The Second Shot (The Dueling Pistols) by Katy Madison

trying to discover if Lungren had made any mortal enemies with his propensity for fleecing others.
    The butler took his card and nodded. "I'm to put you in the green drawing room. If you would follow me, sir."
    Tony entered the house. Like most London houses it had a simple design, although with a grander simplicity than most. The colonnaded entry hall led to a wide staircase with gleaming mahogany risers. Tony's boots clicked unevenly on the finely veined rose marble as he followed the butler. The carpet on the stairs absorbed all noise and made Tony feel as if he walked on clouds, especially since the midday sun gleamed down on the wide staircase and glinted off the gold-plate-and-Venetian-glass gas girandoles in the entry hall.
    Tony had the sinking realization that if he had married Felicity, she would have lived in tents or cramped quarters that would have fit in her London entry hall with room to spare, much like the Spartan quarters he lived in now.
    Could he really fault her for throwing him over?
    A footman and two maids scurried by as Tony was shut into a spacious room. The butler drew back the heavy green velvet drapes and tied them with thick gold-braid cords. In spite of the coal fire burning in the grate, the room had the feel of little use.
    The plush mint-and-emerald carpet felt comfortably thick under his feet. Sphinxes and lions seemed ready to leap at him from the legs of the furniture. An ornately decorated chaise longue invited a body to recline and become bait for the snapping crocodiles that curled up the carved legs. Did she mean to use the chaise for a tryst?
    Heat rushed to his lower half as he tried to banish the thought.
    The door clicked open, and Tony turned from the window.
    Felicity entered the room wearing a lavender wool pelisse with gray-corded trim, and a matching gray bonnet already on her head. He should have realized the first time he saw her that she was in half-mourning. He ticked off almost forgotten society rules in his head. That meant she'd been a widow more than six months but less than a year.
    What dismayed him more was that she had gone so far as to purchase outerwear in half-mourning colors. Most people didn't bother.
    "Have the carriage brought round, if you please. We shall be leaving shortly," she said to the servant then closed the door behind her.
    Which would give him fifteen minutes or less. Surely she didn't mean for him to perform so quickly. No, the hat and pelisse signaled she was leaving shortly. Perhaps she had summoned him to give him particulars of a later assignation? His blood thrummed in his veins.
    "We don't have much time, so I'll be brief." Felicity moved across the room and perched on the edge of the chaise longue.
    She turned and met his eyes, and a flood of tenderness rushed through him. Her look was uncertain, much the same as it had been all the years ago when she met him at the basement door and smuggled him up the servants' stairs to her bedroom. Was he about to be met with a similar offer?
    He stepped forward and was stopped short by his limp. "Please accept my condolences for your loss. I hadn't realized before yesterday."
    She batted away his words with an impatient hand. "It was a blessing, really."
    "Your husband was ill a long time, then?"
    She blinked, then looked down at her gloved hands. "Yes, several years." Her voice firmer, she said, "Do sit down, Tony. I have a request. I can't make it if you are hanging over me."
    He moved to the end of the chaise longue and risked the crocodiles and sat down. He reached for Felicity's hands. He wanted an affair, now that he was on the verge of getting that he contrarily wanted to comfort her.
    She allowed him to take her hands in his. His heart stepped up a notch as he rubbed his thumb over the fine kid leather of her glove. Next time he'd pull off the glove and caress her skin.
    "I have to leave soon to fetch my niece." She hesitated and then began again in a rush of tumbling words, "This is a horrid