Page 62 of A Mismatch Made in London

We opened the door, and Jeremy was standing in the hallway just outside.

“Amelia wants to talk to you,” Juliet said.

Jeremy stepped into the room and started to say something, but Juliet cut him off. “I’m going to find the water closet.”

Juliet slipped out and closed the door, but Jeremy opened it again, leaving a crack of about two inches.

I took a breath and said, “Please do not engage in a duel with that man. It isn’t worth getting yourself killed.”

“Of course it is worth getting killed. This is my sister’s honor we’re speaking of.”

I could barely see his face. The only light came from the crack in the door and a bit of moonlight from the window. The room appeared to be a small sitting room.

“I am not commenting on Juliet’s honor. I am only saying that if you are killed, she will be devastated, and if either of you are killed, what happened to Juliet will no longer be secret. People will gossip about what the duel was about, and as we know Mr. Fairweather has no honor, we may presume he has already spoken about what he did. The duel will cause word to spread. And though we know Juliet did nothing wrong, it won’t matter and her reputation will be ruined.”

Jeremy scowled—that much I could see—as he gazed down at me. “I must do my duty as her brother. And that man must be punished for what he did. I will not allow him to do such things to my sister without having him answer for it.”

“I understand, I truly do, but it is for God to deal with evildoers such as him. ‘Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.’”

Jeremy cleared his throat and was quiet. Finally, he said, “I have sent the note to him requesting his presence tomorrow morning at sunrise. Pistols at dawn. The truth is, I doubt he will be man enough to keep our engagement, but the challenge has been sent; I will not take it back. I will do what any gentleman of integrity would do.”

“Well, then, I will pray you are not injured and no one is killed.”

“Would you be sad if I were injured?”

I couldn’t quite see his expression. Was he joking?

“I suppose it depends on how serious the injury.”

He made a noise, an amused grunt.

“I would be sad if you were seriously injured. Though we have established that you are conceited and arrogant, you are my dearest friend’s brother, and she loves you.”

“I know you like to make joking remarks.”

“You are a very good shot, are you not?”

“I am.”

“But we shall pray that Mr. Fairweather will not keep the appointment.”

He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Are you certain the only reason you do not wish to see me come to harm is only for my sister’s sake? Not for your own sake?” His voice was deep and rough. That, along with the way he leaned toward me, closer than before, gave our conversation a quality it had not had before.

“I ... I don’t know. Perhaps.” My knees were trembling. Why was I suddenly thinking about his lips and how it would feel if he kissed me? Perhaps because his face was inches from mine. Or because darkness surrounded us like a cloak, giving us a feeling of being completely alone.

“I am only trying to ascertain if you care for me, Miss Moore.” His voice was low and intimate.

“Of course I care.” Was that the wrong thing to say? And why did my voice sound breathless?

“I misjudged you, early in our acquaintance,” he went on in his low, gravelly voice. “You are so much more than I could have imagined. And if I do not return from my duel, I want you to know that I think you are the most admirable and the most beautiful lady of my acquaintance.”

He leaned his handsome face even closer. His lips were very close to mine. Was he about to kiss me?

I wanted to feel his lips on mine. I actually leaned closer, holding my breath, closing the gap between us.

He pressed his lips to mine, gently, warmly. I shouldn’t let him do it, should I? I could have moved away from him, but I didn’t. And now my senses were filled with Jeremy Beaumont—his scent of bergamot soap, the feel of his warm mouth on mine, the way his hands were holding my shoulders. I was deep in a Jeremy Beaumont dream, and I didn’t want to wake.

“Oh my!”