Revenge In Regency Society: Brushed by Scandal / Courting Miss Vallois. Gail Whitiker

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СКАЧАТЬ the cheers that greeted the man’s words, Barrington shook his head. ‘Sorry, gentlemen, the show’s over. You can all go home now.’

      Amidst the rumble of disappointment, another voice said, ‘But this was to be a demonstration. Surely you wouldn’t send everyone away without giving them what they really came here to see.’

      Barrington’s mouth compressed into a thin line. So, Hayle would challenge him publicly. A foolish thing to do. ‘I’m sure there are others who would favour you with a match, Lord Hayle.’

      ‘But it is with you I wish to engage, Sir Barrington,’ Hayle said softly. ‘Will you not stand and face me? I have been acknowledged a better than average fencer and would welcome an opportunity to go up against the best.’

      Hearing the room suddenly fall silent, Barrington sighed. ‘My purpose this morning was to instruct Lord Yew’s son. It was not a general invitation to spar.’

      ‘But surely there can be no harm in engaging in a friendly match,’ Hayle said, advancing on to the floor. ‘You are acknowledged the finest swordsman in England. Every one of us here could benefit by watching and learning, and I am willing to put myself forward as your student. If nothing else, I promise you a better match than the one you just concluded.’

      ‘I was not engaged in a match,’ Barrington reminded him. ‘I was giving a lesson.’

      ‘Then consider me your student and this an opportunity to improve my skills,’ Hayle said with a grin.

      Hearing murmurs in the crowd that were pushing for the match, Barrington sighed. Hayle obviously wasn’t going to back down, especially if he felt he had the backing of his friends. And while he needed a lesson, Barrington knew it was in humility rather than sword play. ‘Very well.’ He walked back into the room and donned his mask. ‘Prepare to engage.’

      An excited murmur rolled through the crowd. Men who were halfway to the door quickly turned around and ran back into the room, aware that a far more entertaining show was about to get underway. Triumph and anticipation suffused Hayle’s face as he stripped off his jacket and donned a mask.

      In silence the two men made their way to the centre of the floor. After offering the traditional salute, they both took their opening stance.

      It didn’t take long for Barrington to assess his opponent’s level of skill. Hayle was a showy fencer and quick on his feet, but there was no strategy to his play; at times, his technique was downright sloppy. Barrington easily scored five hits in a matter of minutes—and watched his opponent’s face grow redder with each one.

      ‘I think that’s enough for one morning,’ he said, starting to remove his mask.

      ‘Stand your ground, sir!’ Hayle shouted. ‘I will say when this is finished.’ He took up his stance again. ‘En guarde!’

      Barrington saw the anger in the other man’s eyes and knew this could only end badly. He had no wish to humiliate Hayle in front of a room full of his friends and acquaintances, but neither was he about to throw the game in order to appease his vanity. ‘Very well. We shall play one more bout and then call a halt. Does that meet with your approval?’

      Hayle gave a terse nod and resumed his position.

      The match recommenced. Barrington tried not to make the other man look bad, but the more desperate Hayle became, the more careless his play. He was caught flat footed several times and as the bout went on his moves became more and more erratic. After receiving his fourth hit, he shouted, ‘Damn you, Parker!’, then, abandoning sportsmanlike conduct altogether, he lunged, aiming the point of his sword directly at Barrington’s throat.

      Barrington heard the gasp from the crowd, but was already out of range. He stepped lithely to one side and quickly raised his own foil, deflecting the blow. Hayle spun around and was about to charge again when a voice rang out, ‘Enough, Edward! Put down your sword! This engagement is at an end!’

      The command vibrated with anger, but Hayle was oblivious, his attention riveted on his adversary. Barrington held his position, too, unwilling to trust his opponent. He risked a quick glance across the room and saw the Earl of Cambermere standing by the edge of the crowd. His face was red and he was shaking with barely suppressed fury. ‘Did you not hear me, sir?’ he called again. ‘I said put down your sword!’

      ‘I will not, sir!’ His son’s face was equally flushed. ‘How dare you ask me to!’

      ‘How dare I?’ his father exploded, marching on to the floor. ‘You impugn our family’s honour by behaving in such a way and then have the audacity to question me? No, sir, I will not have it! If you cannot control your temper, find another sport in which to indulge.’ He ripped the foil from his son’s hand and threw it on the floor. ‘This is a gentleman’s game. You will apologise to Sir Barrington at once or I’ll know the reason why!’

      Barrington slowly lowered his sword, but remained in a ready position, prepared to fight if Hayle picked up his sword and re-engaged him. He had no idea what the man was going to do, but it was evident to everyone in the place that Hayle was beyond furious. In that moment, Barrington wasn’t sure the man wouldn’t turn on his own father and run him through.

      Thankfully, the moment passed. As if realising he couldn’t win and that his reputation would only suffer further by prolonging the encounter, Hayle took a step back, then bent to pick up his sword. ‘I will not apologise to you this day or any other, Sir Barrington,’ he said coldly. ‘But I do regret that we were unable to finish our match. I look forward to the opportunity of doing so in the future.’ Then, without so much as a second glance at his father, he snatched up his jacket and left.

      Barely had the door closed before the level of conversation swelled to fill the silence. Barrington heard snippets of conversations, some questioning, many derogatory. Overall, none were particularly complimentary of Hayle’s behaviour on the floor. Fencing was, after all, a gentleman’s sport and what the audience had just witnessed was a display of anything but.

      It was a few minutes before the earl was calm enough to speak. When he did, Barrington could see it was with considerable effort. ‘Sir Barrington, pray accept my apologies on behalf of my son. His behaviour was unforgivable and I am truly sorry.’

      ‘Apology accepted, but I suggest you do not take this too much to heart, Cambermere,’ Barrington said. ‘It is not uncommon for a young man to wish to win, especially in front of his peers.’

      ‘If a man cannot win fairly or lose graciously, he should not play the game,’ Cambermere snapped. ‘I’m sorry you had to see that side of Edward’s nature. He’s always been a competitive lad, but of late, he has become even more so. I suspect it has much to do with Peregrine’s arrival.’ The earl sighed. ‘They have not become the friends I’d hoped.’

      ‘Was it realistic to believe they would?’

      The earl glanced up, his sharp eyes meeting Barrington’s. But Barrington’s didn’t waver, and, not surprisingly, the earl was the first to look away. ‘Perhaps not. But they had to meet at some time.’

      ‘Did they? I would have thought it possible for their paths never to have crossed. But it’s a moot point now. You made the decision to invite Rand to London and must now deal with the consequences,’ Barrington said.

      ‘I know. But I was asked if I would have him,’ the earl said quietly. ‘And I wanted him to come.’

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