The ladies lift the conversation back to neutral territory. It’s hard not to feel the hostility radiating off my father. And the contempt from Pippa.
After what can be considered an awkward meal, everyone gathers to mingle. I’m ready to head back to the hotel. But as Marlow makes her way toward me, as though lying in wait for this exact moment, I opt to throw myself to the lion—that had been my grandfather’s nickname on the field and was passed down to me as a legacy player. Well, at first, they called me Cub, but after the third championship win, I graduated to the leader of the pride.
Meanwhile, my father, Rhett Collins, son of the famous Cap Collins, never played football. But my father isn’t someone Iwant to meet in any sort of field, grassland, or ballroom because he’s ferocious in his own way.
Though I’d rather face him than Marlow. I change course and hightail it over to my parents, the Thompsons, and Pippa. Maybe I can get her alone for a moment and explain what happened all those years ago at Hinnifin.
From somewhere in the room, the music comes up, signaling it’s time to begin the post-dinner dance.
A tall, slim figure approaches Pippa. He wears tails and carries himself with the arrogant posture of the untouchable. I recognize him from various gatherings I attended with Freddie over the years. Whereas some might argue that I’m a rake, a lovable one at that, Benedict Moss is worse than a rogue. He’s a libertine, a scoundrel dressed up in finery, addressed with a title, and with stupid amounts of money.
My sister Erica loves historical romance books and forced me to join her book club when I was fourteen. Let’s just say I took notes.
According to Freddie, Benedict uses his financial clout and perverse sense of morality to lure women into losing their virtue, and in some cases, their minds. Supposedly, his hinges aren’t screwed in too tightly and it rubs off.
His sharp eyes lock on Pippa. “What delicious morsel do we have here?” he asks with faux charm.
She steps back slightly as if wanting to maintain space between herself and a feral animal.
He takes her hand and kisses her knuckles. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet this fine creature.”
She flinches and her eyes dart from left to right as if looking for an escape route.
“Hello, Benedict,” Mrs. Thompson says measuredly as if she, too has his number.
Mr. Thompson claps him on the back. “Pleasure to see you. How are things on the high street?” I gather this is a lead-in to discuss investments.
“Perfumy and I dare say this elegant minx smells divine.” Benedict runs his nose up Pippa’s neck, mere inches from her skin, taking a big whiff. I half expect him to lick her to see what she tastes like. His eyes practically swirl with crazy.
Mrs. Thompson looks scandalized.
Mr. Thompson guffaws like it’s a joke.
“My lady, may I request your hand...to take a turn around the dance floor?”
She nearly gasps, then wilts as he draws her close.
According to the stories, there is nothing funny about this man, even though he comes off as a flamboyantly passionate member of the gentry. If Freddie were here, he’d intervene—probably throw the guy out on the stoop.
I can’t tell because Pippa wears a long gown, but I’d wager she digs in her heels as he practically drags her toward the ballroom floor.
“Go ahead, darling. Benedict is known for making sound investments.” Mr. Thompson nods at his wife as if giving his approval for his future son-in-law.
Blood rushes in my ears. I’m Freddie’s best friend and if he let me get away with teasing Pippa as if she were also my little sister—if only to create a boundary I wouldn’t cross and break the bro code—that also means it’s my duty to protect her.
I’m by Pippa’s side in two short strides. “Actually, she promised me the first dance.”
I take her other hand and give it the subtlest of squeezes.
Benedict looks me over like I’m too common to bother with, or he wants to kill me in a duel, which one, I’m not sure.
I’ll take my chances either way. I don’t have anything to prove, and I could take the guy down one-handed. Then again,people like him are so arrogant that they don’t recognize when they’re outmatched.
Too bad for him.
Lucky for me.
“Is that so?” His voice is oily.
