One Week As Lovers (Somerhart 3)

As the sound of retching choked from Richmond’s throat, Nick hit him again and then again. It must have been only seconds, only a few heartbeats of time, but it seemed forever before Somerhart reached them and pulled Nick off. Even Bram was moved to help, stepping over his master as Nick fought to get free.

“Let me go!” he screamed, struggling as if he fought for his life.

“Lancaster,” the duke snapped. “Lancaster!”

“I’ll kill him!”

“I know. But not in front of the ladies, if you please.”

Those words seemed to trip a lock, and Nick gave up his fight with a startled glance in Cynthia’s direction. Though his chest still rose and fell with frightening rapidity, his face lost some of its madness. He stopped struggling and set his feet flat to the floor to support his weight.

When Somerhart let go his grip, Nick rolled his shoulders as if putting things back into place. Then he stood straight and smoothed his coat.

Richmond groaned.

“I will see you at dawn,” Nick said without looking at the man sprawled on the floor. “And we will end this insanity.”

“No,” Cynthia breathed, expecting some echo of that sentiment from the others in the room, but no one else protested.

Somerhart jerked his head toward the door. “Get him out of here.”

For a moment she thought a phalanx of footmen would enter the room and drag Nick away, but of course he was speaking of Richmond. Bram pulled him to his feet and led him out.

Her strange paralysis faded, and Cynthia reached for Nick’s arm. “Nick,” she breathed. “Nick?”

His eyes were dark and blank as slate when he turned to her. “I’m sorry. Would you pardon me for a moment?” he said before he walked stiffly from the room. She started after him, but was stopped by a touch on her elbow.

She followed the hand to an arm and then up to Somerhart’s grim face.

“Leave him,” he said. “Just for a time.”

Coward that she was, Cynthia nearly melted with relief. Terror was gobbling her up inside, fear of the truth she might hear, and if she could hold it at bay for a few moments, she would.

Emma appeared at her side and wrapped an arm around Cynthia’s waist. “What happened? What did Richmond say?”

Somerhart gave a sharp shake of his head while Cynthia tried to swallow her tears.

“You can’t,” she choked out. “You can’t allow this duel.”

“I won’t stop it.”

Emma’s brow fell in confusion. “On your land, Hart?”

“If need be.”

Cynthia grabbed his hand. “But he could be arrested or…or hurt or killed!”

“Miss Merrithorpe…he is hurt already.”

“I know that!” she cried, and finally the tears came. She was folded up in the faint citrus scent of a duchess’s arms and, knowing she didn’t need comfort as much as Nick did, Cynthia cried harder.

Chapter 21

Like a lost child following crumbs, Cynthia had gone from footman to footman in an attempt to trace Nick’s path. But the path had finally led to a side door to the gardens and all she could do was stand in the open doorway, arms crossed against the cold, waiting for him to reappear. He hadn’t.

In despair, she retreated upstairs to change into her nightdress and await Nick in his chambers.

An eternally long hour passed before his door opened. She sprang up from the bed to stare at a ragged Nick.