— Can it really be? Is the legendary Quartet finally back together in full force? — Thomas grinned as he noticed Christopher appearing in the doorway of the club.
He, the Duke of Egerton, and the Earl of Chevington had gathered at the club an hour earlier, leisurely playing cards. The club was half-empty, as many had retreated to their country estates. It was that time of year when one could take a breather from the whirlwind of social balls and receptions before the hunting season kicked off, along with the customary visits to rural manors.
— How could it be otherwise? — Christopher saluted with a smirk, setting his hat aside.
— Ever since you got yourself a wife, you’ve been paying more attention to her than to us, — Thomas teased, not letting up.
— He’s still basking in the honeymoon glow, — Robert Raine winked. — Give it time, things will settle.
— And how would you know? — Christopher raised an eyebrow. — I thought the weight of a honeymoon was something you only felt after tying the knot.
— If you find the right lady, a month can be sweet as honey without any vows, — Raine chuckled with a hearty laugh.
— Just a month? — Thomas arched a brow, his tone laced with playful insinuation about his friend’s stamina. — That’s all you’ve got? What then, do you take a break?
— I’d wager I’ve got more staying power than that. But you’ve got to switch up the company in bed. After a month of fun, they start imagining relationships and picturing themselves as a countess, — Raine shot back with a grin.
— Is that really so bad? Not all ladies are the same, and not all of them are after a title. You just have to look carefully and listen to your heart, not other parts of you, — Charlie Norfolk remarked, his gaze fixed on the golden liquid swirling in his glass.
Thomas shot a surprised glance at his friend. He knew Charlie was the most serious of their group, but he couldn’t fathom why he’d say something like that. Why offer such advice to someone as free as the wind? Unless, of course, Charlie was hiding something from them, his closest mates?
— Egerton, is something wrong? — Christopher asked, narrowing his eyes.
— Do I look that bad? — Charlie countered, taking a sip of his brandy.
— That’s your third glass of brandy since I got here, and I haven’t been here long. Plus, you’ve barely reacted to Robert’s jabs, — Christopher pointed out.
— He hasn’t even cracked a smile since he walked through that door! — Thomas added.
— I think I know what Egerton’s missing! — Robert grinned broadly. — He needs to unwind with one of those fiery ladies.
— I’m done with ladies, — Charlie snapped, pouring himself another glass of brandy.
— What, are you joining a monastery? — Thomas snorted with laughter.
Knowing the Duke as well as he did, Thomas found it hard to imagine his friend without a woman on his arm. Catching Christopher’s disapproving look, he stifled his laughter, raised his hands in a mock surrender, took a sip of brandy, and turned his attention back to the card game, half-listening to the conversation.
— I have a wife, — Charlie suddenly declared in the middle of the chatter, causing Robert and Thomas to abandon their game. They exchanged a glance, set down their cards, and focused on their friend, unsure if he was joking or if he’d pulled off something behind their backs.
— Good one, — Robert finally said with a smirk.
— I’m not joking, — Charlie replied grimly, rubbing his face with a weary hand. — I got married ten years ago.
— And all these years, you’ve kept her locked in some dark dungeon while you’ve been gallivanting around, and now you’ve suddenly remembered her and decided to turn monk, — Thomas scoffed. At this point, he thought his friend was either pulling their leg or had had too much to drink.
— I never forgot about her! — Charlie growled, shooting an irritated glare at Thomas before standing abruptly. Christopher placed a firm hand on his shoulder, practically forcing him back into his seat. Thomas had never seen his friend like this before. He dropped the teasing and focused on Charlie, only now realizing that something had been troubling him all evening, and they’d failed to notice.
— You’re almost right, Thomas… about the dungeon, — Charlie muttered. The gentlemen fell silent, saying nothing as Charlie took a few more sips of brandy, gathering his thoughts. — I married ten years ago. After my father and brother passed, my mother insisted on a marriage and an heir. Back then, I was in love with a girl I met at a house of ill repute…
Thomas listened to his friend’s story, sipping brandy now and then. As Charlie spoke, old gossip Thomas had overheard years ago resurfaced in his mind. Back then, his mother had lamented to her sister, hoping he wouldn’t rashly follow in the Duke’s footsteps and ruin a young wife. That conversation had come up only once, when Thomas mentioned marriage to a lady he’d met just once. In time, it turned out to be mere infatuation, not love, and both his mother’s words and the rumors faded from memory. But now… Charlie’s words stirred those old memories, filling in the gaps with a tale that, even to a seasoned rogue like Thomas, felt deeply wrong.
— I told her she could leave, but Colin stays at the estate. I didn’t wait for her answer—I just walked away, — Charlie’s words cut into Thomas’s thoughts like a gunshot after pulling the trigger.
— So you’re blackmailing your wife with her own child?! — Thomas snarled, turning halfway to face his friend.
— It’s my child too!
— I don’t get it. You’ve loved her for ten years, and now you’re pushing her away? — Robert asked, bewildered.
— I don’t want to push her away. I want to hold on to her, — Charlie sighed, taking another sip of brandy.
— I’m no expert on love, but you’ve made a mistake blackmailing her, mate, — Thomas said sharply. Despite his friendship with Charlie, he found it distasteful to hear that a child had become a bargaining chip. Perhaps it stirred memories of his own childhood struggles.
Trying to shake off the memories threatening to claw at his soul, Thomas shifted to perch on the armrest of the sofa and poured himself another stiff drink. But as he raised the glass, his hand trembled, and the liquid splashed onto his chest. His coat and shirt were soaked.
