Alcohol rolled in Drusus stomach. "Yes. Fine. Fetch me the washbowl. Just in case."

  Octavia returned with a basin, and a cool cloth for his headache. She washed his face. "Do you know how lucky we are? We have both been given a second chance. Right now we're both working very hard at making our future like the past, because we are letting our fear drive us. I am afraid of what you think of me. You are afraid I love Khun better than you. Drusus, I love you. I do not prefer Khun to you. I prefer you to Khun. I know you are afraid of how you have changed. We can face this. I love you. You, as you are."

  Drusus grabbed her hand. Pain sledgehammered in his head. "I might hurt you," he said quietly.

  "You would never, and Khun would never." She smoothed his hair. "Let me be your wife. Let me help you. Believe me, I love you, I want you, and I cherish you."

  "You're sure?"

  "More sure than I've ever been." She kissed his forehead. "I will only take you back on one condition. In the future, can we avoid you wandering out into the dark, stormy night to drink like Lord Byron?" She nuzzled against him.

  "I cannot make any promises." Drusus closed his eyes. He did not enjoy the sensation of not remembering most of his night. Perhaps it was for the best.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Hathersage, April, 1842

  Carlo pressed Lucy's hands as the carriage pulled up at The George. "I cannot present myself to Octavia looking like this. I'll have a quick change, and I'll be at the house as soon as I can."

  "Octavia would not mind," said Lucy. "She would rather see you."

  "I see love forgives much." Carlo kissed her. "I need to present myself in the best light. In spite of what Octavia said, I am not sure how suitable she really thinks I am."

  "Octavia would not lie. She approves of you."

  "All to the good. Still, I have to settle my bill here, and remove my things to Mistraldol. I might as well be presentable."

  "You want me to face her all by myself."

  "She may have private things to say to you," said Carlo. "That thought has not escaped me."

  Lucy kissed him. "I could wait for you?"

  "Go. I will be there soon. Wait for me there." Carlo watched the carriage with his wife Lucy—his wife Lucy!—ride away.

  As he walked into The George, he was whistling. Might as well whistle while he could. Galt wouldn't take his humiliation at Lucy's hands lightly. There'd be words. Words with the Klaereons, words against the Klaereons, all sorts of angry, outraged words. He expected damage to Octavia's hard-won public relations campaign. Somehow, he didn't think Octavia would mind too much, but he'd have to lend a hand. He and Octavia needed to talk about what the next steps needed to be. He had ideas, both about Lucy and Drusus.

  In his room, he decided on a quick shave. Carlo's steady hand glided the razor over his chin carefully. Wouldn't want to nick the Van Dyke. He smiled at himself in the mirror. This was something like happiness, wasn't it? Carlo rinsed the razor, swishing it back and forth in the bowl of water. He grabbed a towel to wipe his face and slipped back into the suit he had worn to the betrothal party, clean and serviceable. He wadded the rest of his wardrobe possessions into his carpet bag.

  He was going to find a way to help Drusus and Lucy. This was going to turn out well, and they would all have happy endings. He had to believe that. Carlo started down the stairs.

  George beckoned him over. "Mr. Galt was by, sir, looking for you."

  "No doubt he was."

  "He was angry."

  "He would be." Carlo played with his mustache.

  "So you've done it then? Are congratulations in order?" George's eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

  "You know, George, they certainly are."

  George slapped him on the back. "Well, I'm happy for you, Carlo, although your tastes aren't mine."

  "Thank you. I think. I need to settle my bill with your father, and I'll be on my way."

  George sobered up quickly as he looked over Carlo's shoulder, through the door that led into the coaching yard. "You might wish to make your way out the back."

  Carlo followed his gaze. "I certainly can't spend my entire life avoiding Atreus Galt."

  "Just figured you might not want it so soon."

  Galt walked across the common room of the inn, his anger radiating like heat. Carlo straightened. The few men in the room looked at the bar, studiously at their meals, or at their companions.

  Atreus slapped Carlos across the face with a leather glove. It stung. He glared at Carlo.

