He only had a moment to bask in his victory before Rutledge was back on his feet, throwing himself atop him, sending them both crashing to the table of refreshments behind them.
Distantly, Alice heard the screams of other guests as glass and China shattered and splintered around them; as frantic and horrified as she was about Benedict, she desperately cast around for Penelope.Where was she?
Benedict was defending himself from Rutledge, pummeling him as they scrambled on the old floorboards until he managed to land a gut punch that had sent the drunk doubling over.
“Are you going to do something?” Alice pleaded of Edward in desperation, her gaze flitting back to the fighting pair.
“Not yet…” Edward whispered. “Benedict can hold his own. Lord knows he will come for my head if I try to drag him off Rutledge presently.”
She held her breath as Benedict kicked the pistol away while grabbing Rutledge by the collar and slamming him into the nearest wall. A familiar gasp had Alice almost whirling to her right to catch sight of her sister, who had artfully and slowly maneuvered away into the remaining crowd. She slipped out from under Edward’s arm and dashed over to Penelope, hugging her tight.
Her sister was trembling in fear while watching Benedict apprehend Rutledge. Most of the ballroom was empty now, except for the few guests who had lingered on and now stared with abject curiosity and horror—while a select group were simply utterly delighted to see the scandal unfolding before their eyes.
“You lost that wager fair and square, take it like a man!” Benedict snapped, the lie rolling off his tongue easily, clearly making sure no word about Penelope slipped out and directing the narrative elsewhere. “I’ll have you arrested for threatening my life. You’ll die in Newgate.”
Rutledge was shaking his head, swallowing thickly, his throat working over and over and over again. His face turned sallow, moments before he lurched forward. Benedict jolted out of the way before the man vomited on Benedict’s shoes, the sick grey and smelling foul.
“God’s blood,” the marquess swore. “You are a mess.”
Stepping forward, Edward’s cold voice dampened half of the room, “Should I deliver you to Grimes?”
Rutledge went ashen, “No. God no…”
“You have five minutes to get out of my house. Consider it a courtesy headstart. I’ll be having you thrown into the prison hulks before your head can spin twice,” Edward snarled. “Unless you would prefer an unending, unrelating banishment to New Holland to work under the blistering sun feeding pigs?”
“I—I’ll go,” Rutledge spluttered, his blear eyes flickering to Penelope, but not a word came from his mouth to her.
“Ramsay,” Edward called his butler forward. “Kindly throw this dunghill beyond my gates and if he dares darken my doorstepagain, be free to put a bullet between his eyes. Oh, and have the constables alerted.”
“My pleasure, Your Grace,” Ramsay smirked, hauling Rutledge to his feet and taking all the more satisfaction from it.
Then, he turned to Alice, but she decidedly turned away and began fussing with Penelope. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Edward step over the broken glasses and crockery, salvage one glass, and fill it from the still-bubbling champagne fountain.
Lifting it like a toast, he announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, I hope this is enough fodder for your breakfast tables for days to come, and please, do not embellish anything for the scandal sheets tomorrow. Now, shall we take a recess for supper?”
CHAPTER 26
“All of London is a-flutter with the news coming out of Duke Valhaven’s ill-fated ball last night. No one knows exactly what happened between the Duke’s brother and gambling-hell owner, Viscount Rutledge—who had recently vanished from polite society of late.
However, from the brief exchange overheard, this humble reporter surmises that Marquess Brampton had taken possession of some precious item Rutledge wants back.
Guesses range from a precious phaeton, family jewelry, or even Rutledge’s luxurious country home that he gambled away. One guest even offered that it was over a spurned woman—but we here at the paper thinks that is far-fetched.
Rutledge is a known rake, Lady M—says. He does not hold onto his paramours to learn their name much less to get possessive over them.
Speaking of the Landon family, it’s common knowledge that Duke Valhaven is not one for marriage and has already committed his ducal role to his brother. At one point the Duke, dubbed “the most eligible bachelor” of the season, had once left a trail of broken and hopeful hearts in society when he decided to not marry.
There are still hopefuls who pray that the Duke will stay and marry well to continue one of the most benevolent ducal families in England.”
Dropping the paper, Alice let out a long breath. This was marginally better than she had anticipated; all she could do was hope that no one investigated the ‘spurned woman’ angle.
It was somewhat of a truth—but nobody needed to know that.
Looking out the door, Alice considered going to Edward’s home to finish last night’s aborted conversation. The whole house was silent this morning, what with her aunt and cousin crying exhaustion from last night, Penelope in her rooms, and her uncle off to his office in the city.
Alice was all alone.
It would be very easy to slip away, but was it wise to do so?
