Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

"W hat the devil happened to you?" Jack asked.

James walked past him on his way down to the kitchens. He held his handkerchief to his cheek. "A minor mishap."

Jack followed after him. There was a periodical folded in his hand. "Is that blood? "

"A kitten scratch."

"A kitten climbed up your face ? Good God, don't tell me. Hannah Heywood was somehow involved."

James ignored his brother. Entering the kitchen, he signaled to the cook. She was alone in front of the fire, drinking a cup of tea. "I require a pot of salve," he said. "And a plaster wouldn't go amiss."

Cook was immediately on her feet. "Right away, my lord." She bobbed a curtsy before disappearing into the store cupboard.

"The timing couldn't be worse," Jack said. "Considering what's transpired."

James went to the sink. He wet his handkerchief at the tap. Wringing it out, he again brought it to his cheek. "What is it you're muttering about?"

"I was at the Pump Room this morning, talking with Colonel Jensen about the possibility of joining his regiment, when I saw Lord Fennick huddled with Miss Paley and several others. I heard one of them mention?—"

Cook returned before Jack could finish his story. She unscrewed the lid from a small jar of salve as she approached. "Might I have a look at it, sir?"

James dutifully removed his handkerchief, revealing the scratch on his cheek. "Courtesy of a very small cat," he informed her.

"Dirty beasts," Cook said as she inspected the wound. "But it should heal up right enough, so long as you keep it clean." She motioned to one of the chairs at the plank table. "Sit down, my lord, if you please. I'll tend to it."

James obeyed her. Taking a seat, he waited while she cleaned and treated the scratch, and then covered it with a sticking plaster.

Jack hovered nearby. "Can you give us a moment?" he asked when she'd finished.

Cook collected the salve and the remains of her nursing kit. She bobbed another curtsy before slipping out the door. It was well past luncheon and many hours yet until dinner. In the Cook's absence, the kitchen temporarily stood empty, with no sign of any footmen or scullery maids to interrupt them.

"What's that you're brandishing about?" James asked his brother, irritated.

Jack tossed the folded periodical to him across the table. "See for yourself."

James picked it up. It was a thin journal, neatly bound, with its name printed across the cover: The Animal Advocate . He lifted his gaze. "Where did you get this?"

"It was one of several dozen, stacked high on the counter at the draper's shop in Milsom Street. They're giving them away to anyone who wants a copy." Jack's expression was uncharacteristically sober. "You'll find Hannah's contribution on page sixteen."

James flipped through the pages until he found it—a brief essay illustrated with a drawing of a cat eating from a small, flat dish. He scanned Hannah's words. On reading them, his first reaction was one of pride. She wrote with eloquence and economy, getting straight to the heart of the matter. She also employed compassion in her argument. He would have expected nothing less.

"What of it?" he asked.

"You're not alarmed?"

"That she's contributed to an animal welfare journal? No."

"That she's used her full name." Jack tapped his finger on a line of small print below the essay's title.

James's eyes followed. He hadn't noticed it at first glance, but the attribution jumped out at him now so boldly—so blatantly—that it might have been emblazoned across the sky.

"Written by Miss Hannah Heywood," Jack said grimly. "How many Hannah Heywoods are there in the West Country, I wonder? Only one, I'd guess. And so has everyone else who has read her name here, Fennick included."

James slowly set down the journal and met his brother's gaze. "What about Fennick?"

"That's how I knew to look at the draper's shop," Jack said. "That blackguard and his cronies were bandying about Hannah's name at the Pump Room."

James's blood simmered with fury. "Were they."

"Had I not been with Colonel Jensen, I would have done something about it there and then. Indeed, I should have done. Fennick was making her a figure of fun. He was laughing at her."

Laughing at Hannah?

No longer simmering, James's blood swiftly rose to a raging boil. He stood from the table. "Where is he now?"

Jack took a step back. Something he saw in James's face made his own face lose its color. "He and the others went into Kelston for the afternoon. I heard him say he wouldn't be returning until this evening. He plans to attend the concert at the Assembly Rooms."

"How fortuitous," James said. "So do I."

* * *

James arrived at the Assembly Rooms that evening to find Lord Fennick standing with a small group of acquaintances by one of the four fireplaces in the Octagon Room. Several other ladies and gentlemen were similarly disposed throughout the room. Hannah wasn't among them.

"You're not going to cause a scene, I trust," Jack said, following in James's wake as he crossed the floor toward Fennick.

James's gaze was fixed on his former schoolmate. "I shouldn't think it likely."

"Nor would I," Jack said under his breath, "in normal circumstances."

Fennick turned his head as they approached. He was dressed in elegant eveningwear, his hair and mustache pomaded into meticulous order. Seeing James, his mouth curved into a smug smile. "St. Clare."

Two of the ladies in Fennick's party joined him in staring at James. One of them was Miss Paley.

"Lord St. Clare!" she exclaimed. "I hoped we might have the pleasure of seeing you here."

