Read Engraved: Book Five of The St. Croix Chronicles for Free Online Page A

amount would suffice.
    I had killed his brother.
    I had stolen a title and vanished, leaving his grieving household alone.
    I understood, but I could not allow him the luxury of indulging in whatever vengeful fantasies he suffered.
    Rather more relevant to my predicament, I knew of no alchemical compound or Trump to reverse the effects of a good bout of imbibition. Once soused—for good or ill—a man was lost, and he would remain so until he was not.
    “Not now,” I warned softly, and met his eyes because I needed him to understand how sincerely I felt what I said. “I know what I owe you, but I cannot do this now.”
    “Shall I let you set the place and time, then?” he asked me, mockery lacing every word.
    “That is not the sort of challenge you make to a lady.”
    We both whirled, and I let go of Piers’s arm as Ashmore’s frigid voice clashed with the earl’s drunken fury. However long Ashmore had stood there, it had been enough to get the gist—and to take advantage of the ideal opening.
    Piers looked him up and down, a sneer on his mouth. “Who the bloody hell are you?”
    “The woman you’re challenging to a duel belongs to me,” Ashmore replied, louder than necessary.
    The laughter behind us fizzled. The sparks popped and erupted from the logs piled within the grate, but all eyes pinned on the men—and the much plainer face that I provided.
    I was no great beauty. Fine enough in face, thanks to my mother, but lacking entirely in whatever it was that made one radiant. My mother was the type that men dueled over. I, especially in this plain brown hair, was hardly a prize. This did not bother me, but I imagined that in a scene filled to the brim with much more valuable beauty, it appeared all too ludicrous.
    Piers drew himself up. “Duel a woman? Are you quite mad?”
    “Shall I ask her to set the place and time, then?” Ashmore asked, smooth as a viper in his own nest.
    My mouth fell open. “Wait—” Damnation. I had no name by which to call him, and failed to summon one entirely. Too rattled by my brush with the Compton legacy, I could only seal my lips when Ashmore pinned upon me a hard stare.
    Piers laughed outright, which provided Ashmore all the insult he required.
    I had never seen a duel challenge offered before. A glove was removed, quicker than expected, and thrown in the young lord’s face with a flick of a wrist. It fell, limp and listless, to the ground.
    We all stared at the splash of white at the earl’s feet.

Chapter Three
    The Compton name was not one suited to unintelligence, but the obviousness of the earl’s soused state of mind made manipulating him all too easy.
    Piers, eager to clear his name of the markedly ridiculous affront Ashmore had smeared upon it, matched my tutor’s longer pace with ease, white-lipped and shaking with rage.
    I followed, and made note of the footmen in green and black livery who followed us at a respectable pace. I couldn’t make out faces in the dark, but they did not detain us—it was in the Menagerie’s best interest to let youngbloods duel away from the pleasure garden’s grounds.
    The earl followed Ashmore for quite a bit longer than I’d expected. The fog closed over us, immediately setting a sting to eyes and throat, and I was less than pleased to feel the bite.
    A season in the country air had done much to strip me of my accustomed tolerance to the miasma. Those who lived within it did not choke and hack as those who only visited must—a low pad searching for an easy earning could always mark a toff by the clearing of the throat.
    The earl’s high dudgeon likely contributed to his already addled awareness. Once he realized we were quite a bit farther from the gates than collecting a passing hackney might require, it was too late.
    He stopped, an inquiry already on his lips.
    Ashmore spun, cocked an arm and delivered a blow that might have had a pugilist weeping with the joy of it, then caught the young lord before he fell too