  Carlo forced his face to remain neutral. "Please excuse me. As a foreigner visiting in your lands, I am ignorant of your customs and expectations, regardless of how much you and your kind have tried to inflict them upon me. In my country, what you have just done means one thing. Does it mean the same thing here?"

  Carlo saw George wince out of the corner of his eye.

  "It does."

  "You do have some complaint. However, Miss Klaereon"—Carlo stood taller—"no, Signora Borgia has made her choice. You must accept it."

  "You are a simpleton and she is a harridan."

  The comment totally disarmed him, and Carlo laughed. "I beg your pardon?"

  "You are a simpleton and—"

  Carlo sobered. "No need to repeat."

  "The families will not stand for this breach."

  "I assume you mean the magical families. Not that I seek their approval, but I doubt very much they will care. I am the heir to the Borgia family. It is an eligible match, and it is done." Carlo crossed his arms. "There are other ways you can scheme and try to get the scroll that are more worthy of your intellect, Galt."

  Atreus turned to the bar, grabbed a mug at the complaint of a workman, and threw the drink in Carlo's face. The cider stung. George handed Carlo a cloth.

  Carlo dabbed away the liquid. A puddle of cider trickled off his beard and face, onto the floor.

  "You, sir, disgust me," Galt spat. "I find you reprehensible. I challenged you to a duel, but I rescind my challenge. I shall beat you like the scoundrel you are."

  Carlo threw the cloth aside. "My people ruled Rome," Carlo said coldly. Carlo did the best imitation of Drusus he could manage. Or maybe it was Paolo Borgia he was channeling. "Even though you are a common business man, I accept your challenge. It will be hard for you to understand this code of etiquette with your background. You will be no man of honor if you withdraw it in front of all these people."

  "These men?" Atreus' laugh was bitter. "They are no better than yourself."

  Martin Hamwich frowned. "With all due respect, Mr. Galt, if you feel that way, you'd best be leaving my establishment."

  "Careful," said Carlo. "The good will of these people is important to your business. You can't exploit them if they don't like you."

  "You are beneath my contempt."

  "Name the time and the place, and I will meet you."

  "Our seconds will work out the details. You do have a second?"

  Carlo knew about dueling from the Austrians. These sorts of affairs of honor, Carlo was given to understand, were always resolved much too early in the day. The Austrians in Venice dueled all the time over women, insults, supposed theft. They would never fight a Venetian, because one would not fight a duel against a dog or a cat, but they would fight each other for all sorts of imagined slights.

  Carlo did not know anyone in town well enough to second him. Drusus was simply not available.

  "Me," said George. "I'll be Mr. Borgia's second."

  "As I would expect," said Galt. "A peasant for a peasant."

  "Mr. Galt," said Martin Hamwich, "you should be leaving now."

  "I happily accept, George," said Carlo.

  Galt glowered. "I will send my brother Titus to this sty and you will work out the arrangements. Enjoy your last day with us, Mr. Borgia. Both you and Lucia will pay for this affront."

  Galt left. Martin sniffed and joined George and Carlo. "I'm sorry you had to experience that, sir. George can help you draw a bath. We have a room for such things."

  "I don't really have time."

  "Can't disappoint the new in-laws, Mr. Borgia.”

  "How much will throwing Mr. Galt out cost you, Mr. Hamwich?"

  "Mr. Galt's influence is important, but there's them as don't like him, and I suspect there'll be more that don't by the time he's done. We'll gain our business back."

  Carlo bowed slightly. "Mr. Hamwich, George. I am grateful for your help. However, I must see to my wife."

  "Your wife can wait, unless you want her to be a widow tomorrow. Do you know how to fire a pistol, Mr. Borgia?" Martin Hamwich untied his apron. "I can teach you, although Galt is a very good shot. At least you won't shame yourself."

  "A day's teaching would make no difference," said Carlo. "I have the choice of weapons. I intend to bring this into my arena."

  McAllistair made Carlo wait in the entry hall while the butler sought out Octavia, probably because Carlo smelled like a brewery. The lights of the day cast Carlo in blues and greens from stained glass. After a few moments, McAllistair returned. "Her ladyship awaits you in her study, Signor. She wishes to see you before you visit Miss Lucy. Begging your pardon. Signora Borgia."

