“Then I will allow you the lead. I am here for whatever aid I can give.”
James scrubbed a hand over his face. “Thank you.”
They lifted the knocker and waited for the butler to permit them inside. Bengard was home, but needed a moment before he could meet them.
They filed into a pale yellow room with red and gold accents. The tall, regal drapes were done in the French style, and the groupings of furniture hardly filled the space. It was easy to see what Kitty liked about the man—she would have been a viscountess and lived in a veritable palace. If his London house was so grand, his estate must have been enormous.
Footsteps came down the corridor, and the men exchanged a glance. It was time.
Bengard strolled in, his dark brows like slashes above his deep-set eyes. He was elegantly attired as though prepared to go out, and he carried a walking stick. “Whitby. Shepherd. What can I do for you?”
James inhaled. “I’ve come on a matter of honor.”
“Oh, dash it all. If you’ve come here to throw your glove at me, it won’t do. I’ve never once looked at your sister.”
James clenched his teeth. “As a matter of fact, it has nothing at all to do with Caro. I’ve recently become engaged to Kitty Fielding.”
Bengard grew stiff. His hand shifted atop the walking stick. “What does she have to do with anything?”
“You know very well.” James took a step closer. “I believe you still have the marking of my fist on your cheekbone just there.”
“Vauxhall?” Bengard’s eyes flashed. “It might be I who throws a glove today.”
“No one will enter into any duels,” James retorted. “I’veonly come to lay a warning in your ear. If so much as one more word is spoken about that night, I will be certain to inform thetonwho laid you flat.”
James waited, but Bengard said nothing. He merely stood with his lips pressed together, seething.
“I know you have something of a reputation at Jackson’s saloon. Heard it from your brother-in-law myself while we were boxing. You wouldn’t want it known you were flattened in one easy hit by a man half your age.”
“Half! That is quite enough,” Bengard said. “You may see yourselves out.”
“Have I made myself clear?” James asked. He was barely a decade younger than the man, but clearly more fit. His threat wasn’t grand, but he only wanted Bengard to know he would not hesitate to do it again, should the need arise—should the man not cease to hold his tongue.
There was a beat of silence. Bengard looked poised to strike, anger evident on his face. Tristan held his breath, ready to come to James’s aid should he need it.
“Quite clear,” Bengard said. His attention shifted to Tristan. “Though I suppose that means Miss Whitby is fair sport? A pretty little figure, she has. Wouldn’t mind trying my hand?—”
He could not finish his thought before Tristan had closed the space between them and sent him sprawling with a smart knock across the face. The very idea of Bengardthinkingabout Caroline had sent such fury through him, he acted without consideration. He and James stood looking down at the viscount, Tristan’s hand stinging as though he had tried to shove it through a stone wall.
James looked at him. “Hadn’t expected that.”
“Nor I,” Tristan muttered.
James clapped him on the shoulder. “My sister is in good hands.”
“A broken hand, perhaps.”
“Don’t fear. The pain will abate.”
Tristan shook his head, trying to bend his knuckles, but stopped at once.
When they returned to their carriage, James slumped against the seat. “What do you say to a quick stop at White’s? I could use a drink.”
Tristan was eager to return to Caroline, but he relented. Shaking out his hand, he waited for the stinging to ebb. It would be good to be done with the pain before seeing her again. “A quick one.”
James had his drink,and they made a quick visit to Marblegate before returning to the Whitbys’ house. They found their mothers seated together in the parlor, Kitty and Caroline opposite them, deep in conversation about the best time and place to host the weddings.
A tea tray sat untouched on the table between them all.
