man here under the table, even His Grace, the all-powerful Duke of Camareigh. Too good for the likes of me, are you?" he yelled.
The gentlemen in the room had now stopped their gaming and were giving their full attention to the little contretemps being enacted before them. In the silence Sir Frederick's heavy breathing could be heard loudly, and all eyes were focused on the two men who stood facing each other.
"You owe me an apology," Sir Frederick demanded aggressively, his chin jutting forward pugnaciously.
"Indeed?" the Duke asked disdainfully.
"Indeed, yes, Your Grace. You called me a yokel, a slow-coach, and said I was only fit to inhabit a dunghill. I demand satisfaction," he spat, throwing his gloves in the Duke's face.
A gasp of surprise and a few whispered comments went around the room as they waited nervously for the Duke's reaction. The scar on his cheek had whitened visibly as he insolently took a pinch of snuff from a small gold box and putting a dab in each nostril sniffed disdainfully.
"It would be obvious from your actions this evening that had I indeed made such remarks about you, they could only have been the rather unpleasant truth," the Duke drawled, and looking at Sir Jeremy as he held a handkerchief delicately to his nose added, "Do open a window, there is the most loathsome and offensive odor in here—enough to turn one's stomach."
The Duke had begun to walk away from the red-faced and humiliated Sir Frederick when he turned and spoke to him, a bored tone in his voice. "Do have your seconds with you, say dawn tomorrow morning under the oaks, and don't keep me waiting, for I must make an early start if I'm to reach my destination by afternoon."
Sir Frederick Jensen's mouth dropped open and sweat broke out on his brow as he watched the Duke and Sir Jeremy stroll nonchalantly from the room. And then as excited conversation broke out amongst the astonished guests, Sir Frederick hurriedly fled from the room with several of his friends.
Sir Jeremy poured himself a glass of port after handing Lucien one, and took a deep swallow. "What the devil got into Jensen? Never seen anyone act so bellicose. He purposely forced you into defending your honor, and yet you say you've never even met the fellow?" Sir Jeremy shook his head, clearly unable to understand the situation.
"Never set eyes on the fool before tonight," Lucien said thoughtfully. "Yet it would seem someone insinuated that I offended and insulted him." He gazed ruminatively into the fire burning in the grate. "Now I wonder why anyone should want to do that? "
Sir Jeremy stopped his pacing abruptly. "What? A trick?"
"Well, it doesn't all ring quite true," Lucien answered. "Here is a fellow I've never met accusing me of lampooning him and, being something of a hothead, will not be satisfied until he's called me out and hopefully killed me."
Sir Jeremy frowned. "Jensen may be a fool—but he's a damned good swordsman. Prides himself on being a successful duelist. The fact that he's still alive proves that."
"I always prefer a fair fight myself, but any man win allows himself to become someone's cat's paw, and be led into conflict at another's direction, is easy prey for any schemer off the streets. No." Lucien continued grimly, "I'm afraid our friend Jensen is ruled by his passions and not his head. There can be only one outcome to this affair."
"Which is?" Sir Jeremy asked hesitantly.
Lucien glanced up, shrugging his shoulders fatalistically. "Sir Frederick Jensen will come to grief. It is inevitable, and unfortunately it must be by my hand, but eventually he would have met this end. His unavoidable destiny, i fear."
"You're mighty cool about it, Lucien," Sir Jeremy observed, a look of admiration on his face.
"Am I?" Lucien shook his head. "I 'm just resigned, that is all. But I am curious as to the identity of the schemer behind this little scenario. I would hazard a guess that I 've an enemy who plots my early demise."
"It's scandalous.
The gentlemen in the room had now stopped their gaming and were giving their full attention to the little contretemps being enacted before them. In the silence Sir Frederick's heavy breathing could be heard loudly, and all eyes were focused on the two men who stood facing each other.
"You owe me an apology," Sir Frederick demanded aggressively, his chin jutting forward pugnaciously.
"Indeed?" the Duke asked disdainfully.
"Indeed, yes, Your Grace. You called me a yokel, a slow-coach, and said I was only fit to inhabit a dunghill. I demand satisfaction," he spat, throwing his gloves in the Duke's face.
A gasp of surprise and a few whispered comments went around the room as they waited nervously for the Duke's reaction. The scar on his cheek had whitened visibly as he insolently took a pinch of snuff from a small gold box and putting a dab in each nostril sniffed disdainfully.
"It would be obvious from your actions this evening that had I indeed made such remarks about you, they could only have been the rather unpleasant truth," the Duke drawled, and looking at Sir Jeremy as he held a handkerchief delicately to his nose added, "Do open a window, there is the most loathsome and offensive odor in here—enough to turn one's stomach."
The Duke had begun to walk away from the red-faced and humiliated Sir Frederick when he turned and spoke to him, a bored tone in his voice. "Do have your seconds with you, say dawn tomorrow morning under the oaks, and don't keep me waiting, for I must make an early start if I'm to reach my destination by afternoon."
Sir Frederick Jensen's mouth dropped open and sweat broke out on his brow as he watched the Duke and Sir Jeremy stroll nonchalantly from the room. And then as excited conversation broke out amongst the astonished guests, Sir Frederick hurriedly fled from the room with several of his friends.
Sir Jeremy poured himself a glass of port after handing Lucien one, and took a deep swallow. "What the devil got into Jensen? Never seen anyone act so bellicose. He purposely forced you into defending your honor, and yet you say you've never even met the fellow?" Sir Jeremy shook his head, clearly unable to understand the situation.
"Never set eyes on the fool before tonight," Lucien said thoughtfully. "Yet it would seem someone insinuated that I offended and insulted him." He gazed ruminatively into the fire burning in the grate. "Now I wonder why anyone should want to do that? "
Sir Jeremy stopped his pacing abruptly. "What? A trick?"
"Well, it doesn't all ring quite true," Lucien answered. "Here is a fellow I've never met accusing me of lampooning him and, being something of a hothead, will not be satisfied until he's called me out and hopefully killed me."
Sir Jeremy frowned. "Jensen may be a fool—but he's a damned good swordsman. Prides himself on being a successful duelist. The fact that he's still alive proves that."
"I always prefer a fair fight myself, but any man win allows himself to become someone's cat's paw, and be led into conflict at another's direction, is easy prey for any schemer off the streets. No." Lucien continued grimly, "I'm afraid our friend Jensen is ruled by his passions and not his head. There can be only one outcome to this affair."
"Which is?" Sir Jeremy asked hesitantly.
Lucien glanced up, shrugging his shoulders fatalistically. "Sir Frederick Jensen will come to grief. It is inevitable, and unfortunately it must be by my hand, but eventually he would have met this end. His unavoidable destiny, i fear."
"You're mighty cool about it, Lucien," Sir Jeremy observed, a look of admiration on his face.
"Am I?" Lucien shook his head. "I 'm just resigned, that is all. But I am curious as to the identity of the schemer behind this little scenario. I would hazard a guess that I 've an enemy who plots my early demise."
"It's scandalous.
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