And the other couples slowed their steps to ogle the spectacle as well.
“Apologies, old chap,” James drawled blithely without stopping or releasing her. “My dance, you see? There’ll be another for you, another time.”
James turned her again, giving her a reassuring nod. But over his shoulder, Prim saw Leachman’s already ruddy face grow splotchy with anger. She winced as his beefy hand clamped down on James’s shoulder, dragging them to a halt.
“I said I’m cutting in.”
A muscle visibly clenched in James’s jaw. He stopped and glared down at Leachman, who might have been a few inches shorter but surely outweighed James by a great many pounds.
“And I say you’re not.”
Ice wrapped around Prim’s heart, chilling her to the bone. Her breath caught in her throat as if she’d stepped outside on a subzero day. This was exactly why she’d asked James for his assistance. His size, his strength. His ability to cow lesser men. But Leachman wasn’t cowed. For all of James’s formidable glares, he was as contained as ever while Leachman’s unpredictable temper could blow at any time.
She feared for James and had the absurd compulsion to defend him when his defense of her was what she’d needed so desperately.
The dancing around them stopped altogether, everyone agog with the spectacle. Two men fighting. Over the dowdy widow, Primrose Eames. In public. Prim groaned at the humiliation.
“Why don’t you shove off?” Leachman pushed at James’s chest with enough force to send a smaller man stumbling.
James took only half a step back before righting himself and moving forward with the older man’s palm still pressed to his chest. “Remove your hand, old man,” James growled, his feral tone nothing like Prim had ever imagined from him. His entire body was tensed with fury, again a predator ready to pounce, but this time with more deadly intent.
Leachman’s thin lips tightened until they nearly disappeared. “Or what?”
“I’ll remove it for you.”
Leachman pushed off again and James rotated an arm between them, knocking Leachman’s away. They stepped toward each other. One with a snarl. The other with stoic resolve.
Prim couldn’t take it, though she might consider herself a rabble-rouser of sorts when it came to the suffragette cause. Agitating in the name of equality was acceptable, especially when she was surrounded by other women with the same intent.
This…thisspectaclewas something else entirely. In all her musings over what she’d gotten herself into by approaching James in the first place, she’d never imagined it all coming to public fisticuffs.
Stepping between them, she raised her hands in supplication. “Please don’t fight,” she begged. “Not here.”
Not at all. This fight, the risk of Jamie’s safety, wasn’t worth whatever personal gain she’d hoped for.
She looked up at James. The anger suffusing his face faded away and understanding took its place. Even if he couldn’t sense her fear for his well-being, he knew her well enough by now to recognize what such a public scene would cost her.
He nodded tersely, his rigid stance relaxing.
“You going to let a woman fight for you?”
Leachman shoved at James’s shoulder again. This time James caught his hand. To Prim’s astonishment, he somehow managed to twist it about without even seeming to move a muscle. A second later, Leachman was down on one knee, his arm elevated behind him and his thumb held at an awkward angle in James’s hand.
Leachman pushed back against him with a growl but quickly stilled with a hiss of pain. “Leave off,” he gasped.
“Apologize to the lady for the scene you’ve caused,” James ground out, drawing another wince of pain from the man without even twitching. Prim couldn’t imagine how he was doing it.
“Excuse me, Primro—” He choked on the words with a low curse. “Mrs. Eames. My apologies.”
“Let him go,” Prim whispered, aware that eyes from all around were pinned on them. “Please.”
James released him and with a scowl, Leachman slunk away. Voices rising around them only amplified how dense the silence had been. Unbearable heat flooded Prim’s face.
“Let me escort you home,” James murmured, reaching for her.
Prim jerked her hand back. She knew he was motivated only by kindness, by the need to remove her from the scene as quickly as possible. But with all eyes on them, she knew she couldn’t so much as take his arm.
He might argue that tongues needed to waggle off in other directions, but if she left with him now, they’d waggle her way indefinitely. She’d couldn’t have that. She couldn’t bear it.
