Daughter of Darkness by Janet Woods Page A

was forfeit.
    It would have been worth it if he could have attained what his heart had desired most, but the violet-eyed woman had managed to thwart him. He’d oft lain awake at night plotting her downfall and dreaming of the time he’d plumb the depths of passion so plainly written on her face. He’d expected to die in battle like his father and grandfather, not in ignominious defeat over a woman. He could almost admire the man he fought as his initial thrusts were disdainfully parried.
    The fine linen shirt and fitted breeches displayed a man of hard tempered muscles, his eyes contained a sense of purpose. Whatever the viscount set out to do he’d most surely achieve, and it was obvious he had no intention of dying this morning. He was a fitting mate for the virgin temptress. There was a sense of inevitability, as a few seconds later his adversary flicked the weapon from his hand. He was totally outclassed. The viscount was not even going to make a pretense of a fight. A clean kill was his aim.
    ‘She will not refuse you,’ Hugh said, gazing into the eyes of the man about to kill him. His fingers closed around his shirt-front and ripped the linen apart, baring his chest in a gesture of bravado. Silently he asked God to accept his soul as the point of Gerard’s weapon pricked cold steel against his skin.
    Impressed by the courage the officer displayed in the face of death, Gerard suddenly thought. The man is too young to die, and England needs soldiers of valour. He gazed at the livid scar inflicted on the lieutenant by his wife. The woman had been savage in defense of the asset she guarded and amusement surfaced in his eyes. When he claimed his right as her husband he hoped she’d part with it more willingly.
    ‘I’d not have your mother’s grief on my conscience,’ he murmured, surprising himself at this moment of weakness. ‘Heed my warning. If you seek to slander my wife’s name again I’ll kill you without compunction.’
    Handing Anthony Dowling back his sword, he inclined his head to the small group of observers and donned the coat and cloak Rodgers held ready for him. ‘I wish you good day, gentlemen,’ he said, his distaste for the affair clearly mirrored in his eyes as he strode towards the waiting horses. Not a backward glance did he give the stunned tableau he’d left behind him.
    Whilst the soldiers rode silently back to the regimental barracks, Willow and Jeffrey were leaving for their morning ride. To both, the morning was a miracle.
    Jeffrey was pleased to be out of the confines of his room and the quarantine imposed by his dose of shingles. He’d found new joy in just being alive. The horrors of the smallpox epidemic had faded from his mind, though the deep sorrow he carried in his heart at the suffering it had caused added a new maturity to his thinking. He knew now that life could be snatched away before it had hardly begun. Thoughts of his future prospects as second son had come to intrude uncomfortably on his thoughts, too.
    Warmly clad in a dark blue jacket and a pair of woolen breeches Jeffrey had outgrown, Willow smiled at the white vista that spread before them. The scarf threaded round the crown of her tricorn was the same color as her eyes, and was tied under her chin to keep her ears warm. She looked charming, Jeffrey thought, watching the lively sparkle of her eyes.
    Her smile bathed him in warmth. ‘We must not stay out too long. I’ll not have you take chill on your first day out.’
    ‘But, Willow,’ he protested, about to tell her he was perfectly fit.
    ‘I’ll not listen to any arguments.’ She gave a light laugh at the sight of Jeffrey’s crestfallen face. ‘Brian has set some new jumps up for us in the meadow. If the snow begins to fall again we shall not be too far from home.’
    There, Gerard came upon them. Taking the short cut through the forest he reigned in at the top of the rise. From here, a glimpse of the rooftops of Lytton house was available beyond the