Giff remained at a little distance, studying the man with revived interest. He had to concede the fellow was personable. How to descry any particular resemblance? Apart from their great-uncle, Giff knew none of the Gaunt males. Nor had he seen any portrait of his father. Piers’s father had been the younger of two brothers, which was all Giff knew of him. If there was more to it, would Piers know? It might explain his obsessive determination to hold on to what he had gained. Did he believe himself entitled? Had Henry Gaunt encouraged him to think it? Such questions might never be answered. Oddly, though, despite every wish to ignore it, the possibility Piers might be his half-brother must inevitably change the game.
The man was clearly nervous. Giff doubted he’d had occasion to duel before. Was he even in the habit of keeping in practice with a fencing master? All gentlemen learned the art as a matter of course, so Papa Matt had told him when he began such instruction while Giff was yet a boy. Matt had been assiduous in ensuring he was properly educated for his true sphere, and what he had omitted in other forms of combat, Sattar had supplied.
A hail from Rhoades drew his attention back to the matter at hand. He nodded at Piers.
“It seems we are in luck. Shall we proceed?”
Piers hesitated, eyeing him askance. “I wish you will tell me what you intend.”
Giff raised his brows. “But I’ve told you. We’re going for first blood, Piers.” He looked the man up and down. “Are you afraid? You need not be. Sattar here is expert at dealing with wounds.”
The sneer appeared briefly. “Afraid? I? By no means. Let us go.”
He turned, striding off in the direction the two seconds had taken.
Satisfied, Giff followed, Sattar on his heels.
“He fears you, sahib. Dare I trust your anger will not lead you into taking his life?”
“Devil a bit, old sobersides. I’m not as reckless as that. Besides, it won’t suit me to make this a killing matter.”
“Ha! You like it not, this England. I thought it was so, sahib.”
“I could learn to like it, I think.”
Sattar gave him a sidelong look. “It is the memsahib, yes?”
The image of his flower girl leapt into Giff’s head. There was a question indeed. He was no longer willing to consult only his own preferences. And if it came to remaining, what the deuce was he to do with Piers?
It did not take long to reach the clear space Rhoades had located. Tarporley came up at once, while the captain relieved Piers of his sword.
“The ground is safe enough, Giffard. Let me take your sword while you remove what clothing will hamper you.”
“Right. Let’s get this over with.”
Giff unbuckled his sword belt. Sattar was waiting to take it, but he waved him away, giving his instructions in Hindi. “Move off to a little distance. I want you to be seen to be impartial. Don’t interfere unless my cousin proves treacherous.”
His henchman nodded and made his way to a position out of the immediate environment set for the fight. Giff removed his coat and flexed his arms.
“Your boots, Giffard? The grass may be slippery.”
“I’ll keep them on. They are well worn and I’m wary of unseen stones.”
Tarporley looked worried. Giff glanced across at his opponent. Piers had taken off his coat, but had likewise left on his boots.
“My sword, man!”
He took the rapier in hand, waited while Piers did the same and then moved in, feeling the familiar rush of power pour into his breast at the proximity of danger.
A brief salute and Giff dropped into theengardeposition. It felt good to be facing his cousin across three feet of steel instead of wondering where the next attack was coming from. Like this he was in command, knew his own strength and the outcome rested on his skill and stamina. All at once, remembrance of what Piers’s scheming had put him through swept in, leaving him hard, cold and vengeful. Now the fellow would pay.
Wasting no time, Giff opened with an attack direct, aiming high. He saw the startled look in Piers’s eyes as he brought up his weapon to parry. He’d not expected so swift a beginning. So much the better.
Giff leapt back briefly and again lunged, took the parry, slipped his rapier under his opponent’s and lunged again. Piers gasped out as he just managed to catch the blade. Then he jumped back out of range, gazing at Giff out of wide, scared eyes, his wrist shaking as he brought his arm back to keep the sword in guard.
“Not so amusing when it’s your life on the line, is it, my friend?”
Piers bared his teeth. “Damn you!”