He charged, but Daniel had sized him up weeks ago when he’d seen the man hovering about Mrs. St. Maur while sending inquiries to confirm her dower payment.
Daniel ducked the fool’s blow but grasped the man’s weaker arm and twisted it behind Willingham’s back.
Willingham jerked and twisted but couldn’t buck free. “Ashbrook, let me go, so I can punch that nose.”
“Why would I indulge that? It would inhibit future kisses from my favorite client.”
“You pompous—” Willingham tried to wrench away.
Leaner than the brute, Daniel was strategic and twisted the fool’s arm until Willingham squealed like a pig. “Let go. Fight fair!”
“All’s fair in love and war. You’re intruding, Willingham. Stop being a boar.”
“Jemina, the fast-talking devil has bamboozled you. That’s what they do.”
Daniel crushed the fool’s fingers within his palm. “They? You mean barrister? Good barristers give our clients what they want. I’m very good. I’m what she wants.”
He shoved Willingham forward toward the door.
The fool charged back again leading with his left.
Daniel punched him in the jaw, delivering speed and power. Richmond would be proud, but all he had to do was imagine the sneer on his uncle’s face when he kicked Daniel, the boy, his heir, to the streets. With his bottled-up anger, he could beat Willingham or any man into the ground.
The fool squealed when Daniel caught him again and led him out of the parlor. “Do you understand, Willingham? You’re no longer welcome to Sandlin Court or to Mrs. St. Maur.”
Mr. Gerard waved at a footman. The front doors opened wide and Daniel flung the fool outside.
Picking himself off the ground, Willingham rubbed his arm. “Watch your back, Barrister.”
“Have your tailor watch yours. That’s a poor fit.” Daniel tossed the poorly made jacket at Willingham’s head. “Good day.”
The shipper stomped away to his carriage.
The doors closed.
Old Mr. Gerard tugged on his dark coat and stepped into Daniel’s way. “Do you know what you’re doing, your lordship?”
The man’s stare settled on Daniel. A thousand unsaid words of caution transmitted between the them.
“Getting rid of a pest for Mrs. St. Maur, Mr. Gerard.”
The old man, the old Blackamoor man, frowned. “Well, at least you chose the good heiress. Keep your head, sir. The mad ones seek revenge. They don’t like their noses tweaked by us or earls.”
What Mr. Gerard said was true. The realities of society life—knowing acceptable behavior and one’s place—all lay etched in the butler’s tired face.
“I’m an officer of the court, Mr. Gerard. I’ll be fine.”
“If you say so, sir. I’m rooting for you. My shillings are on black.”
Mr. Gerard proceeded into the grand hall while Daniel returned to the parlor.
The unpredictable widow found a vase for the lilies. She had the pomegranate in her palms. “I shall sketch this.”
“If you are wondering about Willingham, he’s gone. Been wanting to do that for a while. Goodness, that felt good.”
“What? Kissing me or beating on Willingham?”
He caught her gaze, those incredibly reddened lips, that teasing cupid’s bow.
