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.
"It won't take a minute and we don't want you passing out in the cemetery," insisted Jonathan, his fingers already peeling back D'Anvers' black tailcoat to expose the bloodstained shirt beneath.
"I'm fine, it's just a scratch," repeated D'Anvers but Jonathan ignored him. He had to see for himself - the sight of Sebastian getting hit had nearly stopped his heart.
He found the wound, it seemed like the bullet had clipped the top of Sebastian's right shoulder. He gave a sigh of relief - it didn't look too serious. Quickly, he tore a piece off his relatively clean shirt and made a makeshift bandage. D'Anvers looked down at Jonathan's head, so close to his, and swallowed. He wanted desperately to put his arms around him and hold him tight, but he was frightened of doing the wrong thing. If Silverwood had done what he feared, then the touch of another man was probably the last thing Jonathan wanted.
"There. That will hold until you can see a doctor - you might have chipped a bone." Jonathan stepped back. "Uh - is he dead?" he couldn't help adding, looking down at Silverwood.
"I hope so," said D'Anvers, with a complete lack of interest. He bent to retrieve his second pistol. "Better not leave that there." He had a second look around, to make sure there was nothing else to give the Runners a clue as to what had happened that night.
Jenkins was waiting anxiously at the door. "Master Evelyn?" he asked, ignoring the body on the ground.
"Out here somewhere, hiding I'd suspect. Jonathan and I will search for him, if you wouldn't mind seeing to the two bruisers? Best if they're not found here, tied up." When the body is discovered. There was no need to say the words out loud. Jenkins nodded and went to retrieve his rope.
"All sorted milord," he reassured, as he rejoined them . "They'll be off like rabbits as soon as they wake up, I shouldn't wonder."
"Evelyn?" D'Anvers called in a low voice. The last thing he wanted to do was attract any further attention. Working a couple of yards apart, the three of them searched the cemetery, starting with the area around the mausoleum. They could only hope that Evelyn had not gone too far. After a quarter of an hour, Jenkins spotted a patch of white, curled up behind a tombstone. "Over here milord," he called softly.
D'Anvers hurried to his side. "Evelyn? It's me, your father. You're safe now."
"Papa?" a sleepy voice answered. D'Anvers heart turned over, it was years since Evelyn had called him that. "Yes. I've come to take you home. Up you come," he bent down to gather Evelyn into his arms, ignoring the pain in his head and the sting in his shoulder.
Luckily though, it wasn't very far to the coach. The three of them collapsed inside, D'Anvers pulling a thick travelling rug around Evelyn as Jenkins clambered up onto the box and picked up the reins. "You can have a big cup of hot chocolate when we get back to the hotel," D'Anvers promised Evelyn, who was sitting next to him, clamped firmly against his side. "Jonathan and I will have a nice glass of cognac, and we will all put tonight behind us. Tomorrow, we will see about returning to Blackstone."
~~~
A couple of hours later, Evelyn was tucked up sound asleep in bed, and Lord D'Anvers and Jonathan sat down with their cognac. Jonathan had changed into fresh clothes and a doctor had cleaned and rebandaged D'Anvers' wound, tutting over their story of footpads. What was the world coming to, he wanted to know.
Finally, they were alone. D'Anvers looked across at Jonathan who was sitting in an armchair looking down at his feet. He took a hefty gulp of the cognac and spluttered for a moment at the unaccustomed fire in his throat.
"What happened?" asked D'Anvers quietly, after the younger man had got his breath back. "Tell me."
"I didn't realise there were three of them," confessed Jonathan. "I was able to knock out the man on guard outside, but there was a second man in the mausoleum with Silverwood. I didn't get a chance to fire the pistol, but at least I was able to keep him busy while Evelyn escaped." He came to a halt, his fingers turning the glass round and round, watching it as if his life depended on it.
"I can't thank you enough!" said D'Anvers, trying to get Jonathan to meet his eyes. The other man looked up in surprise, as if he had expected to be scolded for not being able to handle the situation by himself. "Without you ... I don't know what would have happened to Evelyn."
A faint flush of red coloured Jonathan's cheeks and he mumbled something about doing his best. He was absolutely adorable.
D'Anvers took a deep breath. Time to do the right thing.
"I just want you to know, that I promise to leave you completely alone from now on. I won't be making any more attempts to ... to tease you, not even in jest. You will be absolutely safe with me, I give you my solemn word."
To his surprise, Jonathan turned even redder. Still staring fixedly at the glass in his hands, he murmured, "He touched me. Silverwood. When we were in the mausoleum. But he didn't do anything worse. He tried to, but I managed to keep him away, until you got there. I kicked him in the shins with the heel of my boot."
"Well done!" Lord D'Anvers found himself smiling for the first time that evening. The relief he felt was overwhelming - Jonathan hadn't been raped after all.
Jonathan finally raised his head and looked at him, a faint smile on his own lips, as he remembered the cry of pain coming from Silverwood's lips. The colour returned to his cheeks, but he kept his gaze on D'Anvers.
"Silverwood touched me and I didn't like it." He shuddered. "But I was wondering if ..." he broke off, now scarlet.
D'Anvers found he was leaning forward, holding his breath. "Yes?"
"If I would like it if - it was you who was touching me."
D'Anvers found he was frozen to his seat. He swallowed, his throat unaccountably dry. "Are you sure?" he managed.
Jonathan nodded.
The next second, D'Anvers was across the short space, pulling Jonathan out of the chair and into his arms. His lips found Jonathan's, raised shyly to meet him, and he didn't hesitate. His arms tightened, and he kissed him, his tongue slipping into Jonathan's willing, if inexperienced, mouth as if it had found home.