Marianne POV

I'm dragged, blindfolded, into a house. I can hear and feel the warmth of a low fire burning. Someone's hands have been pushing and pulling and shoving me about like a ragdoll for over an hour. They finally stop.

"That'll be all, Wilson", I hear in Willoughby's voice. "You're home...at last", he adds, pulling off my blindfold.

I'm in the middle of what could only be a parlor, with chairs for company. My eyes adjust to the light and I see him standing before me. "I do not appreciate being man-handled", I say.

"Wilson? I'll have his hands cut off if he hurt you", he says, as if to reassure me.

"Why am I here?", I ask, stone cold.

"This is your new home. We love each other and want to marry. Problem is, we need old Brandon to initiate divorce proceedings; you can't do it yourself easily. If he won't, I know exactly how to shorten this whole process", he says with a wink.

"You intend to wait for Christopher to divorce me?", I ask, probing for information.

"Mmmmm", he mumbles without answering. "Point is, you're not to worry. We'll be rid of him soon."

"Where am I?", I ask. "This isn't Allenham."

"Well spotted, dear girl, this is Hattan. My new property near Delaford", he says.

"Why bring me here?", I ask. "So near to him."

"You were always smarter than you looked", he comments, "Like when you corrected me on that line from "She Walks in Beauty."

He could only provoke a fight that would end with my husband dead if we were close by. I want to tell him where he can shove Byron right now.

"What if I told you I love my husband that I want to be with him?", I bark.

"Marianne, I know you're angry with me and you have every right to be. I did seduce that girl. But I'm making it up to her. And I know you care about the Colonel, you may even love him as a friend. But you're not IN love with him. You're IN love with me. You've settled and you're convincing yourself it's good enough. It's not. We will be rid of him and the fault will not be yours, I promise", he says. "My aunt has forgiven me, can you not?" I cannot believe I ever loved this man. He's insane.

And I can't believe I don't have even one more drop of information since he's dragged me here. Perhaps I'm playing this game all wrong.

"Soooo...my husband is an expert shot. And a Colonel, I mean he has quite a bit of experience with weapons and fighting. How will you be sure to win so we can be together?", I ask. I think I hear the wheels of a carriage driving entirely too fast in the distance.

His face bursts into a bright smile. "On that, you'll just have to trust me", he winks. Dammit.

Has he been training this whole time? Is his second, Wilson perhaps, going to do the fighting for him? Is he using a superior weapon? I can't imagine any of that would make a drop of difference.

He pulls me into his arms and plants a huge kiss on my lips. I do not kiss him back.

"I would say you should go up and rest, but I imagine we can expect the Colonel at any moment, and you have your part to play", he says.

Part to play? I'm dumbfounded again, but I don't have long to obsess over it. A carriage can be heard on the drive now. I look down at the floor trying to gather my wits having being locked in a dark carriage for too long. I have to intervene and help him any way I can.

I turn to look at Willoughby, hoping I can beg him to relent, to give me Christopher's life as a wedding present maybe, anything to stall him...but he's gone. In a blink. Where did he go?

I look around the room as the front door bursts open.

I hear the man called Wilson yell and threaten. Then a body hits the ground and he's silent.

"Mariahn? Mariahn?", Christopher calls out, sounding exactly the way he did that day he found me passed out on the grounds at Cleveland, my hair solid ice from the freezing rain. Panicked.

I follow his voice and run into the foyer. "I'm here!" I don't give a fig if he's still mad at me, I hurl myself into his arms like a rocket. I cannot describe the feeling of being in his arms, the feel of his breath in my hair, his smell, the familiar feeling we developed fitting against each other. I sigh with pleasure.

When I come up for air, he's smiling—and surrounded by Sir John and even my mother! "Sir John, take her out of here to safety. Take her to Delaford", Christopher says. My reverie is shattered by the sound of his voice. I've never seen this side of him.

"I cannot. You might need me", Sir John corrects.

"I will take her, and we'll both wait there", my mother says.

"Very good, mum", my husband adds.

"I'm not leaving you here!", I insist.

Before he can argue, Willoughby comes sauntering down the staircase. "You're not taking the woman I love anywhere. It's too bad you missed it, Brandon, just minutes before your arrival she asked me how I could expect to win, just to make sure you were out of the way and we could be together. It was quite a reunion."

