As Godfrey moved awkwardly toward a chair, he looked up and saw Lucas. His face spasmed in shock and he lost his balance, crashing to the floor.

Wincing, Lucas strode forward to help the fallen man. “Are you all right?”

Godfrey recoiled. “You!” he snarled. “Don’t touch me, you vile coward!”

Lucas jerked to a stop, stunned by the rage and hatred in the fallen man’s face. Two of Godfrey’s companions hastened to his side. As they lifted him onto a nearby chair, Patrick asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Him!” Godfrey brandished a crutch at Lucas. “Lieutenant Lucas Mandeville! A coward and parole breaker who is responsible for my crippled state. How dare he pollute the air of this place, which belongs to gentlemen!”

Patrick glared at Lucas. “So this is the coward you spoke of! What brass-balled effrontery! Get out of here, you scum. You don’t belong under the same roof as my brother!”

Lucas had experienced avoidance and some cuts direct, but never such blatant hatred. He drew a deep breath. “I am Lucas Mandeville, but I don’t recall meeting Mr. Godfrey, nor do I recall any harm I’ve done him.”

“That makes it worse!” Patrick snarled. He pulled a pair of gloves from the pocket of his cloak and lashed them at Lucas’s face.

Lucas jerked back reflexively, avoiding the blow. “Good God, man, what am I supposed to have done?”

“Broke your parole, which created greater danger and punishment for those left behind,” Godfrey said savagely. He thumped one crutch on the floor. “You see the results!”

Lucas studied the other man’s face, but it was unfamiliar. “I’m sorry for your pain,” he said quietly. “But I don’t see how I can be held responsible for what a stranger has suffered.”

“And that’s the worst insult of all,” Patrick growled. “Name your seconds!”

“I will not fight you,” Lucas said, beginning to feel anger himself. “I think you must both be mad, and I will not fight a madman over a crime I didn’t commit!”

With a roar of rage, Patrick ripped off his coat and dropped it on the floor, then stepped to the nearest of the alcoves that held weapons and ripped a pair of crossed blades from the wall. He hurled one at Lucas and grasped the hilt of the other with the skill of a trained fighter. “Fight, dammit, or I’ll run you through where you stand!”

Lucas swore as he reflexively grabbed at the sword Patrick threw at him, managing to catch the hilt rather than the blade. It wasn’t one of the lightweight small swords usually used at the academy, but a cavalry saber, longer and heavier and more deadly, and with no cap on the tip to blunt a blow.

He had only an instant to evaluate the weapon before Patrick bore down on him. Lucas knocked the other man’s thrust aside barely in time.