Southern Seduction (17 page)

"No," he replied sharply.
"If you remember, this wasn’t my idea. It was his. So I can’t call if off.” For a brief moment, Brooke thought she detected a trace of fear, but Travis swallowed it quickly. She shook off that notion -- she couldn’t imagine him being afraid of anyone. “Since you are both here, you might as well be witness."

Brooke had been prepared for another argument.
However, he'd given in much easier than she’d expected. Glancing down, she noticed the pistol dangling from his hand. She knew little of firearms other than there were many different kinds. The one he held appeared to be specially made for someone because initials had been carved into the smooth, English oak. The long gun barrel was made of cold, blue steel and looked deadly.

She tore her gaze away from the weapon and back to Travis.
"Who are all these people?"

"The two gentlemen standing next to D'Aquin are his second and a witness.
The two men over there," Travis said as he pointed, "are doctors. And, of course, you know Jeremy, who is acting as my second."

"It's time," D'Aquin's second announced.

"Ladies," Travis said with a curt bow.

"Be careful, you hear," Mammy whispered, wringing her hands.

Travis smiled fondly at Mammy, then glanced at Brooke briefly. "What? No good wishes."

Brooke had noticed the smirk on his face, but she wasn't about to give Travis the satisfaction of hearing her tell him to be careful.
She'd already tried to talk him out of this nonsense, for all the good it had done. She tipped her chin up stubbornly, but he had already turned away.

In the middle of the field the two men took their positions.
Neither of them offered to shake hands. Both were deadly serious.

A semblance of daylight began to sift through the thick fog as the referee issued his instructions, "On the count of three, you both will walk out twenty paces, then stop.
When I yell fire, both of you will turn and take your best shot.” He looked from one man to the other. “Do you understand?"

Both men nodded.

"Mr. Dubois and I will watch to make certain the rules are followed." The referee stepped away from the men.

The opponents turned to stand back-to-back, pistols pointed upward in the air, ready for the deadly confrontation.
The click of the hammers being drawn back broke the silence.

The weak sunlight pressed the fog low to the ground so Brooke could see well enough. Both men had removed their jackets, and now wore white shirts and black trousers. Since D’Aquin faced her direction, she could see his features. His eyes held a lackluster of youth. His skin was dark, and he had heavy jowls. At the moment he leveled hate-filled eyes directly at her. He must see her as the cause of all this.

The referee began the count.
"One, two, three..." Travis and D'Aquin stepped precisely to the count as if they were performing the steps of a dance. Fog swirled around them as they strode across the field.

Brooke couldn't take her eyes off Travis.
He advanced, so tall and proud, appearing not the least bit frightened. With each step that Travis took, Brooke's chest tightened. Soon she could barely breathe. Reaching over, she gripped Mammy's hand.

"Lordly, Lordly," Mammy murmured under her breath.

As the count reached eighteen, Brooke whispered a short prayer that nothing would happen to Travis. She didn't want to think of him getting hurt. Who would she have to argue with?

"Nineteen."

"Watch out," Jeremy shouted at the same time a shot rang out.

D'Aquin had fired early.

Frantically, Brooke jerked her gaze back toward Travis, but she didn't see him. There was nothing there.

Nothing but fog.

“No!” she screamed, scarcely aware she’d voiced her fears aloud. Surely Travis couldn’t be dead.

That wouldn't be fair.

"Oh, my God," Brooke said over and over again, her hand coming to her mouth. She took a step toward him but Mammy held her back.

"You cheated, D'Aquin!" Jeremy shouted, leaping toward the guilty man.

A harsh, hoarse, “No,” came from out of the fog. Everyone turned as, something, someone, slowly emerged from the fog where Travis had been.

Brooke’s legs turned to mush, and she would have fallen if Mammy hadn't taken hold of her arm.

Slowly, Travis struggled to his feet, a bright red stain on the upper portion of his white shirt proclaiming that he'd been hit. Travis had fallen to the ground, but he was still alive.

Relief filled Brooke.

"Mr. Montgomery, fire your shot at will," the referee instructed.

Travis slowly raised his arm, gun in hand.

"What?" Brooke turned to Mammy. “What’s going on here?”

"Both men are allowed one shot," Jeremy explained.

"Mr. D’Aquin mus’ stand his ground or be labeled a coward, yes," Mammy added.

Travis leveled the weapon at D'Aquin.
If he pulled the trigger, it would mean certain death for the old man because the pistol was aimed squarely at the middle of his chest.

"Shoot, damn you," D’Aquin shouted.

Travis held his pistol in position. Tension mounted. At the very last moment, Travis pointed the pistol up toward the sky and fired.

"I believe your satisfaction has been met this day,” Travis rasped.
“I'll not take your life, coward that you are, so that you might remember your shame." Then Travis’ knees buckled and he sank to the ground.

D'Aquin’s shoulders sagged and he hung his head.
There was a fury of murmuring all around as the men conferred about what had just occurred. But Brooke’s eyes were only for Travis.

Before she realized what she was doing, Brooke was halfway across the field to the spot where one of the doctors examined Travis.

"It's lodged in your shoulder," the doctor said, “but you’ll live. I'll have to remove the bullet, but I cannot do it here. Let’s get into my carriage, and I’ll take you to my office."

Travis glanced up at Brooke, his eyes sharp and assessing.
Her pulse skittered alarmingly.

After a moment, he reached up and drew Brooke down to him.
Then he whispered in Brooke's ear, "Disappointed?"

