But Mr. Vincent saw her.

Jane could feel Mr. Vincent trace the lines of her face, sketching her with his eyes. She looked down, blushing, all the confusion raised by his book welling up again to fill her senses. In her haste, she had forgotten that he would be here—she would not have chosen to meet him next in this manner. Though it could not have changed her course had she remembered; she still would have been bound to stop Mr. Dunkirk.

But what recourse was left to her? Jane turned the horse from the road and rode it between the duelists. “Stop! I beg you.”

At her voice, they turned, their purpose broken for the moment.

Captain Livingston saw her first. His face warred between recognition and baffled frustration. “Miss Ellsworth! Have you come to see the results of your gossip mongering?” A smile pasted itself upon his face with no hint of gladness. “You will forgive me if I am not pleased to see you.”

Jane paid him no heed, intent only on speaking with Mr. Dunkirk. She swung herself off the horse and nearly fell to the ground. She felt stiff and heavy, the sound of her heartbeat ringing in her ears. “Mr. Dunkirk! You promised you would do nothing rash.”

“This is not rash, I assure you. I have considered my path most clearly. This is the only way to prevent him from harming other young women as he has injured my sister.”

Jane clutched his arm, though she had no hope of restraining him. “You cannot think that witnessing a duel can do your sister any good.”

Mr. Dunkirk turned his head to where Beth stood, pinned by Mr. Vincent. “I hope that this will prove instructional to my sister, so that she will better consider her actions in the future.”

Hoofbeats sounded in the distance, and Mr. Buffington rounded the bend in the road riding Jane’s borrowed mare. He rode half falling from the sidesaddle, but he applied his crop brutally to keep the mare charging forward. He pulled up in a billow of dust next to his own horse.

Captain Livingston smiled bitterly at his friend. “Buffington, just the chap I needed. Could you restrain Miss Ellsworth—unless you object, Dunkirk?”

“Not at all. I think it advisable.”

“It seems that I am doing nothing else today.” Buffington leapt down and eyed the pistols that Mr. Dunkirk and Captain Livingston held. “Are you in need of a second?”

“As much as ever.” Captain Livingston smirked and regripped the pistol.

“Ah. Then I shan’t worry about you.”

Jane backed away from Buffington as he advanced across the field. The open space left nowhere for her to hide, nowhere to flee. If he held her, she could do nothing to stop either man. In desperation, Jane wove a Sphère Obscurci about herself. Mr. Buffington drew up short for a moment, then shook his head, advancing to where she had last stood. Jane pushed the weave, drawing it to the side as she backed silently away from where she had stood. Her breath came rapidly, but the anxiety pulsing in her veins lent her nervous energy.