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“Let her go,” he said steadily.
Bidenden shook his head. “Lower the pistol, man. You don’t want to shoot her, do you?”
The blood was soaking through Herward’s jacket and dripping off his arm into the carpet in crimson drops.
“Let her go,” repeated Rick calmly. His blue eyes looked almost black from here, and Cecey had never seen such a grim expression on his face. He looked like a cold, implacable stranger.
Bidenden pressed the knife, ever so gently against her belly and said softly, “You don’t hold the cards here, Layne, I do. Don’t make me do this.” He flexed his wrist, his intent clear and Cecey whimpered again. “Drop the fucking pistol, or you’ll regret it!”
“Rick, please!” Cecey caught his gaze. “He means it!”
Rick’s eyes flickered, and he jerked as if pulled out of a fugue, his eyes locking with hers.
He brought his gaze back to Bidenden and said tightly, “Let’s end this, Passmore. If there is any particle of the gentleman left in your black soul, I’ll meet you in a duel. Right here, right now. Pistols at twenty paces. The length of this room. You kill me, or I kill you. Deal?”
“Rick!” Cecey screamed in horror and tried to wriggle in Bidenden’s grip.
Bidenden tightened his grip on her throat and whispered in her ear. “I’ll do it on one condition. You swear to marry me if I win.”
She turned her head and said, incredulous, “Why would I do that?”
“I’ll spare him if you do. Wing him and send him to Australia. He’ll live then. Do you love him that much?”
She stared into his brown eyes and swallowed, nodding. She whispered, “Yes.” But Rick will kill you. I know he will.
“Good,” he murmured and kissed her numb lips. His mouth was soft and warm, and she wanted to bite his lip and spit in his face. But she did neither.
He turned to Rick and nodded. “Deal. When you’re dead, she’ll marry me.”
Cecey jerked at this immediate reversal of what he had just said, but he looked back down at her and smiled. He spoke softly so only she could hear him. “I promise you. Word of a gentleman. He’ll live.”
She gulped, hardly daring to believe him. But she had faith in Rick. Rick would kill him. He had to.
She nodded again, and he let her go slowly, pushing her down into a chair.
She watched as Rick kept his pistol trained on Bidenden who turned to him empty-handed, he had set the knife down on the table, out of Cecey’s reach. She looked at it longingly but kept still. If she made any sudden moves, it would distract Rick.
“Good,” said Rick, not taking his eyes of Bidenden. “Let’s clear the room, shall we?”
During this passage, Hereward had removed the knife from his shoulder with a palpable wince. He now kept his pistol aimed steadily on Bidenden, while Rick pocketed his, and he and Bidenden pushed the furniture to the edges of the room, flushing the cleric from his hiding place and commanding him to stand as witness for the upcoming duel. The man gibbered and nodded.
When there was a clear corridor down the length of the room. Rick went to Hereward and murmured something Cecey couldn’t hear. The big man nodded and gave Rick his pistol which Rick turned back and gave to Bidenden.
The clock on the mantel ticked and a sudden stream of golden light came through the windows at the end of the room, streaking across the carpet. The sun was heading for the horizon.
Cecey gripped her hands tightly in her lap, hoping it was a good omen. She glanced at Mary lying prone on the carpet and saw her eyes flicker. A surge of relief flooded her body, and she suppressed the tears that pricked her eyes. She wanted desperately to go to the woman’s aid but didn’t dare move from her perch. She brought her gaze and attention back to Rick and prayed frantically under her breath. Please God, please God, don’t let him die!
Rick and Bidenden took their places back-to-back in the center of the room and Hereward counted slowly to ten as each man paced steadily away from the other. Rick toward the window and Biddenden toward the back wall. His deep voice was the only sound in the room.
When each had reached his place and turned with their pistols pointing downward, Hereward held up a handkerchief.
“Three. Two. One,” Hereward intoned, blood still dripping off his arm. The handkerchief fluttered to the blood-spattered carpet, and both men lifted their pistols, aimed, and fired.
The twin shots rang out, reverberating around the room and through Cecey’s head and chest. Time seemed to slow as she watched. Rick jerked, blood appearing on his shirt, and Cecey cried out, rising from her chair. Then the sound of a thud behind her made her turn. Bidenden’s body lay spreadeagled on the carpet, the pistol fallen from his grasp. Blood spread across his chest and pooled rapidly around his body.
Chapter 34
Rick’s body jerked with the impact of the bullet hitting his shoulder and staggered. A searing pain was followed by a hot, wet sensation as blood welled up from the bullet wound soaking into his shirt and running down his arm. He dropped the fired pistol from his other hand and clutched the wound instinctively, his left arm swinging uselessly.