James acknowledged the ladies with a stiff bow, his attention never straying from his quarry. "A word, Fennick," he said.

Fennick's face glimmered with suppressed mirth. He addressed the ladies and gentlemen in his party: "If you will excuse me?"

Miss Paley and the others followed him with their eyes as he strolled away to join James.

"You have something to say to me?" Fennick asked.

James faced him. His temper had cooled only slightly since Jack's revelations in the kitchen. Very slightly. Anger still kindled within him—hot and unpredictable. It wouldn't take much to bring it back into full flame. "I warned you," he said.

Fennick's mouth curled wider. "Warned me about what?"

"About whom," Jack corrected from his place beside James.

Fennick snorted. "Who are you meant to be? His second?"

"An exceedingly interested bystander," Jack shot back. "I've been waiting to witness this moment my entire life."

James ignored his brother. "I told you not to mention her name," he said to Fennick.

"I presume you're speaking of Miss Heywood?"

"I am."

"And just what is it you're accusing me of?"

James didn't hesitate. "Of being an ungentlemanly lout."

Fennick's smile turned brittle. "Ungentlemanly? That's something, coming from you." He moved closer to James. "And you wonder why I dislike you?"

"I don't wonder at all," James said.

"All those years at school, acting as though you were better than the rest of us. And all the while you were nothing more than the son of a known?—"

"Say it," James said quietly, "and I'll smash your teeth down your throat."

Fennick gave another derisive snort. "You wouldn't dare. Just as you didn't at Oxford. Always the man of restraint. Butter wouldn't melt. And now you've set your sights on Miss Heywood. A bluestocking, I've discovered, with a keen affection for cats." He chuckled. "Well, water finds its own level, I'm told. You the son of a bastard and Miss Heywood a?—"

James punched him in the face.

* * *

Hannah entered the Octagon Room in company with Lady Carleton in time to witness what appeared to be a brawl. A circle of bystanders had gathered around two coatless gentlemen who were going at each other with unchecked ferocity. It took Hannah a full five seconds to realize that one of those men was James.

All signs of his famously icy control had fled. His golden hair was disheveled, and blood trickled from the edge of his mouth. He exchanged blows with Fennick, trading him punch for punch, each punishing strike punctuated by the sickening sound of bare knuckles on flesh and bone.

Alarm swept through her.

"Good heavens!" Abandoning her chaperone, Hannah rushed toward the fight. She pushed through the assembled throng, all of whom were looking on with expressions of mingled horror and delight.

Jack stood on the inside of the circle. He wasn't attempting to stop the altercation. On the contrary. He was offering muttered words of encouragement to his older brother. "Like that. And again. That's it. Show him no mercy."

Hannah grasped hold of his sleeve. "Jack! What in the world is going on?"

Jack's gaze jolted to hers. His eyes went round with surprise. "Hannah!"

Hearing her name, James jerked his head to look at her.

Lord Fennick took the opportunity to deliver a punishing blow to the side of James's jaw.

"Oh!" Hannah cried. "How could you?" Heedless of the danger in coming between them, she flew to James's side. She brought her hands to tenderly cradle his face, even as she scowled at Fennick. "Is that what you call honorable, sir?"

Fennick's nose was bleeding and one of his eyes was swollen half shut. His hair hung limply over his forehead. He looked altogether worse than James. "It wasn't I who struck the first blow, ma'am," he said rigidly.

"Whoever started the quarrel is irrelevant," Lady Carleton pronounced, coming to join them. "It has gone on quite long enough." She glared first at Fennick and then at James. "Shame on the pair of you. There are ladies present." Her gaze swept over the crowd. "And shame on the rest of you. Any one of you gentlemen could have broken this up at the onset. Instead, you've stood by, gawping, as though you were enjoying a match in a boxing saloon."

The gentlemen sheepishly murmured their regrets before dispersing along with the ladies.

"My apologies, my lady," James said. "Miss Heywood."

Hannah required no apology. She continued gently examining James's face for injuries. In addition to the blood and bruising he'd received from his fight, he had another wound to add to his tally. There was a plaster on his cheek in the place where the kitten had scratched him. Seeing it, her heart swelled with love for him.

"I beg your pardon, your ladyship. Miss Heywood." Fennick gave a stilted bow. "If you will excuse me."

Jack watched him go with an expression of satisfaction. "You made mincemeat out of him," he remarked to James.

"That is sufficient commentary from you, Mr. Beresford," Lady Carleton snapped. And then to James. "Remove yourself, my lord. You are in no state to attend the concert."

"Yes, ma'am," James said.

Hannah's hands slid to the front of his waistcoat. "I'll go with you."

James's countenance softened as he looked at her. "No." He covered her hand with his. "I appreciate the sentiment, but it wouldn't be proper."

"Propriety fled some time ago, sir," Lady Carleton said dryly. "See him home, Miss Heywood, if that is what you wish. You may use my carriage."