To Tame a Dangerous Lord (21 page)

“I still say this is a dreadful mistake, Madeline,” Freddie complained as his curricle forged unevenly toward London in the dark of early morning.

Clinging to the vehicle’s side rail as they plunged through a thick fog, lurching over potholes and slithering in four treacherous inches of mud, Madeline was more than a little distracted when she answered.

“I clearly understand your feelings, Freddie. You have told me so above a dozen times.”

Despite the impropriety, they had quickly come to a first-name basis, since danger tended to make intimate bedfellows.

Just now the danger was in being thrown from the curricle if it slid off the road—a fate that seemed entirely too possible as Freddie’s pair of grays labored valiantly to maintain their footing on the perilous surface, their hooves churning up clumps of muck and mire onto the passengers behind.

But while Freddie might be a trifle scatterbrained, he
was an excellent whip, and Madeline trusted him to deliver her to Rudley Commons in time for the duel.

They had left Chiswick well before dawn in the midst of a drizzle, which had since abated. By now her bonnet and cloak were soaked through and covered with mud, and so was the veil she wore to conceal her identity.

Yet Madeline ignored her misery and kept her focus on the road ahead, straining to see through the swirling mists.

She could not as easily ignore Freddie, however. She’d begun to think of him almost like a brother, and regrettably, he was just as stubbornly persistent as her real brother when Gerard wanted his way.

“Truly, you shouldn’t worry about Rayne,” Freddie repeated for the third time in five minutes. “He is not in much danger since he is a deadly shot.”

“Given his former occupation, that doesn’t surprise me in the least. I would expect him to be lethal with a pistol. But Ackerby is accounted a fair shot himself. And if either of them were to be hurt or killed this morning….” Madeline shuddered. “I couldn’t live with their blood on my conscience.”

She drew her cloak more tightly around her, trying to ward off the cold. But the chill in her heart was due to more than the damp fog blanketing the countryside. It was fear, pure and simple.

“I wish we could go faster,” she muttered, feeling the urgency anew.

Freddie gave a snort of protest in response. “If we go any faster, I’ll land us in a ditch, and I value my horses too much to cripple them. Besides, we have ample time. The duel won’t start before full light. You must be able to see your opponent, you know.”

His sardonic drawl made Madeline suspect that she had wounded his sensibilities.

“Thank you for driving me, Freddie,” she murmured contritely in an effort to soothe his ruffled feathers, adding a low muttered oath, “Devil take it, I cannot believe this is actually happening.”

“Nor can I,” Freddie agreed. “Rayne is the most sensible man of my acquaintance, even if he
is
prone to excess gallantry. For the life of me, I cannot understand what has come over him.”

Madeline could not understand Rayne’s adamancy either. “I know. Even if he escapes unscathed, he could face a scandal if he merely wounds Lord Ackerby.”

Freddie digested her comment for a moment, then shook his head. “I should have thought of that. Rayne will want to handle the duel discreetly, of course—for his grandmother’s sake if nothing else. Lady Haviland will be livid if he stains the family name more than he already has.”

“That is scarcely any consolation,” Madeline replied darkly.

“Perhaps not. But pray don’t distract me any further if you want us to reach London in one piece.”

She didn’t bother pointing out that Freddie was the one who had been arguing with her nonstop ever since arriving at Danvers Hall to collect her.

Instead, Madeline held her tongue and concentrated on trying to quell the acid rising in her stomach from anxiety in addition to her nausea from the sway and jolt of the curricle.

At least the fog had dissipated a small measure by the time Freddie finally drew his pair to a halt at the edge of a verdant meadow.

Madeline’s stomach clenched again as she stared through the dripping mist. There was just enough light for her to see that several carriages had arrived before them, and that a small knot of men had gathered near the center of the field.

“I thought you said they would not begin before full dawn,” she exclaimed in dismay.

Not waiting for Freddie to reply or assist her in dismounting, she leapt down from the curricle and charged across the meadow. The hem of her skirts instantly became sodden in the wet grass, impeding her progress further, but iron chains could not have held her back.

