twenty-six
“KEITH, YOU CAN’T be serious.” Violante had to speed up to match Keith’s long strides. She and Keith crossed the yard to the field where the duel between Keith and the count would begin.
A duel. To defend her honour. How ridiculous. There hadn’t been a duel in England in a century or more. She wasn’t sure if the duel was the most romantic thing a man had ever done for her, or the most stupid. Likely the latter.
“I am very serious.” Keith’s voice sounded like steel against steel. He wielded his sword and swished it across the air. “The count is a pompous, hypocritical braggart. He insulted you and humiliated me. Someone ought to teach him a lesson.”
“Please.” She blocked his path and put her hands on his chest. “This is madness. You’re going to get hurt.”
Keith narrowed his eyes. “Trust me, I won’t. I can handle myself in a fight, and we aren’t fighting to death. The winner is the first one who draws blood.” He swished the blade again. “And it’ll be me.”
“But…but…” She followed him. A duel was never a good idea. “We should leave this cursed manor and forget about the whole affair.”
“He insulted you. I can’t allow it.”
“Why don’t you tell the count about his wife’s affair?”
“Because I won’t lower to that level. I am a true gentleman.” He sidestepped her and resumed his march towards Paul waiting for him in the field.
Oh, bother. She stopped at the edge of the field, her heartbeat quickening. The count and Sir Nigel stood on the other side. Mrs. Collins and Murray were present as well, along with the entire household. Paul talked with Keith in hushed tones, shaking his head. If he tried to change Keith’s mind, she doubted he’d have any luck. A few more words were exchanged among the four of them, but between her anxiety and the distance, she couldn’t hear anything. Keith stepped into the middle of the field. The count copied him as the two attendants, Sir Nigel and Paul, walked towards the edge.
“Bloody ridiculous,” Paul said, standing next to her.
“I agree.” She wrung her hands. “Is Keith good with a sword?”
“Haven’t the foggiest, but the count chose the weapon. He must be knowledgeable.”
“Can Keith get seriously hurt?”
Paul lifted a shoulder. “Let’s say that when two angry men, whose brains have gone on a holiday, brandish very sharp blades to hurt each other, things can become really serious.”
Oh, goodness. Violante shifted her weight from one foot to another. What could she do?
The count and Keith bowed to each other. That was likely their last polite act before the bloodshed. The blades caught the sunlight as they flourished them. She winced when the two swords collided with a clicking metallic noise. She didn’t understand anything about sword fighting, but the count and Keith seemed well matched. At least Keith hadn’t died immediately.
Keith hammered his sword against the count’s defence with so much strength the count’s feet left deep marks on the ground as he defended himself. A shout rose from Keith as the count flourished his wrist and slashed Keith’s arm, ripping the sleeve of his shirt.
“Keith.” Violante gripped Paul’s arm. “Make them stop.”
“I tried,” Paul said.
She might faint. “Is there any blood?”
Paul craned his neck. “I don’t think so. Otherwise, they would stop.”
The duel would go on then.
“Stop!” The countess rushed past Violante in a flutter of green fabric and loose hair. “Giuseppe, stop this instant.” She bravely threw herself between the two duellists, oblivious to the blades slashing around. Quite impressive.
“What is the meaning of this?” the countess demanded in an authoritarian voice Violante hadn’t heard from her.
Keith took a step back from her, his eyes wild. “Your husband accused my wife”—he beat a fist to his chest at the word ‘wife’—“of being unfaithful to me with Paul. He called her a harlot.”
“Blimey.” Paul whistled. “I didn’t know that.”
She huffed. “As if I’d ever choose you to be my lover and be unfaithful to Keith.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Paul asked.
