Tempt Me at Twilight (The Hathaways #3)(77)

Poppy was there. The knowledge spurred him, made him desperate to reach her. It was more than desperation. Losing Poppy was the one thing he couldn’t recover from, and knowing that made him feel fearful and furious and caged. The feelings catalyzed into one impetus: He would not be kept apart from her.

With all the patience of a baited badger, Harry strode to the front door, not waiting for a footman. He shoved his way into the entrance hall, two stories high with immaculate cream paneling and a curving stone staircase at the back.

Cam Rohan was there to greet him, casually dressed in a collarless shirt, trousers, and an open leather jerkin. “Rutledge,” he said pleasantly. “We were just finishing supper. Will you have some?”

Harry gave an impatient shake of his head. “How is Poppy?”

“Come, let’s have some wine, and we’ll discuss a few things—”

“Is she having supper as well?”

“No.”

“I want to see her. Now.”

Cam’s pleasant expression didn’t change. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.”

“Let me rephrase—I’m going to see her, if I have to turn this place into matchsticks.”

Cam received this imperturbably, his shoulders hitching in a shrug. “Outside, then.”

This ready acceptance of a brawl both surprised and gratified Harry. His blood was teeming with violence, his temper on the brink of explosion.

Some part of his mind recognized that he wasn’t quite himself, that the precise workings of his mind were off-kilter, his self-control dismantled. His usual cool logic had deserted him. All he knew was that he wanted Poppy, and if he had to fight for her, so be it. He would fight until he bloody well dropped.

He followed Cam through the entrance, down a side hallway, and out to a small open conservatory and garden where a pair of torches burned.

“I’ll say this for you,” the Rom remarked conversationally, “it’s in your favor that your first question was not ‘Where is Poppy’ but ‘How is Poppy.’ ”

“Devil take you and your opinions,” Harry growled, stripping off his coat and tossing it aside. “I’m not asking for permission to take my wife back. She’s mine, and I’ll have her, and be damned to all of you.”

Cam turned to face him, the torchlight gleaming in his eyes and over the black layers of his hair. “She’s part of my tribe,” he said, beginning to circle him. “You’ll go back without her, unless you can find a way to make her want you.”

Harry circled as well, the chaos of his thoughts settling as he focused on his opponent. “No rules?” he asked gruffly.

“No rules.”

Harry threw the first punch, and Cam dodged easily. Adjusting, calculating, Harry retreated as Cam threw a right. A pivot, and then Harry connected with a left cross. Cam had reacted a fraction too late, deflecting some of the blow’s force, but not all.

A quiet curse, a rueful grin, and Cam renewed his guard. “Hard and fast,” he said approvingly. “Where did you learn to fight?”

“New York.”

Cam lunged forward and flipped him to the ground. “West London,” he returned.

Tucking into a roll, Harry gained his footing instantly. As he came up, he used his elbow in a backward jab into Cam’s midriff.

Cam grunted. Grabbing Harry’s arm, he hooked a foot around his ankle and took him down again. They rolled once, twice, until Harry sprang away and retreated a few steps.

Breathing hard, he watched as Cam leapt to his feet.

“You could have put a forearm to my throat,” Cam pointed out, shaking a swath of hair from his forehead.

“I didn’t want to crush your windpipe,” Harry said acidly, “before I made you tell me where my wife is.”

Cam grinned. Before he could reply, however, there was a commotion as all the Hathaways poured from the conservatory. Leo, Amelia, Win, Beatrix, Merripen, and Catherine Marks. Everyone except Poppy, Harry noted bleakly. Where the hell was she?

“Is this the after-dinner entertainment?” Leo asked sardonically, emerging from the group. “Someone might have asked me—I would have preferred cards.”

“You’re next, Ramsay,” Harry said with a scowl. “After I finish with Rohan, I’m going to flatten you for taking my wife away from London.”

“No,” Merripen said with deadly calm, stepping forward, “I’m next. And I’m going to flatten you for taking advantage of my kinswoman.”

Leo glanced from Merripen’s grim face to Harry’s, and rolled his eyes. “Forget it, then,” he said, going back into the conservatory. “After Merripen’s done, there won’t be anything left of him.” Pausing beside his sisters, he spoke quietly to Win out of the side of his mouth. “You’d better do something.”

“Why?”

“Because Cam only wants to knock a bit of sense into him. But Merripen actually intends to kill him, which I don’t think Poppy would appreciate.”

“Why don’t you do something to stop him, Leo?” Amelia suggested acidly.

“Because I’m a peer. We aristocrats always try to get someone else to do something before we have to do it ourselves.” He gave her a superior look. “It’s called noblesse oblige.”