Who could blame him? He’d wanted his sister’s engagement broken, but with a minimum of fuss. Simon was unbearably alert to the hundreds of eyes watching avidly from inside the house.
Tonight’s events promised to explode into the on-dit of the year. The old tales about Lydia’s mother and Simon’s wildness as a younger man would add seasoning to the scandal broth. Delicious fodder to spiteful gossips.
“It was my fault, Grenville,” Lydia said, slipping away from her brother and addressing her fiancé with her hands outstretched. “My fault, not Simon’s.”
“I shall call on you in the morning, madam, to discuss our future,” Berwick said coldly, stepping out of reach. At that moment, whatever justice Berwick might have on his side, Simon loathed the weasel more than he ever had before. “To my disappointment, you are not the chaste woman I believed you were. You have deceived me.”
“Don’t you damn well dare speak to her like that,” Simon said hotly, surging forward, ready to repay the earlier blow, although this was neither time nor place. His bruises protested the sudden movement. His jaw hurt like the very devil and his body ached from where he’d hurtled onto the flagstones.
Berwick shot him a contemptuous look and straightened, obviously prepared to thrash Simon out here on the terrace if he had to. “You insolent puppy!”
“Grenville, no!” Lydia rushed forward to stand quaking between Simon and Berwick. Berwick cast her a glare of utter contempt and she took a nervous step back without clearing his path to Simon.
“Stop it! All of you. This behavior is unbecoming.” Cam was completely the duke. “Simon, go home. Now.”
Simon refused to back down, in spite of that tone of unquestionable authority. “Will you act as my second, Cam?”
“You damned fool,” he said, catching Lydia and bringing her back to his side. Simon heard affection, fury and piercing anxiety in his tone. “I’ll be your second, if it comes to that. I hope to God it doesn’t.”
Berwick didn’t budge. “I will under no circumstances withdraw my challenge, Your Grace. It still remains to be seen whether this scoundrel has the nerve to take it up.”
“I’m at your disposal,” Simon said equally coldly. He glanced across to where Lydia sagged against her brother. Her face was blank with horror and remorse. He’d never forgive himself for putting that glazed, hopeless expression into her eyes twice in one lifetime.
Cam’s arm tightened around his sister and he murmured something to her which Simon couldn’t hear. “I’ll accompany Lydia back to Rothermere House then come to your rooms, Simon. Sir Grenville, once you’ve selected your second, we can make arrangements.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.” Ignoring Lydia, Berwick bowed to Cam, then turned to Simon. “Let us see if you play the man on the field of honor as eagerly as you play the rake in the boudoir, Metcalf.”
Simon bit back a savage response, grinding his teeth so hard that his jaw ached. His impulsiveness had already caused enough trouble. He should have left England after Lydia gave him his congé following the Plaistead Ball. Hell, he should never have come back in the first place. Better he wandered forever than broke Lydia’s heart a second time.
When Simon remained mute under his jibe, Berwick’s mouth lifted in a derisive smile that would strike terror into the heart of a sane man. But Simon hadn’t been sane since the day he’d fallen in love with Lydia Rothermere. Now his insanity wrecked forever the lives of his beloved and his dearest friend.
Damn it, he should shoot himself now and save Grenville Berwick the trouble.
Chapter Six
Two o’clock must be the damned darkest hour of the night.
From where he slouched in a chair by the fire, Simon sighed heavily and glanced around his candlelit parlor. There was a distinct possibility that after this morning, he’d never return here. There was a distinct possibility that after this morning, he’d never return anywhere, unless one counted the family graveyard in Derbyshire.
He tried to repent his wasted life, but facing death, his only real regret was that he’d never see Lydia again. That one bleak fact made his gut cramp in denial.
Cam had recently left to make final arrangements for the duel. Despite the powerful Duke of Sedgemoor’s intervention, Berwick remained set upon his course. He must realize that blasting Simon to Kingdom Come would obliterate any political ambitions. Dueling was illegal, if still a preferred method of settling masculine differences. Bizarrely Simon almost admired the man’s determination to murder him and devil take the consequences. It was the first sign that the fellow wasn’t as cold as a dead haddock. Who could guess that an ardent heart beat beneath that stolid demeanor?
In between berating Simon for his irresponsibility, Cam had let slip that Berwick was a crack shot. With fatalistic grimness, Simon recognized that of course he would be. Simon was no novice with a pistol, but he could hardly shoot Berwick on the field of honor when the fault was indisputably his own. Ever since he’d learned of Lydia’s engagement, he’d wished Sir Grenville dead. But actually killing the bugger? That went too far.
Not to mention Lydia would never forgive him.
Right now, Lydia must be calling him every name under the sun. And rightly so. Kissing her at the musicale had been dangerous. Worse, it had been stupid. No excuse to say passion had made him forget his surroundings. However true it might be. Twice now his unbridled appetite for Lydia Rothermere had ravaged her life. If she had any sense, she’d pray that Berwick’s bullet blasted Simon to Hades where he’d bother her no more.
Simon had shared a brandy with Cam. He rose to pour another, although he probably should abstain for the sake of his aim. But given that he had no intention of firing, he might as well try to drown the ache in his soul. Brandy was paltry comfort, but it was the best available.
He wished that Cam had stayed. Even censorious, he was company.
Simon sighed again and slumped into his armchair. How much more pathetic could he get? He raised the brandy, then lowered his hand before drinking. Three hours before he was due to leave. He had a horrible inkling that each minute would crawl by. He wasn’t particularly afraid to die. He just didn’t want to sit here staring into space and feeling sorry for himself until he met his appointment.
When he heard a soft knock on the door, he assumed that Cam had returned after all to share his lonely vigil. As his manservant had long since gone to bed, Simon placed his glass on a side table, stood and wandered down the short corridor to open the door.
“Haven’t you got a bed to go—”