A Gentleman Never Tells(48)

“Excuse me, Lord Snellingly,” Lord Brentwood said. “I see someone I must speak to before they leave. But please do recite another poem for Lady Gabrielle. I have it on good authority she adores poetry almost as much as she loves dogs.” He turned to Gabrielle with a mischievous grin, and in a low-pitched voice that sounded far too intimate and much too cocky, he said, “Lady Gabrielle, thank you for the dance; now enjoy the poetry.”

There was no way in hell Brent was going to listen to another word from that sniveling fop. He wanted to get as far away from the man as he could, but Lady Gabrielle deserved to listen to more of the obnoxious man’s dreadful poetry. Brent loved the look of shock on her face when he turned away.

He chuckled when he heard:

“Happy bark, wagging tail…”

Brent smiled to himself as he made his way through the crowd in search of drink or his brothers, whichever came first. He couldn’t imagine what had made Lady Gabrielle pretend she couldn’t dance. Her feet must be killing her. He must have stepped on her toes at least five or six times.

Ah, but she was beautiful. The moment he saw her tonight, he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her. She was stunning in that pink velvet gown. When he’d brought her into his embrace for the waltz, it took all his willpower not to pull her up close and hug her to his chest. He watched her lips when she talked, and all he could think was that he wanted to kiss her until she surrendered to his will.

Someone tapped Brent on the shoulder, and he turned around just in time to see a fist heading straight for his face. He tried to duck, but the punch was so unexpected, he didn’t have time to react fast enough. The fist landed on the corner of his mouth that had just healed. Brent stumbled backward and bumped into someone, who gasped. Somehow, he managed to catch his footing and didn’t hit the floor. In his younger years, Brent had been in one or two fights at tavern brawls, and he’d matched his fists against others at notable boxing salons, but he couldn’t ever remember being caught off guard.

Brent’s right hand closed tightly, and his arm flew back, ready to take on his attacker. He stopped short when the irate man was quickly grabbed by a couple of other men. He was held back when he lunged forward at Brent again. Brent’s fist clenched nervously, tightening, itching to knock the man’s teeth down his throat, but Brent couldn’t hit a man whose arms were being held behind his back.

“Let go of me,” the stranger yelled. “I want to hit him again!”

“No, Staunton!” said one of the men holding him. “Stop this madness.”

The name Staunton reverberated in Brent’s ears as his breaths came fast and hard.

Lady Gabrielle’s former fiancé.

Now Brent knew why the man had attacked him. Brent’s fist relaxed a little, and he lowered his arm. He supposed he’d be fighting mad, too, if their situations were reversed, but Brent doubted he would have waited a week to punch any blade who dared to touch his fiancée. And he sure as hell wouldn’t have resorted to such a cowardly strike to an unsuspecting man.

With his thumb, Brent wiped blood from the corner of his mouth and fixed the man with a cold stare. “I suppose I deserved that.”

“You’re bloody right you did,” Staunton said, struggling to free himself from the men who held him. “You deserve to be run through with a sword for what you did.”

Brent looked at Staunton. He seemed to be close to Brent’s age but not nearly as tall or as big. To engage someone almost twice his size, the man had to be either courageous or have a whole jug of whiskey in his stomach. A crowd had gathered around them and was quickly growing larger by the second.

“Perhaps,” Brent said calmly, “that one makes us even, but if you want to try your hand at getting ahead, I’m ready. Let’s take this fight out of Lady Windham’s house and into the park.”

“No, he’s through,” said the oldest man who held Staunton.

“I’m not,” Staunton said bitterly. “I insist on meeting him in the park.”

“You can’t. Your father will disinherit you if you have another fight. You’ve had too much to drink, and you’re not thinking properly. Now come on, and let’s get out of here before you cause more trouble for yourself and everyone else.”

Staunton jerked free of the men and pulled on the tail of his coat before walking past Brent, deliberately knocking against Brent’s shoulder as he did. Brent started to grab the man and give him the fight he was looking for, but as his arm drew back, he saw Lady Gabrielle forcing her way through the crowd with Iverson right behind her. In that split second, he knew the last thing he, Lady Gabrielle, or his brothers needed or wanted was more scandal. And certainly Lady Windham didn’t deserve an all-out brawl in her drawing room.