The next morning, I—reluctantly—accompanied Mr Rikkard Ambrose to inform Adaira of her impending kidnapping by heinous villains. Needless to say, she was delighted.

"Oh, thank you!" Throwing her arms around my neck, she squeezed me hard enough to make feminist-juice. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"Oy! Get off me!"

"Why?" She batted her eyelashes. "Don't want to have me in your harem anymore? You're breaking my heart, darling."

One of my eyelids twitched. And here I had been considering abandoning my revenge. Emphasis on had. "Perhaps I should get actual kidnappers to abduct you."

In response, she only gave me an innocent smile. "Perhaps I could also find a few more wives for you to marry. I'm sure there are some countries where polygamy is legal."

Faced with that terrifying prospect, I immediately decided to shift blame. "Ehem, the whole kidnapping thing was your brother's idea, anyway."

"Oh?" Adaira's eyes twinkled. "So should I find a harem of wives for him instead, then?"

My mouth dropped open.

"No, thank you," Mr Ambrose's chilly voice came from behind me. "One is more than enough."

Instantly, my shoulders sagged in relief. "There, you see? No need for you to—" Then his words truly sank in. Abruptly, my head whipped around to glare at my husband. "Hey, wait just a minute! What do you mean, more than enough?"

Clearing his throat, my dear husband hurriedly stepped past me, towards his sister. "Let's get back to the subject, shall we? Adaira..." His gaze suddenly turned solemn, and he placed a surprisingly gentle hand on his sister's shoulder. "Have you decided if you want this? I will not order this done if you don't agree."

Adaira frowned. "Why are you looking so serious all of a sudden? Well...more serious than you normally do."

"Because this isn't a simple matter, Adaira. This isn't just a short holiday you can come back from at any time. You won't be able to return home for a year or more, at the very least until you have reached your majority. Mother can't know the truth, either."

"But—"

Mr Ambrose cut her off with one stern look. "She. Can. Not. Know. Because if she did and she let something slip, father could legally force it all out of her. He has absolute authority over both you and her."

"And if he finds out what happened and that your brother had a hand in it," I added what I knew he wouldn't say out loud, "there will be repercussions. Not just for you, but everyone in your family."

"So, mother cannot know," Mr Ambrose reiterated. "Your friends cannot know. No one can know."

Adaira gnawed on her lower lip for a moment—then nodded. "All right."

"You are sure?" I met her gaze. "Remember...a whole year, at the very least."

"I know." Adaira gave another nod, even if it was a rather grim one. "But I also know my mother. She will understand. She always wants the best for me, even if it might hurt her."

"Yes." Mr Ambrose gave a curt nod. "She is irrational like that."

"Oy!"

"Do you have everything you need to pack?" Mr Ambrose demanded, completely ignoring his sister's mutinous look.

"Yes."

"Adequate. Be sure to be ready within two days. For obvious reasons, I won't be accompanying the gentlemen who will be escorting you out of your bedroom window, so for now..."

Adaira cocked an eyebrow. "...adequate bye?"

I tried my very best to suppress my snort. I didn't manage.

"That is one way to put it," Mr Rikkard Ambrose stated in a voice that somehow managed to be simultaneously icy, rock-hard and the tiniest bit affectionate. "Come, Mrs Ambrose. Let's go!"

***

Over the next two days, I felt like a huge burden had vanished from my shoulders—a burden that I had carried for so long that I'd hardly even noticed it anymore. Adaira was safe! No matter what, she would escape her forced marriage.

This didn't mean I was going to stop looking for another solution, though. If not necessary, I would very much prefer it if my sister-in-law did not have to run off to some island to hide out for a year. I had recently spent some time on a Caribbean island, and, well...

Suffice it to say, it's not all it's cracked up to be.

That might have had something to do with the bloodthirsty pirates, Lilly.

True. But still... there's no place like home, right? If Adaira didn't have to leave, why should she? This whole thing wasn't her fault in the first place, dang it!

