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Oh, how could she ask and not raise suspicion? It was an impossible task. “Do you trust me?”
His lips parted, readying an answer, then he tilted his head, exhaling the unspoken word.
“I need to see him alone. Will you help me?
“I don’t like this.”
“No one has asked you to. But Victor, I need to do this. Then I will marry Mr. Netherborne and resign myself to a life in the country. No one shall be the wiser.”
“When?”
If she was going to do this reckless thing, she would do it before her courage failed. “Tonight.”
CHAPTER 25—THE PROPOSITION
Bands of light from the setting sun striped the floor in Timothy’s small study, painting it in a soft glow. He rose and lit a few more candles, hoping to coax the upcoming night into hastening its arrival.
Not that it would matter. Sleep would most likely not come easily, if at all. He hadn’t slept well for weeks, ever since Bea’s garden party. The impetuous letter he’d sent to Priscilla did nothing to further his cause. Indeed, the moment he released it into the hands of the footman for delivery, a knot had formed in his stomach, refusing to ease.
He gripped the edge of the mantle over the unlit hearth, his knuckles whitening with coiled tension. Would the infernal day ever end?
After pushing himself from the abused mantle, he poured another glass of whisky and swirled the amber liquid around the crystal glass.
With one large gulp, he let the prescriptive liquid sear his throat and prayed it would dull the razor-sharp edge of his thoughts.
Instead of relief, painful memories elbowed their way to the forefront.
Merilee.
Like Priscilla, she, too, had said she desired him—loved him. And green boy that he was, he believed her, returning herlovein full measure.
And it was all a lie.
Stationed outside of Antwerp and unable to return home for Christmastide, he planned to commemorate the holiday with another joyous occasion. Intoxicating anticipation bubbled in his veins when he’d gone to her apartments with every intention of asking her to be his wife.
Only to find her in the arms of a second lieutenant in his regiment—in flagrante delicto.
After pulling the offending officer from her bed, Timothy flung the man’s clothing at him, and as his superior officer, ordered him to get dressed and meet him outside.
Merilee pleaded with him, begging him to forgive her. But he demanded satisfaction, not only for her honor, but for his own.
Seconds were hastily obtained from a group of soldiers in a nearby tavern. Although dueling was illegal in England, many in the military turned a blind eye when away from home, accepting it as part and parcel of a soldier’s precarious life.
Pistols at ten paces. Timothy stood back-to-back with the second lieutenant, his blood bubbling for an entirely different reason. With each count, he gripped his pistol tighter, and any thought to fire at the ground vanished when he heard Merilee call the man’s name, her voice in utter anguish.
He aimed low, but before the command was given, his opponent fired, disregarding the rules. Hastily, he pulled the trigger at the same moment a bullet slammed into his shoulder, propelling him back and his pistol upward.
Merilee’s screams rent the air.
Gray encroached on Timothy’s vision, and he stumbled, falling to the ground. He waited for Merilee to rush to his side, to speak words of contrition and love.
Such words did indeed pour from her lips, but not for Timothy. She knelt beside the crumpled body of the second lieutenant, motionless on the ground, her body draped across his in a death shroud.
Soldiers in the regiment carried Timothy off to the physician. The second lieutenant was beyond assistance.
Burning pain seared Timothy’s shoulder as the doctor probed inside. “I expected you to be assisting me inremovingbullets, Marbry, not be on the receiving end.”
Clink.
