Dominic was still not in the best of moods, but he was able to return his coachman's mocking grin with one of his own. "Move over," he ordered, climbing into the box beside the Frenchman. "I need to work off some of the ache in my bones." When Jacques chuckled, Dominic slanted him a fulminating glare. "Stubble it, will you? You try my patience with your infernal giggling."
At his command, the footmen released the leaders and the four powerful bays sprang forward. Jacques leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and pulled his hat low over his forehead. He was still grinning, but he wisely kept his thoughts to himself.
It was barely dawn when they neared the appointed meeting place and Dominic turned the carriage off the main road. The swirling mist that shrouded the countryside churned beneath the galloping hooves of the horses as they swept onto a wide field. Beyond stood a clearing encircled by enormous elms, looking like a ghostly gladiator's arena in the gloom.
Jason's carriage was already waiting, but there was no sign of Germain. Dominic brought the coach to a halt and handed the reins to Jacques as he leapt down from the box. Shedding his greatcoat and tossing it into the coach, he took a deep breath, feeling the cold dawn air sting his lungs. The chill silence that surrounded the place matched his grim mood.
Jason introduced the short, bespectacled man as a surgeon, but none of them were inclined toward conversation. For a time the quiet was broken only by the occasional creak of a carriage harness or the muffled jingle of a bit as a horse tossed its head.
Finally, however, they heard the faint drumming of hooves in the distance. "At last," Dominic remarked as Germain and another man approached on horseback. "I was beginning to wonder if I had asked you here for naught."
When Germain rode up, Dominic responded to his curt greeting with a thin smile. While Jason retrieved a long slim case containing a set of matched foils from the co
ach, Dominic stripped off his coat and cravat. Immediately the cold dampness penetrated the fine linen of his shirt, but he set his teeth against the chill, trying to ignore it.
Charles Germain dismounted and made the same preparations, not bothering to introduce his friend, a heavyset man whose face sported a crooked nose. Charles appeared calm as he inspected the gleaming rapiers Jason presented, but the tight lines around his mouth betrayed his tension. He selected
one of the foils and tested its weight in his hand.
Dominic accepted the other, making a quick pass in the air, cutting it with a hiss. The quality of the blade was unmistakable—light and flexible, yet made of the strongest steel.
He moved to the center of the clearing and stood waiting with the razor tip pointed at the ground. When Germain had taken a place opposite, Jason quietly outlined the rules, then retreated a few yards to stand with the others and observe the contest.
"It seems you are a fool after all," Charles sneered, attempting to ruffle his opponent's cool composure.
Dominic's eyes glittered dangerously. With his shirt front unbuttoned, exposing the dark hair on his chest, he bore more resemblance to a Spanish pirate than a fashionable English lord. He grinned wickedly, his white teeth flashing against dark skin. "We are evenly matched, I would say. A fool and a coward. En garde!"
Dominic's challenge rang out, and the gleaming rapiers came together with a clash. In the first engagement, Germain lunged deftly, but Dominic parried his thrust with a finely executed volt. Next Dominic advanced with a series of neat slashes, testing the quickness of his opponent's reaction. When his foil suddenly flashed wide, Germain caught his blade handily. Dominic had to admire the adroit manner in which Charles fended off the attack. The man had improved, it seemed; he fought less conservatively and with a great deal more finesse.
The two of them moved as if in a graceful dance, circling each other, weapons carefully poised. Then their blades met again, crackling and hissing.
When Germain feinted and returned an unexpected thrust, Dominic drew back, deflecting the rapier point with a supple wrist. Whirling about, he launched another flurry. His attack nearly threw Charles off balance, but the man escaped with a nimble leap. There was another silence as the two contestants danced in opposite circles, warily regarding each other. Then they engaged again, steel clashing against steel.
They fought for some time, neither seeming to be able to gain the advantage. Finally, though, Germain began to lose patience. Darting forward, he thrust viciously, and his slashing blade almost succeeded in slipping through Dominic's guard. Dominic bore his hand upward at the last instant, however, and his foil slid nearly halfway up the other blade. With a snarl, Germain leapt back, then attacked with a forced flurry, his blade ringing against tempered steel as it cut swiftly through the air.
Dominic could sense Germain's growing frustration. Both of them were breathing hard from the exertion, but it was obvious that Charles was tiring more quickly; a thin sheen of sweat covered his face and his movements were slower, less refined than at the start. Dominic parried his next strike easily with a powerful flick of his wrist. Then judging the time as ripe, he bore down with fierce determination, keeping his eyes trained on his opponent's face.
In response, Charles became more reckless. He lunged, wildly brandishing the slender rapier. Dominic sidestepped lightly, narrowly avoiding the point of Germain's blade, and continued to give ground as he waited for the right moment. At the next desperate thrust, he caught Germain's blade in a parry. The foils locked at their base, and Dominic flashed a mocking smile as he disengaged. Then he went on a driving offensive, forcing his opponent backwards, his powerful thigh muscles bulging as he advanced with agile steps.
Suddenly Dominic changed tactics. After slowing his onslaught to control the encounter, he retreated, lowering his guard in a deliberate invitation. As he had expected, Germain made a rapid lunge. Too rapid. Charles lost his balance momentarily, and Dominic slashed downward to the right, making a short arc and then an upward extension. The tip sank deeply into Germain's side.
There was a hushed silence as Charles stared down at the bright crimson stain spreading on his shirt front. His face wore a look of dumbfounded dismay before his eyes lifted to clash with Dominic's. For an instant, his features contorted with hatred. Then his expression became altogether blank as his knees slowly buckled.
He pitched forward, clutching his ribs, but Dominic caught him before he fell. Gently lowering Charles to the frozen ground, Dominic rolled him over so that he was lying on his back. Then kneeling, he withdrew the sword from Charles' side and loosened his shirt to expose the wound.
When he saw the damage he had done, Dominic swore a silent oath. His blade had penetrated deeply into Charles' ribcage and blood was welling freely from the small hole located a few inches below and to one side of the right breast. Dominic didn't need to be told that such a wound could prove fatal. Grim-faced, he drew back to allow the surgeon his examination.
"Not good," the doctor muttered. "Not good at all. But he may live." From his bag the doctor pulled a wad of cloth and formed a thick pad, pressing it against the wound to staunch the flow of blood. "Blade missed the lung, but barely," he announced. "Unconscious. Always happens. He'll have a fever—at least a week, maybe two. If he survives that, he should recover."
"Your expenses plus a hundred guineas if he lives," Dominic said in a fierce undertone. "And keep this quiet."
"I will do my best, m'lord, but I beg you not to expect miracles."
Dominic stood up slowly, his eyes on Germain's face. He suddenly felt extremely weary. "I'll have to depend on you, Jason," he said, pulling his friend aside. "Manning knows of a place where Charles can be held."
Jason nodded, his mood far lighter with Dominic the victor. "Never fear. I'll see Germain receives the best of care."
Dominic glanced down at the unconscious man and swore again, clenching his fists. "Bloody hell! Even if he lives, he won't be able to talk for some time."