“Why, you vile old man,” she snapped, her head back to meet the duke eye-to-eye, her hands clenched on her hips. “How dare you threaten him?”
The duke actually looked a bit taken aback. Flint was trying not to smile. Winnie looked like she had a box for a circus.
“And who are you to talk to me that way?” his father demanded of the woman who barely came up to his breastbone.
“I’m nobody,” she assured him with a sharp tap to the chest. “But this nobody can see that you don’t deserve a son like Flint. What have you done after all, to match his sacrifices? Or even, come to think of it, deserve them?”
Flint was on his feet now. She was about to get into trouble.
His father was pulling himself up to his formidable height and staring all the way down the ducal nose.
“You are speaking to a duke,” he growled. “You have no idea what responsibilities I have.”
She waved a hand in his face. “Bah! Have you risked your life on a battlefield? Walked right into the killing fields of cannon fire or held for hours a walled enclosure that has been described as a holocaust? Do you even care that he bears scars from pushing his way into a blazing building to try to save his men from that hell? Have you lived every moment of your life since carrying the weight of the men you couldn’t save? Have you ever once even asked what your son has sacrificed not only for his country and his men, but for you? Howdareyou belittle him, when I doubt you have so much as sacrificed your dinner to protect those you love.”
Flint was absolutely frozen. She was punctuating each accusation with a finger jab into the ducal chest.
“He lied to you,” the duke sneered down at her. “He was never to marry you. Why on earth would you defend him?’
She pointed in Flint’s direction. “I would defend him for those scars he bears. I just cannot imagine why you do not.”
“You don’t think he should do his duty and marry you?”
Everybody in the room turned on her. She flushed.
“I am quite finished being anyone’sduty,” she said, and turned for the door. “There is a position waiting for me in Derbyshire.”
Flint almost waited too long to catch hold of her. “Yes, there is. But it’s not in that paltry school. Now, come.”
“You’re going nowhere,” the duke barked, “Or I will not help thisfriendof yours.”
Flint stopped, a struggling Felicity in his grasp, and bestowed a cold smile on his sire. “I wasn’t speaking of you. I was speaking of Wellington. He values heroism and loyalty. Especially the kind of heroism that saved his own life. Besides, the House of Lords likes Francis better than you, too.”
“You will not—”
“Enough!” Winnie suddenly barked. “I might enjoy a good dust-up on occasion, but this is beginning to bear all the hallmarks of a French farce. And since it is my room, I can toss the lot of you out. Except for Francis. Now, go. I need to talk with him.”
“This is notyourhouse, madame,” the duke snapped.
“No,” Flint agreed. “It ismyhouse. Unless you want to take back your promise in front of witnesses.”
Giving his father a gentle shove towards the door, Flint took better hold of Felicity’s arm before she could protest.
“Now, Felicity,” he said, meeting his fiancée’s blazing glare, “you and I have a discussion to finish.”
Flint gathered up the gun, handed it to the slack-jawed duke, and guided Felicity out the door. He had the most disconcerting feeling that he spotted a glint of humor in his father’s eyes.
Chapter 15
Well, Felicity thought sourly, at least this time she wasn’t under the bed. She had been plopped on top of it like an unwanted package.
“Now then,” Flint snapped, slamming the door shut.
Felicity drew a shaky breath and pushed a hand against her stomach. “Do you have a chamber pot?” she asked.
He stopped and stared. “A what?”
She pressed her other hand against her mouth. “A chamber pot. A vase. Anything.”
