Every muscle in Bishop’s body went taut.
For an instant, he thought perhaps he was mistaken, that this couldn’t be the same lanky boy who had once called himself a friend. But the way Alyssia reacted, there was no mistaking it.
John Rafferty.
Coveter of things that were not his.
The name alone was enough to sour his blood. Twelve years had dulled the memory of this particular person. However, he did remember, as Knox had pointed out, the way he’d always watched what others possessed and tried to either make it his own or best it. Bishop had seen it and ignored it back then. He wouldn’t again.
Bishop shifted, stepping forward, positioning himself so that he stood between Alyssia and the man—notbarring her, but placing himself squarely in the line of sight. His gaze locked on Rafferty. “Is there a problem?”
“How fortuitous, Lady Alyssia. I’d begun to think you’d left London entirely.” His gaze slid, insolent, from her face to her bosom. “And yet here you are, looking radiant.”
Bishop’s teeth ground together, temper sparking. The blackguard’s tone was bloody grating. He felt it in his knuckles—the instinct to strike, to cut the man’s words out of existence. “Iasked, is there a problem?”
Rafferty finally scowled his way. “Who are you?”
“I believe that’s my line,” Bishop said. “Who the devil areyou?”
“That’s none of your concern,” Rafferty growled. “But since the lady is of my concern, who you are is as well.”
You dare.
“I am none of your concern, sir,” Alyssia spoke up, firmer than Bishop had ever heard her. “And this man is my husband, so you’d best have the decency to take care.”
“Decency?” Rafferty laughed softly, fury bleeding from the man as his gaze glanced between the two of them. “I heard you’d wed but didn’t believe it to be true. Does your husband know about your past?”
Bloody hell. “I know that you’re a worthless coward who resorts to tricks to try to trap an innocent woman into marriage.”
“Is that what she told you?”
“That is whatI believe.”
“Then you must be just as damaged as she is.”
“Rafferty,” Bishop said, his tone low and dangerous.
The man laughed. “So you do know who I am. You have me at a disadvantage.”
“It seems you haven’t changed from the past at all then since that has always been your natural state, has it not?”
Rafferty took a threatening step forward. “Just who the hell are you?”
“Not afriend.”
The man sneered. “I thought I knew every ghost in London. But it seems one’s come back to haunt me. Or are you just posturing? One never knows what to believe.”
“Believe this.” Bishop stepped in closer, deliberately close enough that Rafferty had to tilt his head back a fraction. “If you ever so much as look at my wife again, I will break every finger you have.”
A murmur rippled through those nearest, but he didn’t care.
“And I’ll help,” Alyssia said cheekily.
Some of his anger cleared enough to chuckle. “Very well, princess. I’ll let you take half.”
Rafferty bristled, tossing out, “Tell me, was the dowry compensation enough for another man’s leftov—”
Bishop’s fist connected before the word finished leaving Rafferty’s mouth, striking him square in the Adam’s apple. The man staggered back, shock twisting his face before the pain caught up, eyes wide, hand clawing at his throat. The sound splitting through the music was deuced satisfying, as was the sight of the earl falling to his knees, making choking sounds.
