“Are you ready, gentlemen?”
Simon (Satan) St. John, seventh Earl of Travis, nodded. Simon sensed a similar movement from Yelverton at his back. The dueling pistol felt comfortably familiar through the thin kid-leather of his glove. Simon eased his grip.
From behind him came the sound of feet scuffling through the grass and breathless sobs. Simon turned. A young woman, with long, black hair streaming behind her, ran toward him. Her straw bonnet, its ribbons tied around her throat, bounced against her shoulder. Her skirts, lifted high in one hand, revealed shapely ankles. A Dresden shepherdess in full flight, lacking only her crook and her sheep. Except that no artist, no matter how good, could capture the anguish on this beauty’s face. What in hell’s name was she doing here?