“I’ll have to ask you to lea—”
“I won’t be back—unless I hear of another wager concerning Lady Georgiana Halley. If I do hear of one, ever, I will burn this place to the ground, so help me God.” Before any of the more burly footmen could move in to escort him out of the club, he strode forward and grabbed Fitzimmons by the cravat. “Now, for the last damned time, Fitzsimmons, who placed this wager?”
“It…Your brother did, my lord. Bradshaw.”
Tristan froze. “Brad…”
“Yes, my lord. Now please release m—”
Letting him go so quickly the man stumbled, Tristan stalked out of the club and hailed the first hack in sight. “Carroway House,” he growled, slamming the door closed behind him.
The midmorning traffic was heavy, which gave him more time to contemplate just how much damage Bradshaw’s wager had done. Of all the things he’d thought he might have to face with Georgiana, another wager hadn’t been one of them.
When the hack stopped he jumped down, threw a shilling at the driver, and strode up to the house. For once Dawkins was at his post, and nearly received a bloody nose when Tristan shoved the door open faster than the butler could pull it aside.
“Where’s Bradshaw?” he growled, flinging his greatcoat and hat to the floor.
“Master Bradshaw is in the billiards room, I bel—”
Tristan was up the stairs before Dawkins finished speaking. The billiards room door was halfway open, and he shoved it wide so hard, a painting in the hallway crashed to the ground. “Bradshaw!”
His brother straightened, a billiards cue in his hand, as Tristan hit him. They both went over the table and landed hard on the far side. Tristan was on his feet first, and slammed his fist into Bradshaw’s jaw.
Bradshaw rolled under the table and came up on the other side, snatching up his billiards cue as he stood. “What in damnation is wrong with you?” he demanded, swiping his hand across his cut lip.
Tristan circled the table, too angry even to speak. Bradshaw kept pace with him, keeping the table between them. Dawkins had apparently alerted the household that something was afoot, because Andrew and then Edward appeared in the doorway. Robert arrived a moment later.
“What’s going on?” Andrew asked, moving into the room.
“Get out,” Tristan spat at him. “This is between Bradshaw and me.”
“What is?”
“I don’t have a clue,” Bradshaw panted, wiping blood away again. “He’s gone mad. Just ran in here and attacked me!”
Tristan lunged over the table at him and caught a glancing blow from the billiards cue. It knocked him off-balance, and he crashed into Bradshaw’s shoulder instead of his chest. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, except that he wanted Bradshaw to hurt, because he hurt, and because Georgiana had been hurt.
“Make him stop!” Edward shouted, running forward.
Robert grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. “Let the big boys deal with this,” he said, and gave Edward to Andrew. “Take him downstairs.”
Andrew flushed. “But—”
“Now.”
“Damn.”
Robert stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him, locking out the servants and any other onlookers. “Stay out of this,” Tristan warned, shoving Bradshaw again.
“I will. Why are you killing him?”
“Because,” Tristan answered, aiming another blow that Bradshaw ducked at the last moment, “he made a wager.”
“I make wagers all the time,” Bradshaw exclaimed. “So do you!”
“You wagered about Georgiana, you bastard!”
Bradshaw stumbled over a chair leg and went down. Scrambling backward, he grabbed up the chair and held it in front of him. “What are you talking about? I made a wager about who you would end up married to. That’s all, Tris. For God’s sake, what’s wrong with you?”
