Page 5 of Too Wicked for Heaven

The two men stared at each other, locked in a battle of wills, the one a dark avenging angel and the other a carefree rogue who’d been jerked up short by an overly moral uncle. Thanks to her.

The marquess’s features evened out into nonchalance. “You’ve been itching to do this for years, haven’t you? Very well. Dawn it is.”

“No!” Althea cried out.

Theresa clutched Uncle Winston’s arm. “Surely there’s another way to settle this, my dear.”

He thrust her aside. “This isn’t your concern, Theresa.”

Althea took Theresa’s place. “But it is mine.” Althea felt caught up in a maelstrom. “Uncle Winston, you can’t do this.”

Her uncle paid her no mind as he turned back to Lord Foxworth. “Where shall we meet? Leicester Fields?”

“Nay. My Richmond house. It’s nearby and more secluded.” A bitterness crept into his voice. “That is, if you trust me to behave honorably on my own property.”

“I’ll be there,” her uncle answered through gritted teeth.

She clasped Uncle Winston’s arm. “Don’t do this. ‘Tis absurd! Nothing happened! You cannot . . . you mustn’t⁠—”

“Come along, Althea.” He planted his hand in the small of her back and propelled her toward the ballroom. Theresa cast a backward glance at the panniers still caught in the rosebush, but apparently realized that carrying them through the ballroom would be worse than abandoning them, for she shrugged and left them there.

The maids would speculate on that tomorrow. Althea glanced back at the marquess, standing stiff and silent beside the hapless piece of female vanity.

Her uncle paused in the door just long enough to snap at the marquess, “Send word to me of your seconds.” Then he pushed her into the crowded ballroom as Theresa trailed behind.

Althea blinked in the candlelight. Apparently, not a soul had heard the interchange on the balcony. In truth, it had probably only taken a few seconds, instead of the lifetime it seemed.

So this would be a private duel. No one would know of it. Until, of course, one of the blasted fools was killed and the other forced to flee England. And all because of her.

Wasn’t there something more she could do to stop it? One look at her uncle’s implacable features as he dragged her toward the entrance told her he was beyond reason. He wouldn’t even look at her.

She choked back a sob. Now he must be absolutely convinced of her poor character, if he hadn’t been before. She could never live up to his standards. Any other man would have noted the ensnared panniers and seen that her story was sound, but not Uncle Winston. He was stubborn about such things as women’s virtue, and he’d die before he’d let her honor be besmirched.

And it was all her fault for being weak enough to let Nev kiss her. Deliciously. Passionately. So tenderly that she⁠—

She chided herself for dwelling on it. That didn’t matter. Not when a duel loomed between Nev and her uncle.

As soon as they’d reached the entranceway, Uncle Winston said, “I’m calling the carriage and sending you home.”

“Please, Uncle Winston, you must believe me.” She grabbed his arm. “The marquess did nothing more than kiss me. Plenty of other men have attempted that tonight without your demanding that they fight you.”

He looked at her, eyes dark with remorse. “You don’t have to lie for that blight on society. After tomorrow, he won’t bother you anymore. I’ve failed you this evening, but I won’t fail you then.”

His words confused her. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“That’s enough. You’re going home now.” He extricated himself from her grasp. “Theresa and I will leave as soon as I find my seconds for tomorrow.”

He turned to Theresa. “Keep an eye on her while I send for the carriage.” Then he was gone.

Once he was out of sight, Theresa turned to Althea. “You’ve got to stop him from fighting this duel. They say Lord Foxworth is a crack shot and an expert fencer! And you know … well …”

Theresa didn’t have to say more. Althea’s heart sank. If he fought the duel-- “What can I do? He won’t listen to reason!”

“I know. I would never have told him about seeing you on the balcony if I’d thought—” The young widow took a shuddering breath. “’Tis all my fault, isn’t it?”

Althea shook her head. “Nay. There’s more to it than what happened on the balcony. I think Lord Foxworth would have refused to fight the duel entirely if it had just been that.”

Her eyes narrowed. The marquess had indeed been hesitant to fight. Obviously, he’d known he was the better duelist and hadn’t wanted to hurt Uncle Winston, despite all the nasty things Uncle Winston had said. Perhaps …