Read Mary Blayney - [Pennistan 03] for Free Online Page A

married the daughter of a marquis. Bendas put him up to this. DeBora cares no more about habeas corpus than I care about women’s shoes.”
    “You and Bendas?” Kyle shook his head. “When will this feud end, for God’s sake?”
    “This ‘feud,’ as you call it, will end when Bendas is ruined.” Meryon had never said that aloud before, but Kyle needed to understand there was no halfway.
    “Ruined?” Kyle’s expression showed more confusion than distress. “The duel was supposed to end your retribution.”
    “Bendas fired early and admitted that he wanted me to die. The duel, as defined in the Code Duello, never happened.” Before Kyle could answer, Meryon went on. “I know you live to debate any issue, my friend, but you cannot sway me on this. Not tonight. Or tomorrow.”
    “The thing is, Lyn”—Lord Kyle tugged at his cravat as though it were choking him, keeping him from speaking—“to seek revenge is unworthy of your rank. Revenge diminishes you as a gentleman.”
    “You misspeak when you call it revenge. I want justice for Kepless and his family.” Meryon gave Kyle a deliberately intent stare.
    “I’ve always hated that ‘off with your head’ look.”
    Meryon could not help but laugh at Kyle’s impertinence. “There are times when your French heritage shows through. The guillotine is not used in England.”
    “Madame might be ghastly, but the blade is quicker and cleaner than what you are doing.” Kyle raised his hand when Meryon’s smile faded. “Never fear. I’ll protect your back. I always will.”
    “I never doubted you would.” Did Kyle give any thought to how this vendetta would affect him if it played out badly? He would save that discussion for another day. “Will you be at Jackson’s tomorrow?”
    “I’ve been there when you allow yourself to lose your control.” Kyle patted his shoulder. “I will be no more than a spectator.”
    “The Gossips are trying to determine what we are so intense about. Laugh, or they will begin to weave a story worthy of one of Georges’s melodramas.”
    “Georges’s plays are beyond belief.” Kyle did laugh. “At least The Gossips almost always have some bit of truth buried in their tales.”
    “You’ve been to a performance.”
    “My sisters insisted they must go see one.” Kyle leaned closer as though ready to confess. “Frankly, Georges’s fables are amazing tales. I have seen three and each one is more incredible than the one before it. And the actresses are quite, quite lovely. Georges knows how to attract an audience. If Bonnie were not bright, beautiful, and so sweetly generous, I would know where to look for a new mistress.”
    “I’ll take that as a hint and see if I can make up a party to attend.”
    The music stopped and the dancers began to drift to the edges of the floor, ending their private conversation and now effectively trapping them between ballroom and hall.
    “I am determined to have a word with Mrs. Harbison and be off before the next set forms or someone insists on talking politics again. Tell me, Kyle, if we come to these galas to escape the pressures of Parliament, why do so many want to talk about what goes on there?”
    With a laughing slap on the back, Kyle bid him farewell and Meryon searched the area for his hostess.
    “Good evening, Your Grace.”
    Meryon looked to his right and then down at Viscount William Bendasbrook, a strange little man of wit and intelligence. Meryon liked him, but he did not trust him. Lord William’s grandfather was the Duke of Bendas.
    “Lord William.” Meryon acknowledged him and began to move on. At that moment, the orchestra played a chord, demanding their attention, and the viscount grabbed his arm, keeping it in a bruising hold.
    “You cannot leave, Your Grace. You must hear this woman. She is amazing.”
    “I am not interested in hearing anyone sing.” Meryon jerked his arm, but Lord William would
not
release it. The duke turned his sharpest gaze on him.
    The