Angrily turning his head, he noticed a young gentleman’s shoulder pressing into his elbow as the lad passed by. Or rather, didn’t just pass by, but for reasons unclear to Thomas, barreled into him with a shove. The boy looked almost like a child: short, scrawny, though draped in a cloak.
— Hey, lad, watch where you’re going! — the Earl growled in frustration, pushing the young man away.
— Your Lordship, my apologies. It was an accident. My cousin is a bit clumsy…
Only now did Westley notice that the young man wasn’t alone; he was accompanied by another gentleman, slightly older and more robust. What struck Thomas as odd was that it was the other man apologizing, not the culprit himself.
— Your cousin should be the one apologizing, not you, — Thomas grumbled, wiping his coat with a silk handkerchief, though it was clear it wouldn’t help with the unpleasant dampness on his skin. — So, I’m waiting, and make it quick. We’re in the middle of an important conversation here, and I don’t have the time or patience to deal with you lot.
— But, Your Lordship, I’ve already apologized, — the young baron persisted. Looking at him, Thomas vaguely recalled that the lad had recently started frequenting the club and had even introduced himself once, though his name escaped Thomas now. That wasn’t important at the moment. The clumsy oaf, however, was clearly a first-timer here, and he kept his face hidden under a wide-brimmed hat, which, against all etiquette, he hadn’t removed upon entering.
— What’s your cousin’s name? — Christopher interjected, and Thomas noticed that despite the gravity of their earlier discussion, his friends had paused it to watch his spat with these two uncouth fellows. This only fueled his irritation and anger. How could he stand idly by while respectable gentlemen had their conversation interrupted by a pair of ill-mannered bumpkins?
— My Lord, he’s… uh…
— I don’t care what his name is, — Thomas snapped indignantly. — I’m waiting for an apology. Now.
— We truly are sorry, — the young man paled but continued to speak on behalf of his cousin.
— Westley, let’s get back to our conversation, — one of his friends suggested, and Thomas nodded, not taking his eyes off the offender.
— Let’s, — Thomas agreed with a curt nod. But before resuming the discussion with his friends, he turned back to the culprit, tossing his leather glove at him. — I’ll be waiting for you and your second at dawn on the outskirts of town. Don’t even think about not showing up.
— But, Your Lordship! — the young baron, now even paler, tried to protest, but Thomas was unrelenting.
— Go, or you’ll both need seconds.
Turning away from them, Thomas met Christopher’s disapproving gaze.
— Did you really have to do that? You realize you’ve just doomed this young gentleman, don’t you?
— It was his choice. He should’ve apologized. But he chose silence, — Thomas shrugged. — Nothing to be done about it. Actions have consequences.
— Exactly! I need to show Evelyn that I’m taking responsibility for my actions, — Charlie exclaimed, drawing his friends’ attention back to him.
— And how do you plan to do that? — Robert asked with a hint of irony.
— I haven’t figured it out yet. But I need to get home immediately. Make sure she hasn’t run off—and ensure she doesn’t, — Charlie replied.
— That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said, — Thomas smirked.
— Egerton, we’ll stop by tomorrow for a chat. I’ll bring Jane along. Maybe she’ll have some advice, — Christopher offered.
— Just don’t scare her off, — Charlie warned with a stern look at his friends before giving a slow salute and heading for the exit.
— Chevington, will you sacrifice a few hours of sleep for me? — Thomas turned to Robert. — I doubt Holston will drag himself out from under his wife’s warm embrace.
Robert burst out laughing, noting the annoyed expression on his friend’s face.
— Do I have a choice? — he replied with a wide grin, clapping Westley on the shoulder. — Besides, a duel involving one of London’s finest marksmen won’t take long.
***
— For the sake of fairness, I must ask if you’ve reconsidered resolving this matter in a way other than a duel? — Robert called out loudly, standing between Thomas and the still-unknown young man. Not that Robert particularly cared about the lad’s name. From the looks of it, he wasn’t a titled aristocrat, which was probably for the best. Thomas never missed—unless he meant to.
— If His Lordship would show mercy… — the young baron began, but Thomas cut him off.
— I gave him a chance to settle this peacefully. It’s too late now. Don’t waste your breath. Let’s get on with it. The wind’s picking up, and it looks like rain. I don’t fancy getting soaked again because of this fellow, — he growled through gritted teeth, glaring at the young gentleman.
Raine retrieved a small case containing the dueling pistols. After letting the baron inspect them, he turned to his friend so Thomas could take his weapon. Then he extended the case toward the young man, who, despite the dawn and the overcast sky, still wore a hat that obscured most of his face.
— I suggest you take that hat off your eyes, — Raine advised, watching as the lad hesitantly took the pistol. It was clear this was his first duel—and, most likely, his last. Unless Westley decided to merely teach the impudent boy a lesson.
With weapons in hand, the duelists positioned themselves near the Earl of Chevington. At his signal, they began pacing in rhythm with his count. When he reached thirty, the gentlemen stopped and turned to face each other.
Thomas strode forward almost mechanically, barely listening to Chevington’s count. When he stopped, he noticed with surprise that the baron, who was supposed to act as a second and observe both participants, was focused solely on his cousin, standing too close and whispering something to him. Thomas considered making a remark but decided the behavior stemmed from inexperience and let it slide. After all, neither that nor the worsening weather would stop him from hitting his mark.
Meanwhile, Chevington took a deep breath and loudly gave the command. Thomas raised his pistol and pulled the trigger. In the instant the shot rang out, a gust of wind whipped up, so strong it billowed the cloaks of those present and knocked the hat off the young man’s head. In a split second, the accessory tumbled away, and long, jet-black hair cascaded over the shoulders. A dreadful suspicion flashed through Earl Thomas Westley’s mind, but the bullet had already traveled its course and found its target.