"Shut up," she snapped, her voice deceptively brittle.
How could he think such a thing? She didn’t want to care. And right now, she wasn’t sure she did. Brooke had a good mind to leave him there. But she didn’t instead she helped him stand. Even wounded, the man was insufferable. If the gun were still loaded, she would shoot him herself.

"Jeremy, my friend, I've kept you long enough from your harvest."
Travis patted him on the back with his good hand. "Thank you for the warning. It could have been much worse if you'd not shouted. I didn't know that D'Aquin was such a coward."

“You realize now that by not shooting him, you’ve made an enemy.”
Jeremy pointed out. “I’d be careful, if I were you.”

“I know,” Travis said.
“I’ve caused enough scandal by not marrying his daughter.”

“Are you going to stand here and bleed to death?”
the doctor interrupted. “Why don’t you let me fix your wound while you still have some blood left in you, son?”

“I’m ready,” Travis said, his voice beginning to show the weakness he was loath to admit.
He allowed the doctor to help him to the buggy.

With that, everyone dispersed to their respective carriages, Jeremy escorted Brooke back to Travis’s carriage where Mammy was already waiting inside.

"Why didn't Travis take the shot?" Brooke asked.

"If he had killed D'Aquin, there would always have been talk of a younger man taking advantage of an older man.
By Travis not shooting him, D'Aquin remains a coward because he cheated. Even worse, with Travis having spared D’Aquin’s life, it’s a blot against his character. The Creoles are not forgiving in matters such as this."

"I see," Brooke said.
"Thank you for being here for him today."

"There isn't much I wouldn't do for Montgomery.
We have been friends since we were children.” Jeremy smiled down at Brooke. “I hear that congratulations are in order. He told me that you are planning to wed in two weeks," Jeremy said, grinning. "Personally, I think he has finally made a good choice."

Brooke found herself blushing, something she'd never done until recently.
"Thank you. I think."

Jeremy chuckled as he walked away.

The d
octor’s office was located on Toulouse Street. Their driver wasted little time getting Brooke and Mammy there. He parked the conveyance behind the doctor’s buggy, who had arrived a few minutes before they had. Brooke leapt to the ground even before the coachman had time to help her out.

Once inside the building, Brooke glanced about at the neat, clean room.
There were several chairs scattered against the walls. She presumed this was a waiting area.

Since there was no one there to
greet them, Brooke was ready to fling open doors until she found where Travis had been taken. But, before she had a chance, the doctor stuck his head out of the back room and shouted, "I'm going to need somebody’s help. My nurse isn’t here and we don’t have time to send for her. Mammy, get me some bandages and hot water. And you, young woman . . ."

"My name is Brooke."

"Brooke, I’ll need you to hold Montgomery down, so I can dig out the bullet. Can’t have him moving about.”

"But I don't know anything about nursing."

"It doesn’t matter. All you need to do is hold him down. Let's go." He motioned impatiently for her to come into the back.

As Brooke followed him she asked, "What is your name?"

"Doctor Smart or Smarty as a few refer to me," he said with a chuckle. Then he switched to all business as he placed his instruments on a small white table.

Travis sat, slumped on a table, his booted feet dangling over the edge.
He had a bottle of Scotch that he'd evidently been drinking propped on one leg.

"Don't be shy," the doc said without looking at her. "Help the man get his shirt off.
Can't do a thing to him with his clothes on."

Brooke laughed.
"Shy is one thing I'm not, Doctor,” she told him as she bustled over to Travis.

"Glad to hear it," Travis said to her, his eyes raking boldly over her.

She got the general impression that he’d rather be removing her top instead of the other way around.

Brooke positioned herself between Travis’s legs, bracing herself against the edge of the table in case he should weaken and fall.
Wasting little time, she unbuttoned his shirt. Her fingers brushed his collarbone, lingering there for just a moment before she continued her task. His muscles flinched each time she touched him. She was glad to know she had an effect on Travis. Finally, she reached the bottom button and glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. A vaguely sensuous light passed between them.

In response, Travis drew his legs closer together, trapping Brooke between them.
The jolt of his thighs brushing her hips made Brooke gasp at the unexpected tingle. But the fact that he was purposely trying to make her squirm brought out her devilish side.

“Here, let me push the shirt from your shoulders," she purred as she stepped up on a small stool, her breasts pressed against his chest as she peeled the shirt from his body careful not to hit his wound and the temporary bandage the doctor had applied.

Travis’s entire body tensed.
His breath was warm on her neck and she was very conscious of where his warm flesh touched hers. Even wounded, Travis radiated a vitality that drew her to him.

"There," she said as she stepped back down.
She gazed into blue eyes that held her captive. The smoldering flame she saw there pleased her. There was a maddening hint of arrogance about Travis that she liked way too much. An undeniable magnetism was building between them. However, she must be the one in control.

"I want you to lie on your stomach, Montgomery,” Doctor Smart said, interrupting the moment they were sharing.
“And you, young woman, take that bottle away from Travis and stand by his head. I need you to hold his shoulder firmly."

Brooke did as instructed while Mammy assisted by fetching water and fresh linen bandages for the doctor who had told her where to look for the supplies.

The doctor placed a pillow under Travis’s shoulder so he could better do his work. "This is going to hurt like a son-of-a-bitch,” the doctor warned without bothering to apologize to Brooke.

Brooke stood on Travis's right side while the doctor sponged off the wound. Then
he took the bottle of Scotch and poured some in the wound.

“That’s good Scotch,” Travis hissed with pain and tensed as the liquid hit the gaping wound.

Feeling his pain, Brooke cringed. She touched his shoulder to keep him still. His skin was smooth and hot beneath her hand. She didn’t like seeing him in pain.