Behind the Marquess's Mask (The Lords of Whitehall Book 1) by Kristen McLean

the Grenville carriage was off with Lady Grenville and Kathryn, Grey turned with relish back toward the garden. He had been terribly inconvenienced tonight, so someone had to pay for it, someone who’d had this coming for a long time.
    Bexley was constantly throwing trouble in Grey’s direction. Twice, he had sent out false invitations for Ainsley House whilst Grey had been entertaining ladies of the demimonde. That stunt had almost cost Grey the mission, as he had been working to obtain a bundle of incriminating documents from one of the courtesans. Another time, he had sent a magistrate to a duel between Grey and the Earl of Haverton in hopes of getting him thrown in prison. He had also accused Grey of cheating at cards with the ambassador to the Austrian Empire. Grey had narrowly avoided execution on that occasion, and even that hadn’t been the worst of it. The list was endless.
    Grim anticipation settled over Grey as he made his way through the dimly lit paths. His hands itched for what was coming—he craved it—though it would hardly satisfy him. Each corner of the path was rounded deliberately, without speed or over-excitement, until Grey reached the moaning heap precisely where he had left him.
    “Bexley, is that you?” Grey asked in a deceptively friendly tone as he approached.
    Bexley rolled to sit upright, one hand rubbing the back of his head. “Ainsley, I have been attacked!” he said.
    “You don’t say!” As soon as Grey reached Bexley, he pulled him up by his cravat with one fist then powered the other across his jaw without warning.
    Bexley’s head flung to the side with a surprised yelp.
    “Then again, perhaps you deserved a good thrashing,” Grey added.
    “You are mad!” Bexley bared his teeth as he twisted from the grip at his neck and sent a fist powering through the air, aimed at Grey’s chin.
    Grey jerked back, narrowly missing the unexpected strike.
    “A gentleman does not get sloshed in the presence of ladies,” Grey said icily, sending another blow to Bexley’s jaw, bloodying his hand.
    Bexley spat out a mouthful of blood.
    “A gentleman does not force himself upon a lady against her w—”
    Grey was cut off with a hard blow to his jaw, slicing the inside of his mouth against his teeth.
    He smiled dangerously. “And a gentleman certainly does not hurt a lady, even if he hits like a schoolmarm.”
    Bexley growled, hunching over and lunging at Grey. Grey bent forward and gripped him by the waist at the impact. Twisting him to the ground, he dropped his knee on Bexley’s chest with an audible crack to hold him there.
    Bexley wheezed, no doubt from a few cracked ribs.
    “The lady’s father is a close friend of mine. What would he think if I allowed some sodding pig like you to have his way with her?” he said through clenched teeth and then spat blood out on the ground next to him.
    Bexley grunted then chuckled to himself.
    Grey clenched his jaw, applying just a little extra pressure with his knee. Bexley groaned painfully before Grey eased himself up, stepping back to gain some distance.
    The late Lord Bexley had been a friend of Grey’s, and that was enough for Grey to hold himself in check, though he wanted to kill the whelp for what he had done to Kathryn.
    “If you touch her again I shall have no issue smearing your brains across the cobblestones with my bare hands,” Grey rumbled. “Do I make myself plain?”
    Bexley nodded, wiping blood from his mouth.
    Grey looked on icily as Bexley rolled to sit upright, grunting painfully and holding his side. Then Grey turned around and left for the mews. It was far past time for him to leave, and he was terribly late for his after-an-incredibly-painful-societal-function decanter of scotch.
    The stuff wasn’t going to drink itself into oblivion.

Chapter 4
    T he next morning , Kathryn sat at her writing desk, looking out the window at the garden below. She had written and rewritten an apology to Lord Ainsley, thanking him for his