Much as she expected, when she marched out onto the dueling field, astonished silence greeted her arrival. She appeared to be a widow in mourning, Madeline knew, with her drab cloak and black bonnet and veil, but Rayne clearly recognized her, judging by his scowl, as did Lord Ackerby.

Not giving them time to react, she pressed her advantage of surprise. “Good morning, gentlemen. I fear you rose early for naught, for I must insist that you call off this illegal enterprise.”

The men had been examining two cases containing exquisitely crafted pistols, no doubt inspecting the priming and trigger mechanisms. Standing closest to Rayne was a wiry, sharp-faced man garbed in plain dark clothing whom she assumed was Rayne’s second, while the fancy older gentleman beside Ackerby must be acting for the baron.

Rayne’s lips thinned in disapproval, while his second’s eyebrows rose in unabashed curiosity and amusement.

Madeline, however, could find nothing amusing about grown men putting bullets in one another, and she intended
to stop it, even if she had to put herself in the path of the duelers.

But first she had to contend with Rayne, who looked none too happy to see her.

“What the devil are you doing here?” he asked in a grim tone. “You know you don’t belong here.”

“I beg to differ,” Madeline said calmly, trying to keep the quiver out of her voice. “You were fighting over me, so I believe that gives me some say in the matter.”

His
voice was as stern as she had ever heard it. “You have no say whatsoever.”

“Indeed I do,” she retorted. “I have no desire to be the cause of a scandal. If you kill each other, it will get out that I was the center of your quarrel, and my good name will be utterly ruined. Well, I will not allow it.”

Ignoring her declaration, Rayne glanced beyond her at Freddie, who had traipsed across the meadow more slowly and was now hanging his head. “Lunsford, take her away immediately, if you please.”

“He does
not
please, Lord Haviland,” Madeline answered for Freddie. “And I am not leaving until you end this ridiculous challenge.” She moved between the two opposing camps. “I warn you, if you mean to continue, you will have to fire through me.”

Rayne’s jaw hardened even further. “I will have you forcibly removed, sweeting.”

“You may try.” She drew out her own loaded pistol from the reticule she wore looped around her wrist. “Your servants do not want to challenge me, my lord.” She waved her pistol toward the middle of the field. “Go ahead and pace off the distance, gentlemen. I promise you, I will shoot the first one of you who fires.”

The resulting silence was deafening, as Madeline expected.
No doubt they were each judging whether or not her word could be credited.

Feeling slightly hopeful, she spoke again, but this time she turned and addressed the baron. “You and I both know, Lord Ackerby, that the contretemps yesterday was a simple misunderstanding. I am certain you did not mean to become quite so … forceful. But now that you have had time for calm reflection absent the heat of the moment, I wonder if you would be willing to proffer the apology Haviland wished for?”

It was evident that Ackerby was no longer in the high dudgeon he’d been in yesterday morning in the Danvers Hall gardens, and Madeline hoped she had given him enough excuse to withdraw gracefully.

Holding her breath, she waited anxiously while Ackerby glanced at Rayne, then cleared his throat. “Perhaps I
was
too forceful yesterday. If so, I beg your pardon, my dear.”

“There,” Freddie broke in hastily. “Honor is served.”

Relief edged his voice, but Madeline could not yet feel the same sanguinity.

Lifting her veil just enough that Ackerby could see the lower part of her face, she silently mouthed the words,
Thank you—you won’t regret this
, before saying brightly out loud, “Of course I forgive you, my lord. I am very grateful that we have cleared up this little dispute.”

Madeline dropped her veil as she turned back to Rayne. “You will have to be satisfied with that, Lord Haviland—although if your affronted masculine pride insists, you may always delope. Isn’t that how it is done if a conflict is to be settled to the satisfaction of both parties?”

She spoke of the practice of firing harmlessly into the air, the safe way of ending duels so that neither opponent suffered physical damage.

Rayne remained grimly silent, his scrutiny of her so intense it seemed to pierce her veil. Madeline’s heart was thudding by the time he finally responded in a sardonic tone. “Why waste a good bullet?”

