Cyrus took a steadying breath. “If she wants me to leave, she must tell me so herself. It is the only way I can be certain that the message has come from her.” He dipped his head to the younger woman. “Apologies, Lady P?—”
“Whatis that man doing on my grounds?” a voice bellowed, another figure appearing on the steps of the front entrance.
Vincent hastened down, striding across the gravel to where Cyrus sat upon his horse.
“Go!” Prudence hissed. “For goodness’ sake, go! I cannot promise that he will not kill you!”
Cyrus nodded. “That is a risk I am willing to take.”
“Leave this place at once, while you still have your head upon your shoulders!” Vincent snarled, his face angrier than Cyrus had ever seen it. “If my sister sees that you are here, and it upsets her all over again, it shall not end pleasantly for you.”
Prudence rolled her eyes. “I was just telling him that.”
“And I was just telling Lady Prudence that I shall not leave, not until I have spoken with my wife,” Cyrus replied, throwing his leg over the saddle, jumping down to Vincent’s height. It was only polite that they should be face to face if Teresa’s brother did demand a duel.
“The gall of you!” Vincent barked, his hands balled into fists, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “Have you not done enough? I was against this from the beginning, though I relented because I thought it was for the best, because youmightbe a better man than your reputation dictated, but IwishI had never allowed her to set foot in that church with you.”
Cyrus folded his arms behind his back and inclined his head. “As her brother, you have every right to be furious with me. Whatever punishment might give you satisfaction, I shall bear it.” He paused. “But I still shall not leave until I have spoken to her.”
“No, you will obey my command because you are on my lands,” Vincent shot back. “I have asked you to leave as civilly as I am able. My next request will not be civil.”
Cyrus met the man’s eye. “And I am telling you that I shall bear your ‘incivility,’ but I will not leave.”
The fury in Vincent’s eyes darkened to a wild glint, his lip curling, his breathing ragged with the force of his contempt. It might have inspired a lesser man to obey to flee, but Cyrus remained unmoved. After all, he was not afraid of violence, or of injury to himself. The only thing he was afraid of, in the entire world, was losing his wife forever. Not to death, but to his own stupidity in ever letting her go in the first place.
Vincent let fly the punch that Cyrus had known was coming, the man’s knuckles colliding with Cyrus’ cheek. But it was not well thrown, too hindered by anger, Vincent’s knuckles more of asharp graze than a bone-cracking hit. Or, perhaps, Cyrus simply was not accustomed to a more gentlemanly punch.
The sting of the hit smarted, Cyrus’ skin throbbing where a bruise would undoubtedly begin to form. Yet, he did not make any attempt to retaliate, his arms still firmly behind his back, his determination unwavering.
“You can hit me until your own hand is broken, Lord Grayling,” Cyrus said. “I will continue to stand where I am.”
Vincent’s eyes flashed. “Then, I demand a duel. I have my pistols; let us see how long you can stand after my shot is fired.”
“Brother!” Prudence yelped, grabbing Vincent’s sleeve. “Do not be ridiculous! Oh, for pity’s sake, where is someone reasonable when I need them? Where is Isolde?”
Vincent gave her a light shove. “Return inside, Prudence. Instruct the butler to bring my pistols. Andstayinside.”
“No, Brother, I will not,” Prudence argued. “I am not going to let youkilleach other. This is not at all what Tessie wants.”
Vincent turned a dark glare on his youngest sister. “Do as you are told. Instruct the butler. Stay inside. That is all you need to do, and if you do not obey, I shall carry you inside myself and lock the door behind me.”
“Idiots,” Prudence muttered. “Both of you—idiots.”
She turned on her heel and fled toward the manor, sprinting up the steps and disappearing into the house. Leaving the two men alone on the driveway: an arena that only one of them would survive.
“You have one final opportunity to leave before the pistols are brought,” Vincent warned, nodding toward the gates.
Cyrus mustered a smile. “I am aware of how this may end, Lord Grayling. I still will not move. I came here to speak with your sister, and I shall not leave unless I do, or unless you fire a fatal shot.” He sighed. “We can duel, Lord Grayling, but I will tell you now that I do not intend to firemypistol. So, the victory is already yours.”
“You would just… stand there?” Vincent asked incredulously.
Cyrus nodded. “I will not raise a pistol to the brother that my wife cherishes so much. I have upset her enough; I would not add injuring you or killing you to that list.”
“But it is a duel,” Vincent insisted. “Youhaveto oppose me in the proper fashion.”
“I do not and will not.”
“There can be no satisfaction for your behavior if you do not duel me as a gentleman ought,” Vincent replied in a frustrated tone, sweeping a hand through his hair.
