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“There’s another way to handle this,” Royal said. “One that doesn’t involve dragging in various members of the royal family, which I’m sure would be unpleasant for everyone.”
Cringlewood’s mouth twitched with displeasure. “I’m losing my patience, Kendrick.”
“I challenge you to a duel, right now.”
The man’s eyebrows shot up. “Pistols? You must be joking.”
“No, swords.”
“He brung this along.” The thug held up Royal’s short sword.
The marquess stared at it for a moment, then laughed. “Madness, even for a Scotsman. Why would I bother dueling with you when I have everything I want?”
Royal let go of Ainsley and stepped in front of her. “Because if you don’t, I’ll hound you to the ends of the earth and destroy your life. My family will destroy your family, and by the time we’re through, there will be nothing left of your ridiculous name but bitterness and ashes. And,” he said, taking another step forward, “you will never lay hands on my wife again. My wife, never yours.”
The marquess glared at him, his complexion mottled with rage as he wavered in silence.
“Ah, you’re a coward,” Royal said. “But we already know that.”
“What do ye expect from aSassenach?” Angus said with a dramatic sigh.
“Give Kendrick back his sword,” Cringlewood snapped to Smith’s henchman. “And go fetch mine from my luggage. My valet will know where it is.”
“What are you doing?” Ainsley hissed, yanking on Royal’s sleeve. “Cringlewood is an accomplished fencer, and he doesn’t have a bad leg.”
“I’m better, even with the limp,” he whispered back.
“But he trained with the best Italian masters. He’s incredibly good.”
“I trained on the battlefield. I’m better.”
“But—”
He turned and dropped a quick kiss to the tip of her nose, as he always did when he wished to comfort her. “Love, I know what I’m doing. Please trust me.”
She breathed out a funny little growl. “I do, you impossible man. Do you trust me?”
“With my life.”
“You should listen to her, Kendrick,” the marquess said as he struggled out of his tight-fitting tailcoat. “She knows I’m lethal with the blade.”
“You’re a braggart, too, I see,” Royal said.
He glanced at Angus, who stood near the door under Smith’s guard. The old man gave a tiny shake of the head. Royal mentally cursed, since his grandfather had yet to hear any indication from downstairs of their impending rescue.
They waited in fraught silence until the thug returned, carrying a highly ornamented scabbard.
“I suggest you prepare,” Cringlewood said as he rolled back his ridiculously frilled cuffs.
Royal turned to his wife. “Please return to your chair, love.”
She grimaced. “But I have—”
“Now, Ainsley.”
She muttered another earthy curse and stomped back to her chair. She grabbed her reticule and plopped down on the seat, glaring at him.
“That’s my girl,” Royal said, unable to repress a smile.
