bloody ribbons.
“Oh, God.” She leaned her brow against the cool pane of the window and saw a new commotion below. Hamilton had emerged from the shadows around the courtyard and was walking with his seconds—two junior lieutenants—into the center of the lighted ring. He had removed his scarlet tunic and decorative white leather belts and wore only his nankeen breeches and collarless white linen shirt. He halted by the stone fountain while one of his seconds unsheathed his sword and handed it to him. He held it lovingly, running a finger down the gleaming surface of the steel before he held it in both hands and flexed the supple blade in a slight arc. He whipped it free almost at once, slicing the air with spirals and deadly swift slashes to warm his wrists.
A smaller stir rippled through the crowd at the opposite side of the courtyard as Raefer Montgomery and Damien approached the ring of lanterns. Montgomery had also removed his frock coat and satin vest, his fancy lace jabot and starched neckcloth. His shirt was silk, opened at the throat. The formal wig had been discarded, and his jet-black hair lay like splashes of ink against his neck and temples.
Catherine’s hand twisted into the curtain again. Hamilton moved like a dancer, preparing for the macabre performance ahead; Montgomery stood motionless, the smoke from his cigar rising in thin tracers above his head.
“Why didn’t he leave?” Catherine asked in a horrified whisper. “Why did he not just get on his horse and leave? He didn’t seem to care what anyone thought of him earlier; why should he care if they think him a coward now?”
Harriet moved up beside her. “Men call us proud and vain, but I daresay everything we learned, we learned from them.”
Catherine was only half-listening. Colonel Halfyard had apparently been chosen to act as adjudicator, for he was walking solemnly into the center of the lighted ring and holding a hand up for silence. The window was open enough to hear the hush fall over the crowd and the colonel’s voice when he called the principals forward.
Hamilton strode confidently toward his commanding officer. Montgomery drew deeply on his cigar one last time and dropped it onto the cobblestones, grinding it beneath his heel before he took his sword from Damien. He wore a curious smile on his face, but there was nothing amusing in the way he carved an invisible Z through the air with the slim steel-blue blade.
“Gentlemen.” The colonel’s voice boomed out through the dampness. “I am bound by convention to appeal to both of you to settle this affaire d’honneur without bloodshed. Lieutenant Garner … will you accept an apology if tendered?”
Hamilton shook his head. “A mere apology is insufficient.”
“Mr. Montgomery.” The colonel glared at him from under beetling white brows. “Do you believe there is any other way of settling this dispute?”
“The lieutenant seems to have his mind made up, sir. I can but oblige.”
“Very well.” The colonel nodded brusquely to theseconds. “If everything is in order, we shall proceed. Is there a doctor in attendance?”
A barrel-shaped, bewigged gentleman stepped forward importantly and raised his hand. “Dr. Moore, at your service.”
The colonel looked gravely at each combatant. “At the command en garde , you will take up your positions. I understand first blood has been waived by both parties? Very well. God have mercy on your souls. Gentlemen, take your marks.”
Hearing this, Catherine backed away from the window, her face as pale as wax. “They have waived first blood?” she whispered in horror. “That means … the duel is to the death?”
Her heart pounding painfully against her rib cage, she turned and ran for the door.
“Catherine! Where are you going?”
She did not stop to answer. Flinging the door wide and gathering the voluminous folds of her skirts in her hands, she flew along the hallway to the stairs, then down and through the
“Oh, God.” She leaned her brow against the cool pane of the window and saw a new commotion below. Hamilton had emerged from the shadows around the courtyard and was walking with his seconds—two junior lieutenants—into the center of the lighted ring. He had removed his scarlet tunic and decorative white leather belts and wore only his nankeen breeches and collarless white linen shirt. He halted by the stone fountain while one of his seconds unsheathed his sword and handed it to him. He held it lovingly, running a finger down the gleaming surface of the steel before he held it in both hands and flexed the supple blade in a slight arc. He whipped it free almost at once, slicing the air with spirals and deadly swift slashes to warm his wrists.
A smaller stir rippled through the crowd at the opposite side of the courtyard as Raefer Montgomery and Damien approached the ring of lanterns. Montgomery had also removed his frock coat and satin vest, his fancy lace jabot and starched neckcloth. His shirt was silk, opened at the throat. The formal wig had been discarded, and his jet-black hair lay like splashes of ink against his neck and temples.
Catherine’s hand twisted into the curtain again. Hamilton moved like a dancer, preparing for the macabre performance ahead; Montgomery stood motionless, the smoke from his cigar rising in thin tracers above his head.
“Why didn’t he leave?” Catherine asked in a horrified whisper. “Why did he not just get on his horse and leave? He didn’t seem to care what anyone thought of him earlier; why should he care if they think him a coward now?”
Harriet moved up beside her. “Men call us proud and vain, but I daresay everything we learned, we learned from them.”
Catherine was only half-listening. Colonel Halfyard had apparently been chosen to act as adjudicator, for he was walking solemnly into the center of the lighted ring and holding a hand up for silence. The window was open enough to hear the hush fall over the crowd and the colonel’s voice when he called the principals forward.
Hamilton strode confidently toward his commanding officer. Montgomery drew deeply on his cigar one last time and dropped it onto the cobblestones, grinding it beneath his heel before he took his sword from Damien. He wore a curious smile on his face, but there was nothing amusing in the way he carved an invisible Z through the air with the slim steel-blue blade.
“Gentlemen.” The colonel’s voice boomed out through the dampness. “I am bound by convention to appeal to both of you to settle this affaire d’honneur without bloodshed. Lieutenant Garner … will you accept an apology if tendered?”
Hamilton shook his head. “A mere apology is insufficient.”
“Mr. Montgomery.” The colonel glared at him from under beetling white brows. “Do you believe there is any other way of settling this dispute?”
“The lieutenant seems to have his mind made up, sir. I can but oblige.”
“Very well.” The colonel nodded brusquely to theseconds. “If everything is in order, we shall proceed. Is there a doctor in attendance?”
A barrel-shaped, bewigged gentleman stepped forward importantly and raised his hand. “Dr. Moore, at your service.”
The colonel looked gravely at each combatant. “At the command en garde , you will take up your positions. I understand first blood has been waived by both parties? Very well. God have mercy on your souls. Gentlemen, take your marks.”
Hearing this, Catherine backed away from the window, her face as pale as wax. “They have waived first blood?” she whispered in horror. “That means … the duel is to the death?”
Her heart pounding painfully against her rib cage, she turned and ran for the door.
“Catherine! Where are you going?”
She did not stop to answer. Flinging the door wide and gathering the voluminous folds of her skirts in her hands, she flew along the hallway to the stairs, then down and through the
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