Page 27

“I believe excessive drink has affected your reasoning, Kilbourne. Nicolette Twistleton is an astute, intelligent woman, and she realized long ago, she’d been spared a life of misery when you jilted her.” He casually adjusted the cuff of one gray glove. “By the way, how is the Duchess of Kilbourne?”

Kilbourne chuckled, nastily. “As frigid as Loch Ness and Nicolette Twistleton. It seems a man can only get a satisfying swive with a whore or an actress.”

Mathias balled his fists and forced himself to count to five when what he longed to do was clobber the assling.

I shouldn’t.

It will cause a scandal and upset Mother and Nicolette.

Kilbourne’s face flushed, and his expression turned belligerent. “Wives might spread their legs before marriage, but as soon as the vows are exchanged, they clamp their thighs together like old maids or virgin nuns. Isn’t that right?”

Well pleased with himself at his crude jest, he chuckled again and looked to his friends for confirmation.

As neither was married, they rolled their shoulders, wariness creeping across their faces as they observed Mathias’s growing wrath.

Just one punch.

Squarely on his perfectly straight nose.

Mathias counted to five. Then counted to five again.

Think of Mother.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Think of Nicolette.

Think of Megan.

Do not consider how bloody, damn satisfying it would be to knock the sod on his ass.

“Have you managed to thaw the Spiteful Spinster, Westfall?” Kilbourne poured another finger’s worth of whisky into his glass then cut Mathias a side-eyed glance. “For by God, the prude never permitted me more than a chaste kiss upon the cheek during our betrothal. Was it any wonder I found release elsewhere?”

Two punches.

One on the nose and another to shut his gob.

“Kilbourne?”

The duke turned his flushed, slightly puffy face to Mathias.

“What?” he asked insolently.

Mathias bent down and whispered into his ear. “If I ever hear Nicolette Twistleton’s name on your foul tongue again, or if I hear the smallest snippet of gossip about her that originated from you, you will answer to me.”

“I thought you weren’t courting the chit,” Kilbourne scoffed. The edges of his eyes crinkled, and a shrewd glint entered his bloodshot gaze. “Or…have you had more success bedding the chit than I did? There are bets on the books that you have, but I didn’t give them any credit. I’d never taken Nicolette for a promiscuous strumpet.”

Christ and all of the saints, give me strength and lots of it

Mathias closed his eyes for a heartbeat struggling to corral his swiftly burgeoning temper.

Had people nothing better to do than wager on something so vulgar and demeaning as Nicolette’s virtue?

“I might have to place a wager myself now,” Kilbourne muttered conversationally as if they discussed the latest racehorse the Duke of Waycross had purchased at Tattersall’s

One, two, three—oh, to hell with it.

Mathias had Kilbourne by the cravat and out of his chair in a heartbeat. “I did warn you.”