  Carlo handed him hat and gloves. "Thank you." Carlo stopped as he passed through the double doors and glanced back at McAllistair. "Signor?"

  "Yes, Signor. That is the appropriate Venetian?"

  "It is. Thank you." Carlo would digest McAllistair's choice of address later. Had the man had a change of heart toward him? Marrying into the family might have made all the difference. Perhaps the scandal was reduced because McAllistair did not care for the Galts?

  Carlo climbed the stairs and took a right. That Octavia was using the study as a meeting place suggested she was meeting with him on serious terms, as the head of the family. He really should have taken that bath.

  As he rapped on the study door, he realized he was nervous, which he had no reason to be. Wasn't this what Octavia had hoped for, something to block the Galt marriage? His nerves were no doubt because he knew news of the duel would be ill received.

  "Come in."

  Carlo opened the door. The study was lined with dark wood. Two green velvet chairs sat in front of the fireplace, between them a chessboard set up for a game. Octavia looked up from her seat behind the desk as Carlo entered. She wrinkled her nose. "Did you have a celebratory drink? Or a celebratory barrel?"

  "It's a quaint old Venetian custom. When one elopes, one covers himself in the local alcohol to save expenses at the wedding celebration. The guests become tipsy from the fumes."

  Octavia rolled her eyes. "You're lucky I am kindly disposed toward you, Carlo."

  "I want to apologize for all of it, what you know already, and what you don't."

  "Atreus Galt has been by to complain."

  "I don't doubt it. Galt is the reason for my lateness. I have been formally challenged to a duel. That is not the most important piece of news. Lucy has emotions. She's been hiding them from you, because she's afraid. I suspect she didn't want you to be afraid either. Her plan was to remove herself from your life by marrying Galt, saving you from danger. Drusus attacked her, and she panicked and used her influence to send him away."

  "Stop," said Octavia. She stood. "Ra could make Khun do his bidding. Is Lucy controlled by Ra?"

  "Honestly, Octavia, I don't know for certain. Lucy believes Ra isn't controlling her, but she's certain he's influencing her. And she knows she used his influence on Drusus."

  "I will think upon all of that. Now, why did you elope?"

  "The usual reason—mutually declared passion. Given the situation on all fronts, I thought we'd best legitimize our intentions, otherwise I'd be spending a lot of time with Lucy unchaperoned, which would work against you more so than the scandal of elopement. I love her. I have since forever. I'll be damned if I let Ra win against Lucy."

  Carlo waited patiently while Octavia thought. "The duel you so casually slipped into this conversation?"

  "Tomorrow morning. Try not to worry about it."

  "No. Of course not." Octavia shook her head. "I had not thought you as idiotic as most men. Would you widow Lucy immediately?"

  Carlo stiffened. "It is possible, but I hope not."

  "Men and their pride."

  Carlo opened his mouth to protest, but reconsidered. "It is a failing, yes. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't angry, and it would be wiser to walk away from the duel. Do consider, however. If we let Galt make an effort to right his honor and he fails, the scandal of it fades that much faster. I'm willing to take a risk to remove some of the sting sooner rather than later."

  Lucy slipped into the study. "Carlo is thinking strategically."

  Carlo smiled at her. She'd changed into a blue frock, the color of the one he'd found for her in Venice, right after he'd fished her out of the canal. That could be coincidence. "Eavesdropping?" Carlo asked.

  "Octavia's voice carries." Lucy wrapped her hands around Carlo's arm. "He's right, Octavia. A duel will reflect poorly on Atreus. Also, I am not being controlled by Ra, but I am being influenced, of that I am certain."

  "Why didn't you come to me?" Octavia asked.

  "Carlo has told you. I want to protect you."

  "For god's sake, Lucy, I am head of this family. When I was possessed, you fought for me. I will fight for you."

  "Even after I sent Drusus away?"

  Octavia looked from Carlo to Lucy and back again. "I cannot tell which of you is the more foolish."

  "Since I am leaving you to prepare for a duel, I believe I have the distinction for now."

  "What is your weapon?" said Lucy.