I glance at Christopher. The look on his face says he's not 100% certain that's a lie. I want to interject here, but a smirking Willoughby continues, "There's not room for both of us in Marianne's life. Will you let her be with the man she loves, or will this come to violence?"

"You're right there's not room for both of us, Willoughby. You've committed crimes against my family before, and I spared you for Marianne's sake. In the past I could duel only for Beth, as my ward. You were right that Marianne was not mine to duel over. That is changed. Now choose your second", my husband says frigidly.

"Is it to be 20-year-old Royal Navy cutlasses again?", Willoughby asks, rolling his eyes.

"Pistols", my husband confirms without raising his voice. "My old cavalry issue will be fine. Choose your own."

"My father had silver handcrafted dueling pistols designed in Spain. We will do this the right way or not at all. Unless honor has no meaning to you", he taunts Christopher.

"The weapon doesn't matter. The result will be the same."

I notice Willoughby's smirk, and it makes me uncomfortable.

"Good", Willoughby comments. "Let's find a clear area outside. Wilson will be my second if he's conscious. I take it this old man will be yours?", motioning to Sir John.

"Old, but I've been through my share of duels", Sir John adds, scooting his ill-fitting wig around like a cap.

"Well let's hope you won't have to do much in this one", Willoughby laughs. Wilson rubs his head in the doorway.

"Let's do this", Willoughby says, clutching the beautiful intricate box that holds the dueling pistols.

We all go outside. "I thought by the river would be nice. It's beautiful this time of year", Willoughby says, so polite, and yet dripping with malice, "As far as last looks go, Brandon, you could do worse."

Christopher doesn't say anything but the look of murder on his face gets deeper. He wants to kill. I can feel it radiating off him.

"Go to Delaford", he tells me. "Hide and lock the door. Don't open it for anyone but me, or if the worst happens, Sir John."

"I won't leave you!", I insist.

"My bride-to-be stays", Willoughby says.

"Marianne, we will only be a distraction", my mother says, tugging me by the arm.

"Ah, ah, ah", Wilson says, pointing his gun at my mother! "Don't want to hurt ye, old mum, but my orders come from 'im", he motions to Willoughby.

Outside the weather has turned. Fog is rolling in off the river, misting around the men as high as their waists. It's clear Willoughby picked this spot so it would be harder to see, but that goes for him too.

He opens the box of dueling pistols. "Marianne, my love, will you take a look at these pistols and make sure they look the same and everything is okay?", he asks.

They look fine to me. "Yes, there are two pistols", I say.

"Let them leave!", Christopher shouts, the first time today he's raised his voice. "You don't want Marianne injured any more than I do."

"Are you really that bad a shot?", Willoughby jokes, smirking.

"A gentleman wouldn't want his lady to witness either of the men she has loved bloody and dying", the Colonel adds

"True", Willoughby says, "But, there's a carriage out there, she and dear mummy could be halfway to Barton Park and have raised the entire countryside at that point...I prefer to keep this private. Isn't that the point of a duel between gentlemen?"

He doesn't trust me. I thought I had him fooled, but he was pretending.

As I understand it, normally the two seconds would speak to each other at this point to see if this could be prevented and everyone could be friends again. They know better than to bother.

"Stay clear", my husband orders, nods, and gives me a secret, but confident smile.

Each man takes a gun. Christopher checks it briefly, and Sir John starts the countdown as they walk away from each other. It feels endless.

My mother and I clutch each other. Something's wrong. Willoughby is too sure of himself.

"...8, 9, 10! Turn, each man, and fire!"

I hear someone screech "No!", and realize it was me.

Both guns go off but the ancient pistols pour acrid black smoke into the air. Between the fog and smoke, it would be easier to see at midnight. And now it's all starting to come together. The fog, the old weapons, I'm starting to piece it all together, but I have to stop because I have to know what happened. "Christopher!", I scream wildly and run.

"Marianne, wait!", my mother yells in the background. But I don't know forward from back, left from right, or up from down. I choke on the fumes.

I've lost all sense of direction and no voice of any kind answers me.