So, I continued helping my friends with research, and made sure to read every single telegram we received in answer to our enquiries from all across England. Sadly, most of these answers consisted of "If you need an heir for a filthy rich lord, I'm up for it!"—never mind such a thing wouldn't be legal in a thousand years. The library team hadn't found any solution either, whether on family trees or in legal texts that were boring enough to literally bore a whole into your skull.

We weren't going to find anything, were we?

Well, I inwardly sighed, at least we have a backup plan. Adaira will be safe no matter what.

Or at least that was what I thought till that day.

Wham!

It was bright and early in the morning when a loud noise abruptly dragged me from my sleep. Drowsily, I blinked into the morning light. What the hell...? Normally, I was awoken by a maid knocking on the door, or the singing of birds. But that—

Crash!

"Aagh!"

That was definitely not birdsong!

Bolting up in bed, I whipped my head around to see Mr Ambrose right beside me, also wide awake.

"What was that?"

"I do not know, Mrs Ambrose." His eyes hardened. "But I'm going to find out!"

In a flash, he was out of bed and striding to the door. When he pulled it open, one of his guards was already there, coming to attention the moment my husband laid eyes on him.

"Report! Was there an attack? Did anyone try to approach the room?"

"No, Sir! No one tried to disturb you or your lady wife, Sir. The noise is coming from downstairs, outside the east wing."

"The east wing..."

His eyes flicked to me.

"...where Adaira's room is," I finished.

Instantly we moved, in silent understanding. Mr Ambrose slammed the door in the face of his minion and rushed towards the wardrobe. I was already out of bed, frantically throwing on my clothes. I wasn't even thinking about the fact that I was dressing in my male outfit while in the room of Mr Rikkard Ambrose and Mrs Lillian Ambrose. In just thirty seconds, I was done and ready to go. Exchanging a last glance with Mr Ambrose, we strode towards the door without another moment's hesitation.

Downstairs, chaos awaited us. A crowd had gathered in front of the flower bed under Adaira's window. Several bushes were crushed, and dozens of beautiful blossoms had been trampled. The entire crowd was buzzing like a beehive, and everyone was scurrying around, asking each other what the heck was happening.

Or rather...no.

My eyes narrowed. Not everyone.

Mixed in between the onlookers, there were a number of rather grim-faced, burly servants. None of them were running around, but instead, they were standing guard, their eagle-like gazes sweeping the crowd. And there, right beneath the balcony, was Lady Samantha, clutching a wet handkerchief in her hands. The moment she caught sight of us, she broke into a run.

"Oh, Rick! Rick, you're here!"

Rushing towards us, she threw herself into her son's arms. Or rather, threw herself against him. Throwing yourself into someone's arms usually requires said someone to hug you.

"Mother," Mr Ambrose demanded. "What happened?"

"It's so terrible, Rick! So horrific! Last night...last night..."

"Yes?"

But it wasn't his mother who spoke next. Instead, a voice I wished weren't so familiar sounded from up ahead.

"Last night, someone seems to have been up to something rather nefarious, Messieurs."

I glanced over to where the voice had come from and saw the vicomte approach with a sparkle in his eye. I did not like that. I did not like that at all.

"What do you mean?" I demanded. "Who would dare do anything nefarious at the manor of a marquess?"

Except for his own son.

"I assure you, I am as surprised as you, Monsieur." The vicomte spread his hands. "I, too, would never have suspected anyone would be so daring! But, you see, then came that dastardly bandit attack that disturbed our hunt the other day—"

I suddenly had a very, very bad feeling.

"—and I suddenly felt anxious for Mademoiselle Adaira's safety. Especially with the recent rumours of further bandit activity in the area. So, I had some of my men go on patrols around the manor—"

No, no, no!

