Read Online The Wedding Duel (The Dueling Pistols Series) by Katy Madison - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Katy Madison
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Did he wish Letty would go? Sophie wished he would kiss her. She thought she would die if he didn't kiss more than her hand. His thumb rubbed slowly across her knuckles where he held her.
"Your father tells me you do the accounts."
"Well, yes, the household and some of the rents."
"Ah, I see."
"So you have come to wish me good-bye?" She heard the breathiness in her voice.
Keene's attention returned to her, his dark eyes traveling over the voluminous gown, landing on her face and holding her eyes. He lifted a strand of her hair and let the curl wrap around his finger.
She was tired of waiting. "Would you kiss me farewell?"
"No."
Her heart landed at her knees and punched a hole in her stomach on the way down. She felt wobbly and sick. Had her boldness repulsed him? The silence in the room was deafening. And to make it worse, Letty witnessed Sophie's humiliation.
He tugged on her hand, pulling her closer. "I shall not kiss you, but you might kiss me."
A flash of anger threaded through her and entwined with desire, forming into a knotty tangle in her stomach.
He waited, a sensual half smile inviting her liquid response.
She sidled up to him like she had observed a prostitute do to a man in the nearby town of Shrewsbury. She slowly draped her arms over his shoulders, pressing her body against him. His dark eyes lit with an anticipation. She reached up with her mouth, and realized she had no idea what to do next. But then, she was a creature of impulses, and it came to her.
* * *
Keene waited to see if Victor would receive him. His manservant had taken his calling card with a skeptical look. A year ago they would have ignored the formality. Keene rubbed the sore spot on his lower lip and grinned. The little minx had nearly drawn blood when she bit him. One thing was sure, Sophie would never bore him.
"Lord Wedmont will see you."
Keene nodded and followed the valet back to the bedroom at the rear of Victor's rented London rooms.
Victor sat propped in his bed. The bandage over his right shoulder made a large lump under his open shirt. Keene paused at the foot of the bed.
"Well, sit down, man. You can write this damn letter for me as you inflicted the injury that makes my writing illegible.
"I aimed for your thigh."
"I know." Victor leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes. His skin looked pasty and grooves bracketed his mouth.
Remorse trickled through Keene. "What do the doctors say?"
"They say I shall have limited use of my arm. God help me if I cannot write. I shall never manage my estate."
Victor's estate was a crumbling old, fortified house on a small patch of land in the north country. His father and grandfather had sold off all the adjoining farms and pasturelands to raise funds, leaving only a forest good for hunting.
Now, Victor had to make regular arrangements for food and livestock to be brought in. Even the toll road his family had once owned was now a regular drain on his pockets because of the frequent trips he made home to straighten out problems.
Keene was glad he'd avoid such a thankless situation, assuming his father did not change his will again.
"Here." Victor handed Keene a piece of paper and pointed to the ink and pen on the side table. Blotchy, smeared chicken scratches covered the top of paper. Victor handed over the book on his lap that doubled as a writing surface. "The worst part of using my left hand is that it drags through the wet ink. Look at this." He raised his blackened left hand. "It'll be a fortnight before these ink stains wear off."
Keene wrote the letter as Victor dictated it. He handed it to Victor, who read it and set it on the table beside his bed. "Good, now, if you mean to take offense at anything I say, you may leave."
Keene leaned forward in his chair and raked his hands through his hair. "I should not have challenged you. I am sorry."
Victor held his silence.
Keene didn't know if his explanation of what happened would help. Either way, he felt he
"Your father tells me you do the accounts."
"Well, yes, the household and some of the rents."
"Ah, I see."
"So you have come to wish me good-bye?" She heard the breathiness in her voice.
Keene's attention returned to her, his dark eyes traveling over the voluminous gown, landing on her face and holding her eyes. He lifted a strand of her hair and let the curl wrap around his finger.
She was tired of waiting. "Would you kiss me farewell?"
"No."
Her heart landed at her knees and punched a hole in her stomach on the way down. She felt wobbly and sick. Had her boldness repulsed him? The silence in the room was deafening. And to make it worse, Letty witnessed Sophie's humiliation.
He tugged on her hand, pulling her closer. "I shall not kiss you, but you might kiss me."
A flash of anger threaded through her and entwined with desire, forming into a knotty tangle in her stomach.
He waited, a sensual half smile inviting her liquid response.
She sidled up to him like she had observed a prostitute do to a man in the nearby town of Shrewsbury. She slowly draped her arms over his shoulders, pressing her body against him. His dark eyes lit with an anticipation. She reached up with her mouth, and realized she had no idea what to do next. But then, she was a creature of impulses, and it came to her.
* * *
Keene waited to see if Victor would receive him. His manservant had taken his calling card with a skeptical look. A year ago they would have ignored the formality. Keene rubbed the sore spot on his lower lip and grinned. The little minx had nearly drawn blood when she bit him. One thing was sure, Sophie would never bore him.
"Lord Wedmont will see you."
Keene nodded and followed the valet back to the bedroom at the rear of Victor's rented London rooms.
Victor sat propped in his bed. The bandage over his right shoulder made a large lump under his open shirt. Keene paused at the foot of the bed.
"Well, sit down, man. You can write this damn letter for me as you inflicted the injury that makes my writing illegible.
"I aimed for your thigh."
"I know." Victor leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes. His skin looked pasty and grooves bracketed his mouth.
Remorse trickled through Keene. "What do the doctors say?"
"They say I shall have limited use of my arm. God help me if I cannot write. I shall never manage my estate."
Victor's estate was a crumbling old, fortified house on a small patch of land in the north country. His father and grandfather had sold off all the adjoining farms and pasturelands to raise funds, leaving only a forest good for hunting.
Now, Victor had to make regular arrangements for food and livestock to be brought in. Even the toll road his family had once owned was now a regular drain on his pockets because of the frequent trips he made home to straighten out problems.
Keene was glad he'd avoid such a thankless situation, assuming his father did not change his will again.
"Here." Victor handed Keene a piece of paper and pointed to the ink and pen on the side table. Blotchy, smeared chicken scratches covered the top of paper. Victor handed over the book on his lap that doubled as a writing surface. "The worst part of using my left hand is that it drags through the wet ink. Look at this." He raised his blackened left hand. "It'll be a fortnight before these ink stains wear off."
Keene wrote the letter as Victor dictated it. He handed it to Victor, who read it and set it on the table beside his bed. "Good, now, if you mean to take offense at anything I say, you may leave."
Keene leaned forward in his chair and raked his hands through his hair. "I should not have challenged you. I am sorry."
Victor held his silence.
Keene didn't know if his explanation of what happened would help. Either way, he felt he
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