Relief flooded her so strongly that her knees felt weak. But then Rayne spoiled the moment by issuing another threat. “Mark my words, Ackerby, there will be no deloping the next time you dare approach her.”

When the baron took a belligerent step forward, Madeline quickly intervened and laid a soothing hand on Ackerby’s sleeve. “Thank you for your consideration, my lord. Now perhaps you would like to return home and forsake these miserable elements.”

Ackerby visibly gritted his teeth before muttering a summons to his second. “Come, Richardson, we are done here.” Spinning on his heel, then, he stalked away toward his carriage, leaving his colleague to hurry after him.

Once the baron was out of earshot, Rayne’s friend spoke for the first time, his tone slightly amused. “I am most comforted that you didn’t need me after all, Rayne, thanks to this dauntless lady. Would it be too forward of me to beg an introduction?”

“I would be happy to oblige, Will,” Rayne replied dryly, “but as you heard, the dauntless lady wishes to keep her name concealed. Perhaps under more auspicious circumstances….”

The man Madeline presumed was Will Stokes accepted Rayne’s refusal with good grace. “Well then, I
will take my leave of you. Naturally, if you require my services in any other endeavor, you have only to ask.”

“My thanks to you for coming today.”

With a slight bow, Rayne’s second retreated to his own carriage, leaving Madeline alone with Rayne and Freddie.

“Mr. Lunsford and I should be leaving as well,” she murmured, not liking the piercing way Rayne was still looking at her. “He rose much earlier than customary for his constitution, and he needs his rest.”

Rayne did not appear to buy her argument, however. “Not so fast, darling,” he drawled in warning.

Madeline took a defensive step backward. “Freddie will see me home.”

“No, he will not. You and I need to have a little discussion just now. Freddie won’t interfere if he knows what is good for him,” Rayne added, shooting his cousin a scalding look.

So saying, he took her firmly by the elbow and ushered her toward his coach.

“I won’t drive home alone with you, Rayne,” Madeline said in protest. “I don’t trust you after you employed your arts of seduction the last time.”

“You needn’t worry on that score. I merely want a measure of privacy while I wring your neck.”

Understandably, his threat somewhat relieved Madeline. She had feared giving Rayne the chance to repeat his sensual assault of two nights ago, but clearly his mood just now was not the least amorous. Which was fortunate for her, Madeline reflected. Rayne looked distinctly dangerous at present, but she could deal with his anger much more easily than she could resist his seduction.

“Your servants will know if you murder me,” she pointed out meekly. “And so will Freddie.”

“I intend to deal with Freddie later.”

The baron’s coach had pulled away by the time they reached the edge of the meadow, and Will Stokes’s gig was doing the same.

Rayne, however, was not heading toward his coach, Madeline realized. Instead, he guided her beyond the field’s edge into a copse of elms, out of sight of his coach and servants.

Only then did he release her arm and turn on her, flinging her veil up over the rim of her bonnet so he could see her face.

“What in hell’s name do you mean showing up on a dueling field?” he said through gritted teeth.

“What in hell’s name do you mean dueling in the first place?” she retorted, determined to hold her own in any verbal battle with Rayne.

His eyes only darkened as he glowered at her. “You were worried I would shoot Ackerby, weren’t you.” It was not a question.

“Certainly I was worried! I didn’t want you to suffer the consequences if you succeeded in killing a peer.”

If she hoped to soothe his anger with a rational argument, Rayne wasn’t listening. “Why are you so damned determined to champion Ackerby?” he demanded.

“I am
not
championing him!” Madeline exclaimed, before forcing herself to take a calming breath. Shouting at Rayne was getting her nowhere, so she tried a milder approach.

“Instead of railing at me, my lord, you should be thanking me for saving you from scandal. And from your grandmother’s wrath as well. What would Lady
Haviland say if you broke your promise to marry because you were languishing in prison or worse?”

“My grandmother has nothing to do with this!”

“Well, I think you should have considered her sensibilities before you went haring off challenging Ackerby to pistols at dawn!”

Rayne was still scrutinizing her, his eyes furiously intent on her. “I want to know why you are so set on protecting Ackerby,” he repeated.

“I am not, I assure you.”