"—and, voila, who do they happen to encounter but a couple of ruffians loitering beneath Mademoiselle Adaira's window? Almost as if they wanted to spirit her away in the middle of the night. Naturellement, I had such suspicious individuals arrested by the local constable immediately."

"It's true!" Nodding energetically, Lady Samantha clutched my husband's sleeves. "It's all true! I saw the constable lead the two thugs away with my own eyes! Goodness, I can't imagine what would have happened if...if..." Swallowing, she trailed off. "Thank God the vicomte's men were there!"

"Yes," Mr Ambrose squeezed out between clenched teeth. "Thank...God."

Lady Samantha glanced back at the window of her daughter's room, shuddering. "We're so lucky His Excellency had so much foresight, or else Adaira might...might..."

"Yes." I swallowed, tasting bile. "So very...lucky."

"Where is Adaira now?" Mr Ambrose enquired, his voice very cold and controlled. I envied that. Right now, I wasn't sure I could pull it off.

"Oh, upstairs in her room, with the door guarded by my men." A sad smile spread over the vicomte's face. "She must be so scared, poor chérie."

"Indeed." Mr Ambrose's voice lowered another few dozen degrees in temperature. "Quite scared."

"Alors..." The Frenchman clapped his hands. "Now that this matter is concluded, shall we proceed to the duel?"

"W-what?"

It took me a moment to realise it was I who had spoken.

"The duel." Cocking an eyebrow, the vicomte gave me a smile that sent shivers down my back. "The two of us have an appointment this morning. You haven't already forgotten, non?"

To be honest, part of me had. After all, the duel should never have happened at all! In our plan, Adaira would disappear, and it would never be necessary for me to attend this particular 'appointment'.

Only...now it was.

I glanced around, taking in the expectant gazes of the crowd. They were all around us. Surrounding us. And I was standing there in a gentleman's attire. Gentlemen never reneged on a duel.

"I..."

Suddenly, I felt an iron grip around my wrist.

"Don't. You. Dare!" Mr Ambrose's arctic voice entered my ear in a hiss, too low for anyone else to hear.

"Well, Monsieur Linton?" Saint-Celeste sent me a challenging look. Because that's what this was. A deadly challenge. One that I would have to face—because if I did not, I would drown in the contempt of the entirety of Great Britain. Which meant that, by association, so would my husband. My son. My sister-in-law. If it had only been me, that would have been one thing. But Berty? I wouldn't be able to bear it. None of us would. In the end, Adaira would have no choice but to marry the vicomte.

Against. Her. Will.

No! Not on my watch!

"You...!" Mr Ambrose must have noticed something on my face, because his grip on my wrist tightened. It was impressive how he managed to shout into my ear while keeping his voice to a near-inaudible whisper. "Don't! You! Dare! I'll relinquish my fortune before I let you risk your life like this! If it's the only way to keep both you and Adaira safe, I'll tell my father I'll submit and—"

"No! Don't you dare!" I threw his earlier words back at him. "Don't you dare give in to that sorry excuse for a father! You, I, your sister...we're free. And we're going to remain that way, even if I have to fight for it!"

Before he could argue, I stepped forward and met the vicomte's gaze head-on. "Very well, then, Your Excellency. You want to duel? Let's duel!"

The look he gave me in return was entirely too unsettling. He looked almost...eager?

"Excellent, Monsieur. Excellent."

What the heck! It had seemed like that the first time the duel had been proposed, but...was he actually looking forward to this? We had always thought he wanted to get his hands on Adaira to get leverage over my husband, but...could he actually desire that leverage enough to risk his neck for it?

My face turned grim.

Well, if he's so eager for it, let's show him!

I stepped forward and pulled out my pistol.

"Everyone!" the marquess barked. "Clear the lawn!"

