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Only a bufflehead could mistake his blatant innuendo.

“I’m warning you for the last time. Just one more word, and I shall forget that I’m a gentleman and that when I returned home, I did so determined to end the squabble between our families.” Lord Sterling advanced, ire radiating off him in scorching waves.

Was this typical behavior, or had Simon provoked this wrath?

Lord Sterling flexed his hand, a hard smile playing around the edges of his firm mouth. “I think I’d rather enjoy rearranging your face.”

“You could try.” An equally uncompromising glint shone in Simon’s eyes.

Eden put a staying hand on Lord Sterling’s arm. “My lord. Don’t.”

In truth, the men were well-matched in size and weight.

Simon and his lordship must not come to blows, for undoubtedly a duel would follow. Timothy and Prentice needed their father, even if he was an intolerable man, and his grace needed his son too. Despite Lord Sterling and the duke refusing to acknowledge that truth.

“Simon is goading you. It’s what he does. He enjoys poking and harassing until he gets a reaction, and then acts like he’s the victim.”

How many times had Eden seen him take this tactic? Most often with her. Unfortunately, more often than not, she eventually lost her patience and reacted, just as he’d hoped she would.

“And you’ll what, Sterling? Call me out?”

Simon’s derisive laugh rang harshly in the peaceful surroundings.

“Do you think I’m afraid? You’re as big a coward as your sniveling brother was. He pissed himself before the poltroon tried to flee the field. You just stood there, watching it all, and now you dare defend this tart?”

Haughty and full of self-importance, Simon pointed his aquiline nose in the air.

It did rather look like a bird’s beak. A parrot’s or a cockatoo’s in particular.

“You may hold a title, Sterling, but neither you nor your kin know a modicum about gentlemanly honor or pride.”

Before Eden could blink, Simon lay upon his back, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He spat into the dirt as Mama, leaning on Mattie’s arm, shuffled from the house.

“Eglantina? What goes on here?” Mama called. “Why did that young man strike Simon?”

Bother and rot.

Eden didn’t dare let her regard stray from Simon’s infuriated countenance. She made a shooing motion behind her.

“Mama, go back into the house, please. Mattie, take her inside and make her tea. I’ll be in shortly and explain.”

To her knowledge, Simon had never been humiliated like this before, and God only knew how he might respond. His puffed-up pride knew no end, and he put tremendous import on appearances. Plus, he truly did think himself superior, and Lord Sterling had neatly knocked him down a peg.

From the corner of her eye, she covertly scanned the area for a weapon. A garden hoe or a shovel would do. Even a fist-sized rock would suffice, should he be rash enough to attack his lordship.

A flash of heat engulfed her, and she swallowed against the prickly sensations tickling her throat.

Could she actually strike Simon? Her own brother?

By jingle, to defend his lordship she could.

That revelation would have to be dissected later when she could ponder exactly why.

Besides, Simon had never acted the least bit brotherly toward her. Ever.

“I demand satisfaction.” Simon could barely get the words past his clenched jaw.

Of course he did, dash it to ribbons.