“That’s what I heard,” Dougal growled. He pressed the man flatter against the wall, his arms digging into the banker’s chest. “I came out to say farewell to my hostess,” he went on, his voice rough with rage. “I heard you threaten her, saw you grab her.” He slammed Roderick tight against the wall as the man struggled to get free. “Heard you say you would ruin her.”
“Mr. Stewart—Dougal—please let him go,” Meg said.
“Are you harmed, madam?” He continued to glare at Roderick.
“I am fine.” She glanced toward the house to see the businessmen who had been talking with Dougal now gathered with Angela and Guy, Mrs. Larrimore, the butler, and a cluster of maids, all gaping at them. “Truly. Let him go.”
“When he apologizes,” Dougal growled.
“I need not apologize for proposing to the lady again,” Roderick said. “She was about to accept when you interfered.”
“Is that so, Lady Strathlin?” Dougal asked, barely audible.
“I—well, he asked—”
“Is it true?” he demanded.
She looked at Dougal, with his strong, fierce heart, and Roderick, whose heart was cold and vicious. She loved one and loathed the other. And she had to protect one from the other now.
“He asked,” she whispered. “He did me no harm. Let him go.”
The silence was tense and brittle. Dougal stared at Roderick. Then, with a low growl, he let go suddenly and stepped back.
Adjusting his coat, Roderick glared at Dougal. “You will regret this, sir.”
“I regret nothing that might happen if you threaten her again.” Dougal flickered a glance toward Meg, and away.
“Our business agreement,” Matheson growled, “is over. I withdraw my offer.”
“So be it.” Dougal tugged at his shirt cuffs.
“Madam,” Roderick said, “we will continue our discussion later. I am flattered that you desire to accept my—”
“I never did!” Meg gasped.
But he held up a hand. “I am sure you feel embarrassed. Ladies should not indulge in more than a glass or two of wine. It sets their heads to reeling. I may withdraw my proposal in light of such appalling misconduct.”
“I have never misconducted myself,” she snapped.
“No? Not even once, years ago? Seven years, is it?” He smirked.
“Get out,” she said low.
As Matheson moved, Dougal stepped between them as if to shield her. Meg breathed hard, panicked, praying Dougal had not heard the cruel reference to seven years ago, praying equally that her cousin would never learn the identity of her son’s father.
“Good night. An excellent party until now.” Roderick gave a curt bow and turned. The crowd by the door parted as he walked through, shouldering past Guy Hamilton, who gave him a dull blow to the stomach with his elbow.
“I beg your pardon,” Guy said.
Roderick stormed past, heading for the front door. Meg heard it slam even from the garden.
Dougal waited in silence as the others drifted away. She was grateful for his guarding presence, for her limbs shook so muchthat she could hardly walk back to the house yet. Glad just to be in the calming moonlight, she found a bench and sat, skirts spreading.
She glanced at him. “Thank you.”
He inclined his head. “Thank you, Lady Strathlin, for—a pleasant evening.”
“Apart from the last few minutes?”
