The Raven Prince (Princes #1)(75)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

Finally.

“I’m not paying your ridiculous price.” The blackmailer didn’t look that frightening. He was younger than she’d expected, with a familiar, receding chin. Anna frowned. “You’re the macaroni from the lecture.”

The man looked irritated. “Where’s my money?”

“I’ve already told you, I’m not paying. The earl is here, and it’s in your best interest to leave now, before he finds you.”

“But, the money—”

Anna stamped her foot in exasperation. “Look, you pea-brained nit, I haven’t got any money with me, and you really must—”

A large furry form leapt from behind Anna. There was a shout and a horrible, low growling. The blackmailer sprawled on the floor, his body nearly obliterated by Jock. The mastiff’s bared fangs were only inches from the man’s eyes, and a ridge of fur bristled down the dog’s back as he continued his menacing rumbling.

Belatedly, a woman screamed.

“Hold, Jock,” Edward said as he advanced. “Chilton Lillipin. I should’ve guessed. You must have been at your elder brother’s lecture yesterday.”

“Damnation, Swartingham, get this beast off me! What do you care about a sl—”

Jock barked, nearly taking off the man’s nose.

Edward placed a hand on the back of the dog’s neck. “I do, most certainly, care about this lady.”

Lillipin’s eyes narrowed craftily. “Then you’ll no doubt want satisfaction.”

“Naturally.”

“I’ll have my seconds contact—”

“Now.” Although Edward spoke softly, his voice carried over the other man’s.

“Edward, no!” This was exactly what Anna had wanted to avoid.

Edward ignored her. “I have my seconds here.”

Viscount Iddesleigh and a shorter man with watchful green eyes stepped forward. Their faces were intent on this masculine game.

The viscount smiled. “Pick your seconds.”

Lillipin glanced around the room from his prone position. A young man, his shirt untucked, pulled his staggering companion to the front of the crowd. “We’ll second you.”

Oh, God! “Edward, stop this, please.” Anna spoke low.

He pulled Jock off Lillipin and toward her. “Guard.”

The dog obediently stood braced in front of Anna.

“But—”

Edward looked at her sternly, cutting off her words. He shed his coat. Lillipin jumped to his feet, removed his coat and waistcoat, and drew his sword. Edward unsheathed his own weapon. The two men stood in a suddenly cleared space.

This was happening too fast. It was like a nightmare she couldn’t stop. The room had grown silent, faces turned avidly at the prospect of bloodshed.

The men saluted, bringing their swords up before their faces; then each bent slightly at the knee, their blades in front of them. Slimmer and shorter than Edward, the younger man’s stance was consciously elegant with his left hand curved in a graceful arc behind his head. Lillipin wore a linen shirt trimmed in fountains of Belgian lace that flowed as he moved. Edward stood solidly, his unarmed hand held out behind him for balance, not grace. His black waistcoat had only a thin line of black braid along the edge, and his white shirt was unadorned.

Lillipin sneered. “En garde!” The younger man lunged. His rapier moved in a glinting flurry.

Edward blocked the attack. His sword slid and scraped against his opponent’s. He stepped back two paces as Lillipin advanced, weapon flashing. Anna bit her lip. Surely he was on the defensive? Lillipin seemed to think so as well. His lips curved in an oily grin.

“Chilly Lilly killed two men last year,” a voice crowed from the crowd behind her. Anna drew in her breath sharply. She’d heard of the bucks in London who amused themselves by challenging and killing less-skilled swordsmen. Edward spent most of his time in the country. Could he even defend himself?

The men moved in a tight circle, sweat gleaming on their faces. Lillipin lunged forward, and his sword chattered against Edward’s. Edward’s right sleeve shredded. Anna moaned, but no telltale red stained the sleeve. Lillipin’s blade darted out again, a snake striking, and bit into Edward’s shoulder. Edward grunted. This time crimson drops fell to the floor. Anna started forward, only to be halted by Jock’s jaws clamped gently around her arm.

“Blood,” Iddesleigh called out, echoed closely by Lillipin’s seconds.

Neither duelist wavered. The swords sang and attacked. Edward’s sleeve steadily bloomed a bright red. With each movement of his arm, blood sprayed over the floor, bright droplets that were immediately smeared into streaks by the combatants’ feet. Weren’t they supposed to stop at the first blood drawn?

Unless they fought to the death.

Anna stuffed her fist into her mouth to stifle a scream. She couldn’t distract Edward now. She stood absolutely still, her eyes brimming with tears.

Suddenly, Edward lunged and lunged again. His lead foot stomped against the floor with the ferocity of his attack. Lillipin fell back and brought his sword up to defend his face. Edward’s arm made a controlled circular movement; his blade flashed up and over his opponent’s weapon. Lillipin squealed in pain. The sword flew from his hand, sliding with a clatter across the room. Edward stood with the tip of his weapon pressed into the soft skin at the base of Lillipin’s throat.

The younger man breathed hard, his bleeding right hand cradled in his left.

“You may have won by luck, Swartingham,” Lillipin panted, “but you cannot stop me from talking once I leave this—”

Edward flung down his sword and slammed his fist into the other man’s face. Lillipin staggered back, arms flailed wide, and fell to the floor with a thump. He lay still.

“Actually, I can stop you,” Edward muttered, and shook his right hand.

There was a long-suffering sigh from directly behind Anna. “I knew you’d resort to fisticuffs eventually.” Viscount Iddesleigh stepped around her.

Edward looked affronted. “I did duel him first.”

“Yes, and your form was atrocious as always.”

The man with the green eyes rounded Anna’s other side and silently bent to pick up Edward’s sword.

“I won,” Edward said pointedly.

The viscount sneered. “Sadly so.”

“Would you have preferred he best me?” Edward demanded.

“No, but in a perfect world, classic form would win every time.”