. “Agreed.”
“Good,” Sherrington said, releasing Mari to the custody of her aunt who bustled her away. “Westminster Field. Tomorrow. One hour past dawn.”
For once, it seemed most of thetonmanaged to be out of bed and dressed before noon. An array of carriages was lined up near Westminster Field the next morning, the men standing about in corded breeches and Hessians, the ladies wrapped in furs and muffs. Jamie flexed the saber, checking the pommel’s counterweight to the blade, and found the balance acceptable. His eyes searched the ever-growing crowd for Mari. He had told her to stay home so she would not be held to more ridicule regarding the accursed portrait, but he doubted she had listened to him any more than she usually did.
Moments later, he proved himself right. Mari arrived in Sherrington’s carriage along with his daughter, Abigail, Maddie and her father, Baron Dunster, and Effie. From where he stood, Jamie could see Mari was pale, but Effie had a grip on her arm. The maid shot dagger looks at Nicholas, standing a short distance away by the uncovered painting of Mari. Jamie almost grinned. If someone gave Effie a weapon, she probably would not stop at drawing first blood.
Thankfully, Sherrington led them to a spot where they would have an obscured view. Mari looked as though she were about to argue with the earl, but Effie nodded, not releasing her hold, and Abigail took Mari’s other hand. Good. Jamie did not want his concentration broken once the fight began.
Another man joined Sherrington and the baron as they made their way toward him. “This is Thomas Price, a surgeon,” the earl explained. “A physician is required to be present at all duels, even though I hope this one will not be that bloody.”
“Aye. A wee nick is all I intend to do,” Jamie replied, although he would have preferred to settle the matter with a much greater show of force.
Sherrington motioned for Nicholas to approach. In a voice that clearly told the crowd to stay outside the perimeters, the earl asked each man again if they agreed to the terms of engagement. Jamie watched Nicholas’s eyes shift even as he said yes. The man would be a dirty fighter.
“En garde, then,” the earl said and backed away.
Jamie and Nicholas circled, each looking for the other’s weak spot. The Frenchman weighed a good two stone less than Jamie and he used his nimbleness to his advantage, appearing to thrust and retreating before he engaged, staying in perpetual motion. Jamie turned more slowly, allowing the Frenchman to think him somewhat of a laggard, but his weight was balanced and he was ready to strike.
Nicholas attacked finally and Jamie parried, their sabers pressed against each other as they turned in a macabre semblance of a dance. Jamie disengaged, passing his blade beneath Nicholas’ sword, throwing him off balance and then thrusting. To Jamie’s surprise, Nicholas recovered in time to parry and riposte. Jamie countered and then feinted left before cutting right. Again, Nicholas managed to avoid the hit by a quick cross step.
The man had obviously spent time learning how to fence. Jamie honed his concentration. Time to stop playing cat and mouse.
They circled again, intent now on the outcome. Had Jamie had his claymore, he could have made short work of this in one fell swing, but the much smaller and lighter saber made him measure his thrusts—the narrow blade was likely to break if he put his full strength behind it. Their swords continued to clash, the sound of steel ringing out in the clear morning air as the crowd grew restless, wanting some real action.
