ballroom toward the supper room, Andres could feel people stare. As he passed a group of women, one almost fell in front of him.
He caught her in his arms. She was a young matron, comely and bosomy.
“I am so sorry,” she said. “I must have tripped on the hem of my skirt.”
But as he released his hold, she pressed a note in his palm, her eyes dancing with her intentions. Her female companions burst into conspiratorial giggles.
Andres stifled a sigh and kept moving.
But he wasn’t moving alone.
Two men had started to shadow him. They were big men in new evening clothes. One of them had a nose that had been broken so many times it was almost flat.
They didn’t fit with this crowd, but no one seemed to notice. Not after all the punch and champagne that had been served.
Andres had to cross the front hall to reach the supper room. He quickened his step, testing the “gentlemen.”
They kept right up with him. Two huge bruisers.
Well, if they wanted a fight, Andres would send them to Carla.
As he anticipated, they made their move out in the hall. “Barón de Vasconia?”
“I am,” Andres said. Two footmen were stationed here. He wasn’t in danger—
There was the click of a pistol being cocked.
Andres glanced down and noticed that the smaller of the men had his hand in his jacket, a place that could easily hide a gun.
“Will you come with us, Barón?” the large bruiser said.
“Do I have a choice?” Andres asked.
“No.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the front drive,” the bruiser said. “Lord Dobbins is waiting in one of the coaches to talk to you, my lord.”
“And if I choose not to go?” Andres asked.
“His lordship has given us permission to blow a hole in you.”
“Won’t that create a scene?” Andres asked, intrigued.
“His lordship says considering the way his wife has been acting, he don’t think anyone will be surprised by a little blood. Especially if it is yours.”
From down the supper room came a loud crash followed by the sound of hysterical crying and the twittering and laughter of gossips.
Andres took his hat from the footman holding it and said, “Please, lead the way.”
Chapter Four
Andres knew Carla had married a man much older than herself. He’d pictured her husband as a small, wizened figure without the will or ability to put a check on his wife’s escapades.
The reality he discovered inside the heavy, ornate town coach was far different.
Lord Dobbins was of middle years. He had a paunch on him but appeared of robust health. His steel gray hair was clipped close to his head, and his eyes were clear and sharp. He wasn’t tall, and the fur collar he wore around the collar of his coat reminded Andres of a lion’s mane.
“Come in,” he invited Andres, his tone civil. Cordial. And putting Andres on guard.
His lordship indicated the velvet tufted bench seat opposite his in the coach.
“You will not mind if we take a ride.”
Seeing as he had no choice, Andres smiled. “Of course not.” He removed his hat and climbed in the coach.
Lord Dobbins nodded to his henchmen to close the door and they were off.
They rode in silence a moment. Andres sat, rubbing the brim of his hat with his thumb, waiting.
He didn’t have to wait long.
“You’ve made quite a conquest of my wife.”
Andres didn’t respond. Response led to being called out. If he told the man his wife had been the aggressor, he’d be named a liar and called out. If he told the truth—that he’d slept with Carla once when he’d been too drunk and full of self-pity to realize what he’d been doing—he’d be called out. If he—
Enough. Andres was tired of it all. He’d hoped to make something of his life in England, and yet here he was, back in the same traps as before.
“Over the last four months, I’ve fought three duels with men whose wives chased me,” he informed Lord Dobbins.
“I know.”
“I didn’t search their wives out and I didn’t sleep with any of
He caught her in his arms. She was a young matron, comely and bosomy.
“I am so sorry,” she said. “I must have tripped on the hem of my skirt.”
But as he released his hold, she pressed a note in his palm, her eyes dancing with her intentions. Her female companions burst into conspiratorial giggles.
Andres stifled a sigh and kept moving.
But he wasn’t moving alone.
Two men had started to shadow him. They were big men in new evening clothes. One of them had a nose that had been broken so many times it was almost flat.
They didn’t fit with this crowd, but no one seemed to notice. Not after all the punch and champagne that had been served.
Andres had to cross the front hall to reach the supper room. He quickened his step, testing the “gentlemen.”
They kept right up with him. Two huge bruisers.
Well, if they wanted a fight, Andres would send them to Carla.
As he anticipated, they made their move out in the hall. “Barón de Vasconia?”
“I am,” Andres said. Two footmen were stationed here. He wasn’t in danger—
There was the click of a pistol being cocked.
Andres glanced down and noticed that the smaller of the men had his hand in his jacket, a place that could easily hide a gun.
“Will you come with us, Barón?” the large bruiser said.
“Do I have a choice?” Andres asked.
“No.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the front drive,” the bruiser said. “Lord Dobbins is waiting in one of the coaches to talk to you, my lord.”
“And if I choose not to go?” Andres asked.
“His lordship has given us permission to blow a hole in you.”
“Won’t that create a scene?” Andres asked, intrigued.
“His lordship says considering the way his wife has been acting, he don’t think anyone will be surprised by a little blood. Especially if it is yours.”
From down the supper room came a loud crash followed by the sound of hysterical crying and the twittering and laughter of gossips.
Andres took his hat from the footman holding it and said, “Please, lead the way.”
Chapter Four
Andres knew Carla had married a man much older than herself. He’d pictured her husband as a small, wizened figure without the will or ability to put a check on his wife’s escapades.
The reality he discovered inside the heavy, ornate town coach was far different.
Lord Dobbins was of middle years. He had a paunch on him but appeared of robust health. His steel gray hair was clipped close to his head, and his eyes were clear and sharp. He wasn’t tall, and the fur collar he wore around the collar of his coat reminded Andres of a lion’s mane.
“Come in,” he invited Andres, his tone civil. Cordial. And putting Andres on guard.
His lordship indicated the velvet tufted bench seat opposite his in the coach.
“You will not mind if we take a ride.”
Seeing as he had no choice, Andres smiled. “Of course not.” He removed his hat and climbed in the coach.
Lord Dobbins nodded to his henchmen to close the door and they were off.
They rode in silence a moment. Andres sat, rubbing the brim of his hat with his thumb, waiting.
He didn’t have to wait long.
“You’ve made quite a conquest of my wife.”
Andres didn’t respond. Response led to being called out. If he told the man his wife had been the aggressor, he’d be named a liar and called out. If he told the truth—that he’d slept with Carla once when he’d been too drunk and full of self-pity to realize what he’d been doing—he’d be called out. If he—
Enough. Andres was tired of it all. He’d hoped to make something of his life in England, and yet here he was, back in the same traps as before.
“Over the last four months, I’ve fought three duels with men whose wives chased me,” he informed Lord Dobbins.
“I know.”
“I didn’t search their wives out and I didn’t sleep with any of
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