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Bracknell intervened in a calming tone. “I personally agree, Miss Martin, which is why I’m pleased to say Mr. Kingsley wishes to atone by raising the child himself.”

“Victor Kingsley forced himself on a housemaid, got her with child, had her sent to prison for trying to defend herself, was ultimately responsible for her death in childbirth . . . and now you want to give him her baby? That’s not atonement, it’s a reward for murder!”

“It’s his right as the baby’s father,” York said.

“He has no rights over this child,” Reina snapped. “You’re barking mad if you expect me to hand my son over to a family that produced a monster who brutalizes women. Benjamin will be raised by me, in a safe and loving home.”

“Safe?” York asked scornfully. “Loving? You claim this”—he gestured disdainfully at their surroundings—“would be superior to the home of a respectable family with connections to nobility? You live with convicts. You’re a social leper—a bastard-born unmarried woman—”

“Miss Martin ain’t no social leopard!” Belinda cried, leaping between them to shout into the startled lawyer’s face. “She’s the best lady in the world! The smartest one! Smarter than you!”

Before he could reply, an unearthly growl resounded through the entrance hall.

At some point during the exchange, Maddock had entered the house with Norman and had heard enough to realize what was happening. He stood there with his head lowered like a bull’s, his hands clenched into weapons. He didn’t look like himself. He looked like a demon who’d just shed his human casing and was now ready for carnage.

Holy living fuck, John thought.

“Maddock,” he said urgently, “stop. For your own bloody sake. Damn you, Maddock, look at me.”

The coachman didn’t seem to hear him, or any of the others, who were imploring him to wait. He started toward the pair of lawyers, and John moved to block him, feeling as if he’d just stepped in front of an oncoming railway express.

Before Maddock reached him, however, a small figure rushed between them. It was June.

“What the blazes are you doing, you overgrown codpiece?” she demanded, her exasperation seeming to pierce the fog of bloodlust.

“They came to take the baby,” Maddock told her in a guttural voice. “They called Miss Martin a social leopard.”

“No . . . more . . . murderin’,” June said firmly. “You promised.”

“I ain’t gonna murder ’em all the way. I’m only gonna murder ’em a little.”

“No, Mad.” Her eyes narrowed as she heard the sound he made. “Don’t you bloody growl at me!”

“I ain’t growling, I’m fuckin’ breathing.”

“Well, you sound like a chuffin’ boar in rut.” She folded her arms and stared at him expectantly.

Gradually, with grueling effort, Maddock gained control over himself. He let out a few snorts of rage, flexed his hands, rolled and cracked his neck. Finally the massive shoulders relaxed, and he stood there looking surly.

Later John would reflect on the significance of that moment, when it became clear that Maddock had changed down to his core. It proved he could pull himself back from a rage and choose not to harm someone. His hard-won self-control was a victory over a life that had given him no chance to succeed.

It meant there was real hope for him.

“Good man,” John said sincerely. “Well done.” He drew closer to June and said beneath his breath, “Take him out of here.”

“What do you expect me to do with him?” she asked.

“I don’t bloody know, just keep him away until he’s cooled off.”

Obligingly June towed Maddock out of the entrance hall like a scrappy Thames tug hauling an ironclad cargo leviathan.

John returned to Reina, who was confronting the pair of lawyers with her fists clenched.

“—tell Mr. Kingsley that if he or his family tries to take my son from me,” Reina was saying, “I will personally smash his remaining testicle. I’ll—” She stopped as she saw Mr. York smirk.

Reina was resilient and smart, but she lacked the essential brutality to be able to threaten someone physically.

John didn’t have that problem.