Pistols at Dawn Read Online Free

the punishment seemed in retrospect, it must be accepted.
    Marcus found his thoughts drifting to the bizarre scene of last night, and the cloaked figure who had sought to mete out her own justice.
    Right and wrong.
    He wished he knew just what sort of man his nephew really was. Lucien seemed remorseful, but did he merely regret being caught? Had the act been an unfortunate aberration in character? Or was the young man a depraved creature capable of casual cruelty without a thought for aught but his own selfish desires?
    With a twinge of guilt, the earl realized that he really hadn't a clue. As an oath slipped from his lips, he found himself adding a silent prayer that Lucien wouldn't prove to be an utter scoundrel. His decision was affecting not only his nephew's fate, but also the lives of others.
    Pushing away from the table, his coffee as cold as his hopes, Marcus reluctantly quitted the comfort of his breakfast room.
    Duty, however onerous, could not be denied.

 
     
     
    Chapter 3

     
    Lucien's expression was more befitting a funeral than a wedding. He threw himself against the carriage squabs and turned to stare out the window. His hand rubbed his cheek, as if it might be possible to banish the bruise, along with the other ghastly consequences of his carousing.
    Marcus took a seat beside his nephew and called for the horses to be sprung. Ignoring the young man's sullen silence, he fell to studying the papers in his lap. It was of some benefit to have competent servants, he thought with a grim smile. As well as a lofty title and an adequate purse. His valet had managed the purchase of a special license, while the head footman had learned enough from the innkeeper to avoid embarrassing public inquires as to where the young lady lived.
    His lips thinned on regarding the last fact. It appeared that the situation was even messier than he had imagined. The injured party was the daughter of a rector. With a harried sigh, he crumpled the sheet and shoved it in his pocket, restraining the urge to take his nephew by the collar and give him yet another shake.
    A quarter mile past the village of Chertwell, the carriage turned onto a narrow lane lined with high hedgerows. It passed several small farms before stopping before a large cottage whose whitewashed walls were like a splash of fresh cream against the dappled greens of the surrounding fields. The dwelling was set off from the road by a low stone wall, heavy with honeysuckle. Its sweet perfume scented the morning breeze.
    Marcus had to nudge his nephew twice before the young man managed to rise from his seat.
    A profusion of daffodils bordered the pebbled path that lead to the front door. Despite its obvious age, the cottage looked to be a cozy place, with trellised roses climbing up its weathered sides and a hint of cheerful chintz behind the spotless leaded windows.
    The earl took his place by Lucien's side, pausing for a moment to smooth a crease from his coat. "Head up, shoulders squared," he growled. "I expect you to comport yourself with at least an outward show of dignity, as befits a gentleman." There was a slight pause. "Though in truth I'm not sure you deserve the title."
    Lucien swallowed hard, shooting the earl a look that mingled equal parts resentment and fear. Despite such emotions, his chin came up and he managed a firm stride. They mounted the steps together, but there his courage seemed to flag.
    It was Marcus who reached up and rapped the iron knocker.
    There was no answer.
    "P-Perhaps we should come back at a later time," mumbled the young man, not daring to look over at the earl's rigid face.
    Marcus knocked again, this time with more force.
    The door came slightly ajar. After a slight hesitation, he pushed it open. There was still no sign of anyone.
    "Uncle Marcus—"
    The earl silenced him with a brusque wave and stepped into the entrance foyer. He took in the plain appointments, then slowly moved into a narrow passageway, motioning Lucien to follow.