Molly scrutinized her. "Because of Lonsdale?"

"No." Isabella traced a pattern on the tablecloth with her finger. "Because I don't wish to see Dermott." She looked up. "It's cowardly, I know, but seeing him today with that pretty actress and her child was awful." She slowly inhaled, as though a calming breath would help ease the pain. "And he told me in no uncertain terms on the ride back to the City that he had no wish to change the pattern of his life."

"I'm sorry," Molly murmured. "I don't know how to offer you comfort. If it's any excuse, the death of his wife and son was so deep a blow, I'm not sure he'll ever recover from it. He feels a terrible guilt for taking them along on campaign. I never told you the whole story, but his family was massacred when their camp was overrun by enemies while he and a troop were out on a scouting mission. He found his wife and son on his return; they were dreadfully mutilated."

Isabella's face had gone pale. "How awful," she whispered.

"He shouldn't have given in to his wife's pleas to accompany him, he shouldn't have left them, he says. He blames himself entirely. He couldn't bear to stay in India; the reminders were too stark, so he came home to England. But he couldn't escape his memories, and his dissipation serves to drug his senses, obliterate his nightmares." She softly sighed. "I though you were different. He treated you with a normalcy that gave me hope. He kept you beyond his usual boredom limits, took you to Richmond." She shrugged. "I thought he might have forgotten."

"I think he did for a time."

"He loved his wife and son deeply."

"So it seems," Isabella quietly murmured. "I'm going to leave the City." Her voice was suddenly brisk. "I should be safe enough on my country estate with a bodyguard. I need to retreat from my memories too."

"I hate to see you go, but I understand. Although, it might be wise to have Joe bring along his brother. They could spell each other in the course of the day."

"The way I feel right now, so recently saved from my uncle's clutches, you may hire a troop of bodyguards for me if you wish. Tomorrow, I intend to go to the bank and see to my affairs, and perhaps the next day check the warehouses and docks. After that, I'll retreat to Tavora House and begin forgetting Dermott."

"How strange life is," Molly observed. "Under normal circumstances, we would have never met. Under normal circumstances, you and Dermott would have never crossed paths. And now we're caught up in a tangled net of impossible hopes and evil deeds while the ton whirls around us, inured to all but their frantic search for pleasure."

"I for one am about to extricate myself from the net, from the ton, from any frantic search for anything. I have a life to return to, a business to run, simple pleasures that once offered me happiness."

"I'll send Lord Moira a note of explanation. Just in case you should ever wish to resume the social whirl." Molly smiled. "He's an old friend; he'll understand."

"How optimistic you are." Isabella found it possible to smile back, and pleased with her lightening mood as she contemplated a return to her familiar environs, she added, "Who knows, maybe Dermott will give up his profligate life, be transformed into a white knight, ride up to my country house, and carry me away."

Molly laughed. "Send me a message directly that occurs. I very much want to believe in miracles."

"In the meantime," Isabella noted, "I shall busy myself with more mundane activities. Like seeing to my money."

"See to anything you wish now that you have protection from your relatives. I'll summon Joe and you may discuss your needs with him."


Dermott had his own activities to see to. After leaving Molly's, he proceeded to find his friend Lord Devon, who agreed to be his second. Protocol required the challenge for a duel be given by the seconds, so the two men went together to search out Lonsdale. They began with his home, although Dermott hardly expected to find him there. The marquis was more likely to be found at his gambling clubs or vice-ridden haunts. Since Dermott knew them all, they drove from one to the other, making inquiries, asking questions, bribing retainers where necessary, scouring the City to find the man and exact revenge.

They finally tracked him down at a Covent Garden coffee house that also served as a tavern and brothel. Lonsdale was in the back room, gambling with a table of rogues and rakes, all the men well into their cups.

"Can you stand, Lonsdale?" Dermott growled, filling the doorway like an avenging angel.

The marquis's gaze languidly came up, raking Dermott with a drunken glance. "Don't know, Bathurst." He shrugged. "Probably not, come to think of it."

"Make sure you can by tomorrow morning."

"Will you accept a challenge from Lord Bathurst?" Devon asked, playing his part.

"This is about the Leslie piece?" Lonsdale drawled, his heavy-lidded gaze insolent.

"Mention her name again, and I'll kill you where you sit."

"Not armed, Bathurst. Shame."

