“Hewitt,” Ambrose croaked, scrabbling at Vincent’s arm, but he kept applying pressure until his adversary’s eyes bulged.
“You will do nothing to her,” Vincent ground out, seething with fury. “You won’t try to contact her, you won’t speak to her, you won’t so much as look at her. If you do, I’ll break every bone in your hands.”
Ambrose paled — either from the threat or from lack of air. Either way, Vincent was finished with him and stepped back so he could breathe.
Grabbing at his own throat, Ambrose rubbed the skin above his necktie as if to soothe it.
“That was rash of you. I could charge you with assault.”
“You could,” Vincent said. “Why don’t you go ahead and try? In the meantime, get out of my house. And I shall look for that public confession inThe Times. Otherwise, to the Court of Chancery we will go.”
Opening his study door, he stood back so Ambrose could leave.
He brushed by without another word.
After the successfuldinner with her parents, Brilliance had expected Vincent to send his card requesting to see her or perhaps send an invitation to a social event.
For a few days, nothing happened, which was a disappointment. She went to a ball with Lord Redley and didn’t bother looking for Vincent, since she hadn’t seen him at any of the Season’s festivities, neither in the spring nor since returning to London.
But the following morning, their butler brought her a calling card on his silver salver.
Jumping to her feet, Brilliance read it swiftly and asked, “Is Lord Hewitt waiting?”
“No, my lady. His footman bought the card with a request to see you later today if you are free. At two o’clock. Would you like me to give the man a reply?”
“Thank you, Mr. Dunley. Please tell the footman to tell Lord Hewitt that I will be here at two o’clock and shall expect him.”
“Very good.”
Thus, she had to wait on pins and needles for the correct hour, knowing Vincent to be a punctual sort of person. The clock had not yet struck the hour when she heard Mr. Dunley admitting Vincent to her home.
Appearing in the doorway, Brilliance waved at him.
“Do come in. Please bring the tea service,” she asked the butler who was collecting Vincent’s coat and hat.
And then, after greeting, at last, they were seated in the drawing room.Alone.
He pushed his spectacles up his nose. “Should you request a maid or your mother?”
“I don’t see any need. I vow I have snuck a peek at each of my sisters as they entertained a suitor without a chaperone. And Mr. Dunley will be in momentarily with the refreshments. It is not as though he will find us in an embrace.”
She smoothed her skirts, then looked up at him. “Will he?”Oh, dear. She definitely had the tone of longing and hope in her voice.
“No,” he said quickly.
Drat!It occurred to her, despite the happy butterflies in her belly, that Vincent hadn’t come on a social call as she had hoped. But she’d been wrong before.
“Did you come today in order to begin courting me once more?” She might as well ask.
“No,” he said again, looking uncomfortable. “I came because I was paid a visit yesterday by Ambrose Castern.”
Now she understood. He was there to tell her the results of the solicitor’s letter.
“Did you and he work things out satisfactorily?”
Mr. Dunley came in promptly with the tea service since they’d been preparing for the exact moment of Vincent’s arrival. The tea was perfectly steeped and ready to pour, the milk was in the cups, and there was a plate of delectables.
Vincent said nothing while she poured for them both and offered him the plate with biscuits and small custard tarts.
