“You’re mad,” Trestwell sneered.
“You shot yourself in the foot this time.” After a few more chuckles, all his mirth faded, and he poked a finger into Trestwell’s chest. “I shall have you arrested for the theft of that brooch.”
Trestwell slapped away his hand. “I may be handy with a shovel and knife, but I am no light finger. Go ahead, call the law down on my head. They’ll not find a thing.”
“I ought to—”
“You can try.” He flicked his index finger beneath Bram’s chin. “I will see you on the front lawn, sir, if you dare.”
22
It was hard to contain such white-hot anger—yet it must be done, at least for the moment. He couldn’t very well pummel Trestwell in the pressing crowd. He really shouldn’t do so outdoors either for Eva’s sake, and yet Bram shouldered his way through the mingling gala attenders, schooling his face to some semblance of pleasantry when all along fury shook every muscle. Hopefully Eva would be detained in the dining room until he served Trestwell the comeuppance the scoundrel deserved.
He gripped the front doorknob and forced a calmness to his movements he certainly didn’t feel. Cold night air slapped him in the face as he stepped onto the drive, which he welcomed. He could do with some cooling down.
The driveway curved in a large circle, a grassy expanse at the center. In summer, the ornate fountain in the middle of the lawn would be flowing with sparkling water. Tonight the barren plaster held nothing but the drape of Trestwell’s coat on the bottommost tier. Trestwell scoffed at his approach while busily engaging in rolling up his sleeves.
Leaving behind the pea gravel for sturdier turf, Bram plowed his fingers through his hair. He sucked in a deep breath as heapproached the man, the sharp bite of air momentarily clearing his mind. Yes, such a tormentor ought to take a fist to the jaw, but was he really the one to mete out such justice? Perhaps he should get the law involved. And what would Eva think?
He glanced at the event hall, golden light spilling out the windows. She’d worked hard to make this fundraiser a success. A walloping on the front lawn wouldn’t sit well with her or the donors she’d hoped to impress. While he’d love nothing more than to see Trestwell writhing on the ground, taking him down here and now could ruin the entire evening.
Though it killed him to do so, Bram held up his hand in peace. “Listen, Trestwell. This is not the time or place. Put your coat back on.”
Trestwell crouched, fists raised. “I knew you’d turn yellow. But it’s too late now. Defend yourself or take a beating. It’s all the same to me.”
“We are no longer lads given to fisticuffs. Just be a man and apologize to Miss Inman for putting her in danger. That is all I ask. And if one more thing happens to my dig, I will hunt you down.” He turned away, the ebb of wrath making him weary to the bone.
Fingers dug into his shoulder, spinning him around. Trestwell’s thick brows gathered like a squall line on his brow. “You have no idea how much I’m going to enjoy this.”
“Did you not hear a word I said? This is highly inappropriate. I will not fight—”
“What is going on out here?” Light footsteps rushed across the pea gravel.
Bram swiveled his head to see Eva running pell-mell toward them, her skirt bunched in one hand, part of her carefully crafted hairstyle now loose and flopping against her cheek. At least this provided the opportunity for Trestwell to apologize and put the ugly balloon incident behind them.
“Good timing, Miss Inman. Mr. Trestwell here has—”
Something hard rammed into his gut, stealing his breath. Instant nausea rose. So did his fist. Ignoring the pain, Bram cranked back his arm and swung a right hook. His knuckles connected with Trestwell’s nose, the cartilage giving beneath the blow.
With a grunt, Trestwell stumbled aside, one hand reaching for the fountain to shore him up.
Eva swooped in between them, arms held out like a constable. “Stop it!”
Protecting his gut with a crooked arm, Bram shook out his hand as he sidestepped Eva, every nerve on high alert. Who knew what the enraged man would do next.
“This isn’t finished, Webb.” Blood oozed through Trestwell’s fingers as he probed his broken nose. “This isn’t finished at all.”
“Yes, it is. I will have nothing more to say or do with you, and if you come after me, Miss Inman, or the dig in any way in the future, I shall press legal charges. Is that understood?”
Trestwell’s upper lip curled as he wheeled about. Slinging his coat over his shoulder, he stalked toward the carriage yard.
Finally able to let down his guard, Bram doubled over, catching his breath while nursing his sore gut.
A light hand rested on his shoulder. “You are hurt.”
“I am fine.” But a groan slipped out, belying his words.
“You are most certainly not! Let’s get you inside. You need to sit down.”