  "Trust me," said Carlo.

  A low-banked fog floated above the ground. George Hamwich and Titus Galt were in conversation a distance away from Carlo. There wasn't any word from Galt yet in the early morning. Carlo wondered how Galt would try to kill him. Even though Carlo chose the dueling method, Galt would most likely cheat. Would he use a magical or a conventional weapon? Carlo wasn't trained in the gentlemanly art of fencing, nor was he any good at shooting a pistol. However, he didn't do badly regarding the gentlemanly art of dodging and he was superb at the gentlemanly art of blowing things up.

  He thought hard about the weapons for this duel and he hoped for success.

  George approached. "Mr. Galt's carriage should be arriving anytime. Shall we proceed?"

  "Yes."

  George lowered his voice. "Are you certain, Carlo? It looks grim for you."

  "Don't worry. I am all for winning the duel."

  Carlo crossed his arms and peered through the thready mist as it faded in the rising sun. The Galt carriage, bearing the family coat of arms with its three ravens, arrived. Back in the Borgia history there must have been some sort of threatening coat of arms. Carlo should probably reintroduce it so he wouldn't feel left out of all the magical family posturing.

  Galt stepped out of the carriage. Carlo clicked his heels and bowed, to infuriate Galt. Insolence was his middle name. Carlo Insolence Borgia.

  "Mr. Borgia."

  "Mr. Galt."

  Galt handed his cloak to Titus. "Since I issued the challenge, I assume you and your second have the choice of weapons?"

  "Indeed I do. George, would you bring those pistols?"

  George presented a leather case lined with pistols. George held the case forward. "You may choose your weapon, sir."

  Galt picked up one and sighted down its barrel. "These look inferior."

  "Well," said Carlo, "I don't have old family weapons with which I would violently murder someone. Up until this point in my life I haven't needed them. Forgive their newness and their lack of history."

  Galt weighed the pistol in his hand. "It seems well-balanced."

  Carlo nodded. He picked up his own weapon. "If you say so. Yesterday was the first time I shot one of these things. George, could you help me load it?"

  Titus laughed sharply in the morning air, and then cut the laugh off abruptly. His face became a mask of condescension. "You can neither load nor shoot and yet you choose this weapon?"

  "I did. I'm no good at rapiers or knives or any of the martial arts. I figured this might be the cleanest death for me."

  Atreus removed his gloves, handing them to his brother. "Well, then, Mr. Borgia, I shall try to make this a clean death for you. You were elegant enough to consider that important, and I do thank you for it." Galt ran his fingers over the barrel and began the process of putting the powder and the ball into the gun.

  George moved to take Carlo's gun. Carlo pulled it away. "No, George. It's my gun. Just walk me through the steps."

  Soon both men had their pistols loaded. Titus droned on about how the duel would work. How each man would get one shot after walking for twenty paces. How regardless of the outcome of the shots, honor would be satisfied. Carlo and Galt stood back to back and Carlo counted out the paces to himself, while George counted them aloud.

  Galt fell to the ground as he counted twelve. Carlo heard Titus run toward his brother.

  Carlo did not turn around. "George, bring me the box. Do not touch anyone's pistol." Carlo replaced his own firearm in the box.

  Atreus began to shiver on the ground.

  Titus reached for the pistol. "What have you done to my brother?"

  "Don't touch that!" said Carlo. "You'll only make matters worse for yourself. You might be ill because you held his gloves. If I were you, I would drop them."

  Carlo knelt by Atreus. "I am going to clarify something for you, Mr. Galt. In Venice my family's name is enough to strike fear into anyone. No one challenges us, or engages us in this sort of foolishness. Now you understand why. I apologize for your discomfort. It would be the wisest thing I could do to let you die here, on the so-called field of honor. You would not trouble Lucy, Octavia, or anyone else any further. I would be smart to not let you live to become my enemy. However, since you are a Galt and you have a strange idea of right and wrong, I will afford you a chance of educating yourself to the contrary. I forgive you these mistakes for this morning only. If I let you live, Galt, you will know forever I saved you. You will also remember, I trust, that I can kill you at any time."

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26