Silence No More

40. To the Death, Like a True Man

"A suggestion?" I asked wearily. "What kind of suggestion?"

The vicomte gave me a friendly smile. Immediately, I decided I didn't trust it in the least. "Why, simple, Mr Linton. It seems that we're already engaged in a shooting contest, non? Also, we're already using duelling pistols. Why not decide everything with a shooting contest that is a little more, well...direct?"

"Direct how?" a voice from the crowd demanded. Was it Adaira? "What kind of shooting contest are you talking about?"

His friendly smile widened. "Why, of course the kind where only one man survives."

My brain short-circuited.

Did he just really say what I thought he said?

"You..." I cleared my throat, trying to get the words out. "You want us to fight a duel?"

"Oui."

"To...to the death?"

"For true men, is there any other way?"

I wouldn't bloody know!

Uncomprehendingly, I stared at the man. What was going on? Wasn't this bastard a villain? A cowardly cur trying to use Adaira for his own ends? It was all for profit, right? All out of greed.

Except...

Except why was he suddenly willing to risk his life? Arrogance? Overconfidence? But he had just seen me shoot! Was he really cocky enough to risk his life for one of his plots?

Something was wrong here. Very wrong.

"Excellent idea!"

But apparently, the Marquess Ambrose didn't think so. Rubbing his hands, he stepped forward, an unholy glint in his eyes.

"Truly, an excellent idea, good sir. Who do you choose as your second?"

"W-wait a minute!" Adaira exclaimed. "We're just going to go through with it because he said it? Just like that?"

"Naturally," came her father's off-handed reply. "Unless you can think of any good reason for a gentleman to object to a challenge?"

"I, um...well, I..."

"There, you see?" The marquess gave her a nod. "You don't have anything."

"She might not," came an arctic voice from behind me, "but I most certainly do!"

The crowd parted like the ocean for an iceberg, and out into the open stepped Mr Rikkard Ambrose, his eyes colder than I had ever seen before.

"Oh, you object?" The vicomte raised an eyebrow. "For what reason, may I ask, Monsieur? Afraid you will have to spend money looking for a new secretary, are you?"

"Yes," Mr Ambrose immediately admitted without the slightest sign of shame. "But also, there is the little fact that duels are illegal."

The vicomte opened his mouth—and then closed it again. I felt my lips twitch. What could he say? After all, my dear husband was one hundred percent correct. Duels were illegal. Of course, most well-bred English gentlemen didn't give a flying fig about that, happily gunning down their fellow aristocrats over any insult bigger than a stubbed toe. Naturally, nobody would ever initiate a duel if one's opponent refused and openly pointed out its illegality. But no honourable gentleman would ever think of doing such a shameful thing as refusing a duel!

Except, that is, for Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

"Illegal?" The vicomte's eyelid twitched. "Come now, Monsieur Ambrose. Surely, you do not mean—"