His brows lowered. “Alice—”
“Tell me,” she ordered.
Muttering a curse, he sighed and pulled away. “Weeks ago, your cousin decided to go to the London Gazette to spread rumors of you and spread malicious lies about how you lost the only possible marriage proposal because of some truly foul… bodily habits.
“She was going to paint you as a vulgar slattern which would have effectively ruined any future chance of having a marriage or good standing with the ton. I stopped her and placed the fear of god inside her. If she uttered one word to any scandal rag, I’d sweep her.”
Stunned, Alice couldn’t find the words. “You—you did that? For me?”
“Of course I did,” he muttered. “I told you I’d protect you, didn’t I? Why would that end because of the divide between us? I can protect you from afar, Alice. I want to.”
“But you—”
A sudden, blood-curdling scream echoed from the ballroom, sharp enough to slice through the music and laughter beyond the doors. Alice and Edward exchanged a single glance—then bolted.
The scent of candle smoke and perfume hung heavy in the ballroom as they burst inside. The crowd was no longer dancing. Gowns rustled as clusters of guests pressed back, gathering against the walls like a tide retreating from something dangerous. Murmurs rippled through the sea of faces—fear, confusion, disbelief.
At the center, Benedict stood tall, still as a statue. His face was pale, his hands loose but ready at his sides.
And facing him wasRutledge.
His once-elegant attire was in complete disarray—plum waistcoat stained, cravat gone, shirt hanging open at the throat. His face, glistening with sweat, was twisted with rage, damp curls clinging to his temples. His eyes, bloodshot and wild, darted from Benedict to the crowd, then back.
And in his trembling hands… a pistol.
“You!” Rutledge spat, voice raw and slurred, thick with drink. “You think this is finished? You think—” He staggered a step closer, the gun lifting higher—the black barrel was now mere feet from Benedict’s chest.
“My lord…” Benedict cautioned, voice calm but low with warning. “Please, put down the weapon.”
The viscount barked a laugh. “Put it down? Is that an order,my lord?” The mockery was thick, curling into a sneer. “You—you pompousbastards. You ruined me! You—”
Benedict took a measured step away from the fireline of the crowd. “You are very clearly in your cups, old boy. Don’t do something you might—”
“Don’t talk down to me, you smug son of a bitch!” Rutledge roared, spittle flying, his face blotched scarlet with fury. “Where is he?! Where’s that damned brother of yours?Edward!I know you’re here, you coward!”
“Stay here,” Edward ordered her. He then beckoned a footman over silently and whispered to him, “Get the other men with you and guide the guests out of here, I will not have one of them splintering a fingertip on a shard of glass much less get a bullet to the brain.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the footman bowed.
Anxiously, Alice watched Rutledge wave the gun around like a madman while the footmen began to usher the guests away little by little. Thankfully, the crazed man took little notice of them as he appeared too fixated on Benedict.
“You destroyed me!” Rutledge’s voice was rising, unraveling with every breath. “You and that brother of yours—meddling, scheming, tearing my life apart for your own bloody amusement! I’ve losteverything!Do you hear me? Everything!”
“Everything you lost was your own doing,” Benedict muttered, his voice cutting sharp across the tirade.
Rutledge’s bloodshot eyes narrowed further. “Mydoing?Mydoing? You’re just like him. Just like your brother! Hiding behind your bloody titles, your hypocrisies—while I’m hunted like a dog because ofyou!” His voice cracked on the last word.
He stumbled forward another step. The gun was now so close Benedict could almost touch it.
And then finally—Edward spoke.
“Is this what you’ve become, Rutledge?”
Rutledge spun. His gaze snapped toward Edward, standing calm. That half-second of distraction was all Benedict needed.
He lunged.
His fist connected hard with Rutledge’s jaw—once, twice. A solid punch directly in his eye socket before following with an uppercut that sent Rutledge flailing.
