Evangeline turned on her heel and headed to her bedchamber to prepare for battle. She emerged bathed and pressed and somewhat coiffed, but did not reach the dining room before engaging in the first skirmish.
Edmund Rutherford and Mr. Teasdale fell into step beside her as she made her way to the dining room. Much as she despised being in Edmund’s company, it would be rude to rush ahead of the elderly Mr. Teasdale. And based on the sluggishness of the latter’s ponderous gait, it would be all but impossible to slow her pace enough to lag behind to study them.
Before the silence stretched on for more than a few seconds, Edmund turned his sly gaze upon her.
“Miss Pemberton,” he said, his words spraying forth on a gust of fermented breath. “I had no idea you were a trainer of pets.”
“A what?” She cast him a suspicious glance. “I’ve never had a pet.”
He laughed delightedly. “Come now. We all saw Lioncroft trailing after you like a gelded lapdog. Mooning after you from his tragically distant picnic blanket, trying to please you with his enormous skill at kite-flying, paying more attention to your bodice than his ball when the rest of us were playing pall-mall…Don’t be coy, Miss Pemberton. It appears you’ve managed to break the untamable beast.”
Evangeline’s fingers clenched. “I’ve done nothing of the sort.”
“I agree,” came Mr. Teasdale’s quavering voice.
She gave him a grateful look. An ally. At last.
“He’s neither tamed nor trained,” Mr. Teasdale continued, “but he’s certainly following your scent around with the single-minded intensity of a panther after its prey. He’s too busy stalking one step behind you to mind propriety. Shameful behavior. Both of you.”
Evangeline tripped mid-step.“What?”
“I don’t mind a spot of shameful behavior every now and again.” Edmund fumbled in his coat pocket. “I’d love to see the lovelorn devil and his darling angel perform a public mating ritual for the amusement of the house party guests.”
“How unfortunate,” came a low voice from around the corner. Mr. Lioncroft strode from a connected hallway, a warning glint in his eyes. “I do my mating in private. That is, unless you meant some other devil?”
“No. I meant you.” Edmund took a quick swallow from his flask and edged backward. “Are you planning to keep her?”
Although he made no verbal response, Mr. Lioncroft’s fixed gaze never broke eye contact with Edmund’s.
“Because if you’re not making a mistress of her until you hang,” Edmund continued, “let me know when you’re through. I wouldn’t mind a tup or two before handing her off to the next gent.”
Mr. Lioncroft was across the narrow hall so fast Edmund barely had time to gasp before his shoulders flattened against the wall. His flask fell from his fingers. His feet dangled inches from the floor. His face paled, then purpled, held aloft by Mr. Lioncroft’s arm anchoring him across the throat.
“Touch her,” Mr. Lioncroft growled, “and die.”
“Gavin?” Lady Heatherbrook emerged from the next intersection and gasped when she saw the milieu. “Gavin. Unhand Edmund at once!”
“Precisely what I’m talking about,” Mr. Teasdale agreed as he gestured toward Mr. Lioncroft with his cane. “Yet another perfect example of impropriety.”
A beat of silence passed before Mr. Lioncroft stepped backward.
Edmund fell to the floor clutching his neck. No sooner did he land than he sprang back up, swiping at his backside. “My whisky! You spilled my whisky!”
Mr. Lioncroft shrugged. “It’s no doubtmywhisky.”
“But over a chit? You would spill good whisky over a chit?”
“I would spill your blood if it wouldn’t stain my carpets.”
“Gavin,” came Lady Heatherbrook’s strangled voice. “Please don’t speak like that. What happened?”
“Nothing. Except this pup was about to give Miss Pemberton an apology.”
“For what?” Edmund burst out. “Admitting I find her attractive? You’re the one about to ruin her by dangling after her every chance you get.”
Mr. Lioncroft’s arms crossed. “I won’t ruin her.”
Edmund snorted and bent to retrieve his empty flask. “Whether you touch her or not, she’s already marked. No female reputation can withstand being linked to yours. The maiden and the murderer? If we were in London, the scandal sheets would have a field day.”
