He ignored her request, his eyes narrowed on Blundell. “It doesn’t look like nothing to me. What happened to your lip, Blundell?”
“That is none of your business,” sneered the other man. “And you will address me as Major Blundell or my lord,CaptainArcher. If you know what’s good for you.”
Christian appeared unmoved by the threat. In fact, he took a menacing step toward Blundell, despite Clarissa’s attempt to pull him in the opposite direction.
“If I find you laid a hand on her,” he said in a harsh voice, “I’ll make you regret the day you were born.”
Blundell stopped dabbing at his lip—Clarissa was very glad to see it was bleeding quite profusely—and glared back at Christian.
“Fancy her for yourself, do you, Archer? Well, I suppose you’re welcome to her. I’ve already had a taste, but I’ve discovered that aging widows aren’t really in my line, after all.”
A growl rumbled up from Christian’s throat. Then, in ablur of motion, he surged forward and drilled his fist into Blundell’s face. The man went crashing to the ground with a muffled cry of pain. Christian reached down with one hand and took hold of his collar, then hauled Blundell up as he cocked his fist again.
Clarissa leapt forward, grabbing Christian’s arm and tugging on it with all her might.
“Are you insane?” she hissed. “You can’t do this in the middle of a ball. Think of the scandal! Your mother will be mortified.”
Sluggishly recovering from Christian’s devastating punch, Blundell began to struggle and thrash. Clarissa dug her fingers into Christian’s arm and shook it.
“Let go, Christian,” she commanded. “I don’t want this.”
He glowered at her even as he continued to hold the struggling Blundell at arm’s length—apparently with very little effort, since the other man couldn’t break loose.
Clarissa glared back. “I mean it,” she said in the same voice she’d used when he was a disobedient little boy. “Let him go.”
Shadows played over his stone-hard face. His lips twitched. Opening his hand, he dropped Blundell to the terrace pavement.
“Very well. But in return, I want you to explain what happened out here,” he said.
“I will not,” Clarissa retorted, taking his arm. “Now, will you please escort me back to the party?”
One corner of his mouth curved into a lazy half smile, replete with a masculine sensuality that stole the breath from her lungs.
“Will you dance with me if I do?”
She huffed. “Your sister was right. You really are the most impertinent boy. But yes, I will. Now take me away from here.”
He glanced back at Blundell, who had crawled over to one of the benches and hauled himself onto its seat.
The banked anger in Christian’s eyes flared back to life. “Are you sure about this, Clarissa? I won’t have him bothering you again.”
“I feel sure he won’t,” she said earnestly.
He didn’t look convinced.
She sighed. “And if he does, I’ll tell you. I promise.”
He gave a reluctant nod as he took her elbow and began to lead her away. And not a moment too soon, as far as she was concerned. The longer they stayed on the terrace, the better the chances of being discovered. Then the gossips would truly have something to say.
She scampered across the paving stones, trying to hurry Christian along. As they stepped inside the study, Blundell’s nasal voice—even more nasal now, thanks to Christian’s punch—halted them in their tracks.
“Stop right there, Archer,” he barked. “Don’t think you can run away from me.”
Under Clarissa’s fingers, the muscles in Christian’s arm turned to iron. She stifled a groan. Could things get any worse?
Christian carefully disengaged her hand and turned to face Blundell. “Are you calling me a coward,Major?”
Blundell staggered to his feet, his thick features distorted with rage, his eyes burning with hatred. Clarissa shivered, her insides pulling into a knot. She’d always known Everard Blundell had a vile temper, but now something sick and disturbing seemed to emanate from his hulking figure.
