Chapter Twenty Two

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Jonathan was struggling on the floor, his torn trousers were around his knees and Silverwood was on top of him. 

"Get away from him!" D'Anvers didn't recognise the harsh tones coming from his own throat. Silverwood sprang to his feet, his eyes wild, his breath ragged. 

"You'll meet me for this my lord!" D'Anvers flung out the challenge before he could stop and think. He was so angry it was all he could do to stop from shooting Silverwood out of hand. "I'll give you two minutes to get your pistol and prime it!" He kept his eyes fixed on Silverwood, not daring to look at Jonathan. 

Furious at being caught unawares, Silverwood fought to take back control of the situation. He took a moment to straighten his clothes then looked pointedly at D'Anvers' silver pistol lying on the floor of the mausoleum where Jonathan had dropped it earlier. 

"No, my Lord. I'll send my seconds to meet yours tomorrow, as is usual!" 

"You'll meet me now!" insisted D'Anvers. "Or are you too much of a coward? Afraid to face up to a man instead of picking on boys and children?" 

An ugly red colour infused Silverwood's cheeks. "You'll regret that!"  

Ignoring the weapon on the floor, he drew his own pistol from his coat pocket and aimed it at D'Anvers. 

Normally at a duel, a third party would drop a white handkerchief to signal the commencement, and a doctor would be on hand to take care of any injuries, but that wasn't going to happen here. 

"Jonathan? Can you countdown from three?" D'Anvers ordered, keeping his eyes on Silverwood, or more precisely his trigger finger. 

Still on the ground, Jonathan paused in his struggles to free himself and cleared his throat. "Yes milord. Ah ... Three. Two. On-" Silverwood fired a split second before Jonathan finished and the bullet hit D'Anvers in the shoulder.  

"No!" shouted Jonathan. Then he watched in astonishment as D'Anvers smiled coldly into Silverwood's triumphant eyes. Ignoring his injury as if it didn't exist, Lord D'Anvers adjusted his aim slightly and fired. Silverwood took the bullet in his chest and fell straight to the ground as D'Anvers lowered his weapon. 

Paying no attention to his bleeding victim, or his own wound for that matter, D'Anvers strode over to Jonathan and hauled him to his feet. 

"Are you all right? Where's Evelyn?" He brushed the tangled hair back gently from Jonathan's face, peering anxiously into his eyes. Jonathan's eyes slid sideways, not meeting D'Anvers. 

"He's safe, I think. Outside in the cemetery somewhere - we better go and look for him. Can you untie me? I can't get my hands free." 

Quickly, D'Anvers spun him around. He winced at the sight of the blood stained rope around his wrists and cut carefully through the cord which had dug into flesh. He made a huge effort to keep his eyes on Jonathan's hands and not let his gaze drop lower. "Did he ... did he ... hurt you?" he murmured as he worked. He wished he could see Jonathan's face but he couldn't wait any longer to find out.  

"I'm all right, apart from my wrists," came the answer he had half expected, but wasn't quite sure he believed. But now wasn't the time to challenge him. 

As soon as Jonathan's hands were free, D'Anvers pulled off his own greatcoat and wrapped it round him, covering his shredded trousers.  

"You'll feel more comfortable in this," he tried to smile. "Now let's go and find Evelyn." 

"Let me look at your shoulder, first," said Jonathan, glancing pointedly at the hole in the greatcoat as he pulled it tightly around himself.  

"I'm fine," said D'Anvers, eager to begin the search. 

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