"Maybe I don't give a damn."

"Bad form, Bathurst." The marquis winked at him. "Think of your fine reputation for honor on the dueling field."

"Fuck you, Lonsdale."

"You must want her more than I do." The marquis surveyed his companions with a smirk. "Wouldn't think a cunt was worth dying for."

Dermott gritted his teeth, tempted to shoot him where he sat but not capable of such cold-blooded murder. "I'll see that you're at Morgan's field at six tomorrow morning," he grimly said, "and you'll find out if it is or not." His glance swept the group at the table. "One of you should be sober enough to remember. Remind him. Six tomorrow, and if he doesn't appear, I'll come and kill him wherever he is."

"She must be damned good in bed," Lonsdale murmured.

"I'll shut your vulgar mouth tomorrow," Dermott growled, and turning abruptly, he walked away, Devon beside him.

"It must be love," one of the men mocked, "for Bathurst to fight over a woman."

"I'd say she's a hot piece he doesn't want to share."

"She's a hot, rich piece," Lonsdale murmured. "Incentive to kill the bastard tomorrow. I could use her money and cunt."

Chapter Seventeen

WORD OF THE DUEL spread though the ton like wildfire. Molly heard of it through Mercer, and she debated whether to keep silent or tell Isabella. But the decision was taken out of her hands when Lady Hertford sent Isabella a note, understanding how she felt about Dermott, warning her of the event. Lonsdale was not to be trifled with, she noted, suggesting Isabella might wish to talk Dermott out of risking his life.

"He can't do this," Isabella protested, showing the note to Molly. "I have to stop him."

"It's not likely you can. Once he's challenged Lonsdale, he can't back down. Nor would he wish to, I suspect."

"If this is about me, I forbid it. Does he think I want him to risk his life over someone as base as Lonsdale?"

"Men have grievances and a sense of honor that takes precedence over reason. This isn't the first time Dermott has faced someone across the dueling field."

"Good God, does he have a death wish?"

"A temper, without doubt, and perhaps a death wish as well."

"I'm going to see him."

Molly glanced at the clock. "I'll doubt you'll find him at home."

"Then I'll find him somewhere else."

Molly sighed. "You might not wish to see where he is."

"You know."

"No. But at nine at night, he's not in church, you can be sure."

Isabella took a deep breath, steeling herself against the possible embarrassment and pain. "I don't care. I wish to talk to him."

"Very well. I'll have Joe find him and come back for you."


Shortly after eleven, a large, burly man entered Molly's drawing room, and Isabella met Joe Thurlow. He was massive, his shoulders as broad as an ox, his neck a pure column of muscle, his arms and thighs bulging. His hazel eyes remarkably kind, his smile boyish and charming.

Once introductions were complete, he said, "I found Bathurst at the Green Abbey."

"Is it far?" Isabella had been watching the clock, and she was concerned it might soon be too late to stop Dermott. The site of the duel was secret, as was usual, so the authorities wouldn't interfere. While duels often occurred, they were illegal.

"About a half hour from here."

Isabella turned to Molly. "Thank you again. I'm continually in your debt."

"Just be careful. Don't let her out of your sight, Joe," she ordered.

He nodded. "Not a chance, Molly."


Near midnight, shrouded in a black hooded cape, Isabella was escorted from her carriage up a short bank of stairs into a house bordering Green Park. The small entrance hall was deserted, although it was well lit with a crystal chandelier in the Venetian style. Joe indicated she follow him up the carpeted staircase to the main floor, where he turned to the left and preceded her down a long corridor illuminated with wall sconces. Opening a door at the end of the hallway, he ushered her into a room that looked as though it served as an office. "Wait here," he said, and left, shutting the door behind him.

Isabella quickly surveyed the small room illuminated only by a low fire. An elegant desk, a richness of Turkey carpets on the floor, a number of Chippendale chairs, two bookcases. It was obviously a workplace, but an opulent one. Her assessment of the office didn't long curtail the overwhelming anxiety plaguing her, and she soon began pacing, moving between the desk and the fireplace in short circuits, unconsciously wringing her gloved hands. She was nervous about interrupting Dermott in his night's amusements. This house was more than a gambling club, she suspected. He would think her interfering. She dreaded the thought of his coldness. But if she didn't at least try to stop this fearful duel, she'd forever regret her cowardice.