Whispering excitedly, the crowd retreated to the sides—although not nearly far enough to be out of sight. Quite the opposite, in fact. Everyone had their eyes firmly fixed on the two of us as we slowly took up our positions in front of the manor. None more so than Mr Rikkard Ambrose, who looked like he wanted to grab me by the scruff of the neck and drag me into a nice, safe bank vault.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the doors of the manor burst open as Flora, Eve, Patsy and Amy rushed out onto the lawn. Patsy looked ready to spit fire—preferably in the marquess's face. Oops. Looks like my friends had spilled the beans after all.

But if Patsy was angry, that was still nothing compared to my husband. By now, three of his men had to hold him back from throwing himself right between me and my opponent. His eyes were storms of arctic ice, ready to be unleashed at any time.

Until I met his gaze.

Don't, I mouthed. I can't back down. Not now.

He stopped struggling.

"Are your seconds present?" the marquess demanded.

"Oui," answered an unfamiliar voice with a French accent. It came from a man in livery standing beside the vicomte.

"I am present as well."

Now that voice I did know. Glancing over, I saw a grim-faced Karim standing beside me.

"You know if you don't drag me away right now your boss is going to half your pay for the rest of eternity, right?" I whispered out of the corner of my mouth.

"I am aware."

"So...?"

"Some things, a man just has to do." He met my gaze. "I suppose that applies to women as well."

I couldn't help but smile the tiniest bit. "We'll make a feminist out of you yet."

"When pigs fly and my beards get shaved, Sahiba."

"Don't tempt me. You sleep at night, and my husband has a razor, you know."

"Seconds!" the marquess called out, interrupting our banter. Which was bad, because that left me with nothing to distract myself from what I was about to do. "Check the weapons!"

Karim glanced at me, and I nodded, handing him my pistol. The two seconds strode towards each other and, after checking the other party's firearm, checked their own for any tampering. Judging by the look the big bodyguard sent my way, there wasn't any.

"Duellists!" came another commanding voice of the one man whose commands I wanted to obey least. "Take your places!"

With crisp steps full of confidence I didn't feel, I marched forward until I was face to face with Armand Odilon DeMordaunt, Vicomte de Saint-Celeste. We stared at each other for a long moment, then turned and took up the traditional duelling position back to back.

"You will move ten paces away from each other," the marquess's voice echoed over the meadow. "At my signal, you will turn and fire immediately. Do you understand these rules?

"Yes."

"Oui, Monsieur Marquis."

"Very well, then. May the best man win."

Best man indeed. Uncle Bufford's socks, don't fail me now!

"On my command...move!"

I took my first step.

One.

From somewhere in the nearby forest came a bird call. Deep inside, I really, really hoped it wasn't a vulture. They weren't native to England, right?

Two.

With my current luck, I probably shouldn't count on it.

Three.

Why was I doing this again?

Four.

Oh yes. I was standing up to a lecherous chauvinist bastard who was trying to force my friend into marriage and had attempted to kill me on two previous occasions. And the best way I could think of doing this? A deadly duel. Yay me!

Five.

I probably should have said goodbye to Berty, just in case. I likely would have, too, if in response I could have hoped for anything more than "Waah waah!"

Six.

Had mere seconds always been this long?

Seven.

And had my steps always been this slow?

Eight.

Not that I was in a hurry or anything. Definitely not.

Nine.

I took a deep breath. Crap. No more procrastinating, apparently.

Well, then...

Let's do this!

Ten.

"Turn!" the marquess's voice rang out. "And fi—"

"Halt!" His voice was abruptly cut off by a shout that echoed off the manor walls.

That voice...!

My head whipped around. And mine wasn't the only one. The vicomte, with his pistol already lifted to fire, stared off to the side—right at the panting figure that had suddenly appeared at the edge of the lawn.

Adaira.

"Stop it." Swallowing heavily, she stepped forward. "Stop the duel. I...I'll marry him."

-----------------------------------------

**Insert Dramatic Music Here**

Well, my dear readers, how do you think they are going to get out of this predicament?

We're fast approaching the end of this book, by the way. Countdown: Six chapters left!

Yours Truly

Sir Rob