Page 19 of Reckless Desire

He gave a slow nod. “You have standards. Smart girl. Do those standards include things like pretty dresses, jewelry…a nice home to call your own?”

She frowned in confusion.

He grasped the back of her neck. “I can be very generous,” he murmured.

Kenna flattened her free hand on his chest and stopped his forward lean. “I think—”

The door creaked. Lord Wilshire’s eyes shifted past her. Kenna twisted and looked over her shoulder. Lord Newhall stood in the doorway.

“Get your bloody hands off her,” he ordered.

“This is a private conversation, Newhall,” Lord Wilshire said.

He strode toward them. Lord Wilshire removed his hand from her neck. Lord Newhall stopped before them. He seized her arm and pulled her to her feet.

“I beg your pardon?” Kenna yanked free.

Lord Wilshire stood. “I believe you did not hear me. Miss Ramsay and I are in the middle of a private conversation.” He reached for her.

Lord Newhall shoved her behind him. “Touch her again and I will kill you.”

Kenna stared. What had gotten into the man?

Lord Wilshire regarded him, then understanding lit his eyes. “You have already made the lady an offer.”

Lord Newhall lunged toward the marquess.

Chapter Six

Kenna backed up until the back of her legs struck the arm of the chair in front of the hearth. The two men hit the carpet in a tangle. They rolled. She stared in horror. She’d seen men fight, but hadn’t expected to see gentlemen at a grand ball scuffle like school boys. Lord Wilshire shoved Lord Newhall off him and they jumped to their feet. Lord Newhall rammed a fist into the marquess’s belly. That hadn’t been the punch of a school boy.

Kenna’s stomach clenched when Lord Newhall rammed a shoulder into the marquess’s belly and drove him back into the divan. One of the divan’s legs broke and they fell against the divan’s back. Lord Wilshire drove his fist into Lord Newhall’s jaw. Lord Newhall’s head snapped back, and fear lanced through her when he groaned. He shoved off the marquess and jumped up. Lord Wilshire leapt to his feet and stumbled back. His shoulder hit the wall. He snapped his head up, his attention fixing on the swords mounted just above his head.

Kenna’s heart leapt into her throat. He wouldn’t.

He yanked one, then the other from the wall and tossed one sword, blade ceilingward, toward Lord Newhall. Lord Newhall caught the hilt and whipped the blade through the air. Lord Wilshire took three steps toward Lord Newhall—just within reach of his sword. Both men tucked their left arms behind them, touched blades, then steel rang.

Kenna couldn’t believe what was happening. Why was Lord Newhall so angry?

Lord Wilshire parried. Lord Newhall backed up several steps. Fear coursed through her.

“I am the better swordsman,” Lord Wilshire said. “Relent.”

Lord Newhall growled, but continued to retreat under the marquess’s attack. Lord Newhall lunged. His blade ripped through the fabric of Lord Wilshire’s left pantleg.

“These are my favorite breeches,” the marquess growled.

Kenna wanted to cry. If the marquess backed him against a wall, then—

She spun around the chair and got a face full of cravat. The gentleman she’d slammed into grasped her shoulders and set her at arms’ length.

“What happened?” he demanded.

She shook her head. “I-I do not know. I was speaking with Lord Wilshire and—”

The man’s eyes widened. She looked over her shoulder and cried out at sight of the tear in Lord Newhall’s left sleeve. Lord Newhall’s sword swished through the air and ripped the lower edge of his opponent’s cravat.

“Stop them,” Kenna cried.