Someone to Hold (Westcott 2)

“To a duel?” She stared at him, clearly transfixed.

“Since he was the challenged, Netherby had the choice of weapons,” Joel said. “He chose no weapons at all.”

“Fists?” she said. “But it would have been a slaughter whatever weapon he chose.”

“Netherby apparently did not specify fists,” he said, “though that was what everyone concerned must have assumed he meant. The duel was fought early one morning in Hyde Park before a sizable crowd of gentlemen. Netherby put Uxbury down and out within a very short time and utterly humiliated him.”

She looked suddenly scornful. “Well, now I know you are speaking nonsense,” she said. “Who filled Anastasia’s head with this drivel? Is she really so gullible? It was more likely the other way around. You have met Avery. He is small of stature and slight of build and indolent of manner. He thinks of nothing but his gorgeous appearance and his snuffboxes and his quizzing glasses. I am only surprised he was not literally slaughtered—if, that is, the fight really did take place, which I seriously doubt. Viscount Uxbury is tall and solidly built and is reputed to be adept at all the manly sports, including fencing and boxing.”

“Her cousin—Elizabeth, I believe—told Anna about the duel before it happened,” Joel said. “Anna witnessed it for herself.”

“Well, now I know that you are gullible too,” she said, dismissing him with a withering glance. “Ladies never even know of these disgraceful and illegal meetings between gentlemen, Mr. Cunningham. It is quite inconceivable that any would actually attend one.”

“Anna was not a lady until recently, though, you will recall,” he said, “and will probably never be a very proper one. She went there at the appointed time and climbed a tree to watch. Her cousin went too. Your former fiancé was given a thorough drubbing, Miss Westcott. He was clad apparently in shirt and breeches and boots and had a supercilious smirk on his face and an offer of mercy on his lips if Netherby was prepared to grovel before him and apologize. Netherby declined the kind offer. He was clad only in breeches. Anna ought to have fallen out of her tree with shock, but she is made of stern stuff.”

“You must think I was born yesterday, Mr. Cunningham,” she said, “if you expect me to believe any of this.”

“I wish I had been there to see it for myself,” he said. “Apparently Uxbury struck a pose for the admiration of the spectators and pranced about on his booted feet and threw a number of lethal punches—or punches that would have been lethal if any of them had connected with their target.”

Miss Westcott frowned again. “Was Avery badly hurt?”

“He knocked Uxbury to the ground with the sole of one bare foot to the side of his head,” he said.

Her lips curled with scorn.

“And then, lest Uxbury and the spectators conclude that it was a chance blow and could not ever be repeated, he did it again with his other foot to the other side of the head after the viscount was back on his feet,” Joel said. “When Uxbury chose to taunt him and say insulting things again about Anna and about you, Netherby launched himself into the air, planted both feet beneath Uxbury’s chin, and knocked him down to stay. His body is apparently a dangerous weapon, Miss Westcott. He told Anna afterward that as a schoolboy he was trained in some Far Eastern martial arts by an elderly Chinese master.”

She continued to stare at him, speechless, but Joel could see that she was beginning to believe him. He finished his tea, which was unfortunately almost cold.

“And Anastasia and Elizabeth and a large gathering of gentlemen witnessed Lord Uxbury’s humiliation?” she asked.

“And the earl too,” he told her. “He was Netherby’s second.”

“Alexander,” she murmured. She sat back in her chair. “And it was done to avenge me as well as Anastasia?”

“Primarily you, I believe,” Joel said, though he was not at all sure that was strictly true. Netherby had, after all, married Anna that same day. “According to Anna, everyone gathered there, almost to a man, was delighted that Netherby had even been prepared to fight what all expected to be a losing battle for your honor. Everyone was more than delighted that he avenged what Uxbury had done to you. He was never a perfect gentleman, Miss Westcott. He would always have been unworthy of you. You had a narrow and fortunate escape from him.”

Tears sprang to her eyes, Joel was alarmed to see, and both hands came up to cover her mouth. He was suddenly aware of their surroundings again, of the murmur of voices behind him. He hoped she was not about to weep in full view of all the people crammed into the tearoom. His alarm increased when her shoulders shook. But it was not sobs that escaped her as she lowered her hands, but laughter—great peals of it.

“Oh,” she said on a gasp, “I wish I had been there too. Oh, lucky Anastasia and Elizabeth. He was knocked out by two bare feet to his chin?”

“Out cold,” he said.

“Were Anastasia and Elizabeth caught?” she asked.

“No,” he said, “but Anna confessed.”

“To Avery?” Her laughter subsided and she grimaced. “That was unwise. He would not have liked it.”

“He married her an hour after,” he said.

She looked at him, her eyes brimming with laughter again. Joel sat gazing at her, wondering how much attention she was drawing from the other occupants of the room. But, however much it was, she seemed unaware of it. He gazed back at her, more than a bit shaken, for she looked like a different woman when she laughed. She looked young and vivid and . . .