Page 26 of Souvenir of Love

The butter knife clattered against the plate as it slipped from Elizabeth’s fingers. “James Dinsmore?”

Alix nodded again, but this time her eyes focused on Elizabeth. They were full of pain and anger.

“I’ll talk to him, Alix.” The words tumbled out. “I’ll make him stop, I’ll make him see it’s not necessary…I’ll tell him it was all my fault, that I’m sorry, so, so sorry. I?—”

“It’s too late for all that, there’s nothing you can say or do now that will change his mind.” Her voice was bitter. “I was up half the night trying to convince him not to risk his life for…”

“For me.”

“He said it was a matter of honor.”

“But I am the one who should pay the price. Not Rafe, not you, Alix…Alix, I never meant?—”

Alix held up a hand. “I understand. You never meant to cause harm. But you did. And it cannot be undone.”

“I am the one who should pay the price,” Elizabeth repeated.

“You will.” Alix’s eyes fell, and her hand drifted to her belly. “We all will.”

Rafe’s armswept up and his blade thrust at Cole’s neck. Cole parried the blade, sweeping downward toward Rafe’s belly. Rafe parried. The blades met on guard. The two men stepped back, circling each other warily. Both were breathing hard; beneath their fencing vests their shirts clung like second skins to their sweat-drenched bodies. Rafe lunged upward to the right, to the left, and then to the middle. Cole countered all three and lunged forward, his blade striking Rafe on the hip.

“Enough.” Monsieur d’Elon, a compact little man dressed in scarlet, clapped his hands. “Salute and retire, gentlemen.”

“Have you had enough?” Cole asked Rafe.

“Have you?”

“You both have.” D’Elon clapped again.

They saluted and sheathed their swords.

Cole clapped Rafe on the back. “Monsieur was trying to save you embarrassment, my friend.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow. “Monsieur was trying to spare your pride to ensure you would return and continue to squander your fortune on lessons…”

D’Elon himself interrupted, “Monsieur believes you both are excellent swordsmen, well-matched, and hopes you both return to demonstrate to the rest of his students how the art of fencing should be practiced.” He swept an arm toward a table set with pitchers of ale and glasses. “My lords”—he smiled—“en garde.”

Cole filled two glasses and held one out to Rafe. “To more such bouts,” he said, smiling, but his eyes were grim.

“Do you doubt it?” Rafe took a deep swallow.

“I do not doubt that you are the better man.” Cole lowered his voice so their conversation would not be heard above the din of swords and the occasional coaching shouts oftierce,quatre,en garde. “But such encounters at dawn have been known to go amiss.”

Rafe pulled a kerchief from his waistcoat pocket and mopped his brow. “That’s why I’ve asked you to be my second. You’ll keep a wary eye on him.”

Cole nodded. “And kill him if he kills you.”

“No,” Rafe said firmly, “not if he fights with honor.”

“After the way he’s behaved towards Elizabeth, do you imagine the manhasany honor?” Cole continued without waiting for an answer. “It’s a shame he didn’t choose pistols; you could have shot him through the heart and have done with it. But then he’s probably heard of your reputation with pistols and hoped you’d prove less skilled with the blade.”

Rafe shook his head. “He did choose pistols. I asked him to alter his selection.”

“He must have been relieved.”

“In truth, he didn’t seem to care.”

“I’ve heard he’s a passable swordsman.”