“To what end?”
The fair-haired man shrugged. “To offer my services. Lady Helena is rather striking. Always thought her quietly beautiful. A little low on the ladder for marriage, of course — at least for a man in my position.”
“Was her father not a captain?”
“Yes, and connected somehow to an Earl. Not titled himself, but near enough to make her eligible to some of the lower-ranking lords. Not for me, naturally.”
The dark-haired one pursed his lips and played his card. “Then why call on her at all, if you think her beneath your notice? Does she not have a child?”
The fair-haired man waved a hand. “What of it? I do not intend to make myself a father to the child. I intend to make myself rather more familiar with her bedsheets.”
“I see. For a moment I thought you might actually wish to do right by the woman.”
“A widow? And one with a child? You must have lost your mind, Wentworth. No — but ladies in her position tend to be very grateful when a gentleman pays them any attention at all. And I intend to pay her a great deal of it.” He winked.
Gideon’s hands curled into fists beneath the table. This was precisely why she had been so hostile when he first appeared on her doorstep. Because men like this were talking about her in such terms, treating her as though she were merely an object to be possessed, a diversion to be used and discarded. Well. Not while he had anything to say about it.
He was on his feet before he had fully decided to move. His chair went over behind him with a clang on the hardwood floor.
“Gideon,” James said sharply.
Nathaniel reached for his arm, but he shook it free and crossed to the next table in three strides. Both men looked up. The dark-haired one — Wentworth — rose. The fair-haired man, whom Gideon now recognized as the heir to a marquessate by the name of Lord Henry, likewise got to his feet. Up close he had the look of a Captain Sharp about him — all surface charm and not a great deal beneath it.
“Can I help you?” Wentworth said.
“You cannot. But your friend can.” Gideon looked at the younger man. “Henry, is it?”
“What is it to you?” Lord Henry replied.
“What is it to me,” Gideon said, his voice very even, “is that the young woman you were just discussing is under my protection. I will not have her spoken of in that manner. And I will most certainly not have you showing up at her doorstep to bother her. Am I understood?”
Lord Henry put his hands on his hips. “And why should I listen to you? Who are you?”
Wentworth turned to him. “That is Gideon Blackwell, Duke of Blackthorne. The Viscount who came up rather suddenly.”
“Oh, I know exactly who you are,” Henry said, with a short laugh. “The one who benefited from poor Howard’s unfortunate driving. How very fortunate for you.” He looked Gideon up and down with contempt. “And I see you have wasted no time in making use of your new position. Tell me, Blackwell, is this what it has come to? Throwing yourself at widows in Bloomsbury because your own wife could not bear to stay?” He smiled thinly. “Left you for an untitled man, didn’t she? No fortune, no prospects? Apparently just rather more of a husband than a Viscount’s son could manage to be. I suppose if one cannot keep a wife, one must content oneself with collecting other men’s widows instead.”
Gideon’s fist connected with his face before the smile had finished forming.
Henry went down hard, landing with a grunt and a thud. Sent to grass in a single blow.
“I’ll say, that is quite the facer you planted,” James said, from somewhere behind him.
Wentworth twitched beside him, clearly deliberating.
“I would advise against it,” Nathaniel said pleasantly, from where he had appeared at Gideon’s shoulder. “Gideon put your friend to grass with one shove, and three against one has never been a fair proposition. Besides, that rum touch of yours is already down — I would not fancy your odds alone.”
“Indeed,” James added. “And I would take note of his words regarding Lady Vale. She is not only under his protection, but ours as well.”
Wentworth’s jaw worked. His Adam’s apple bobbed. Then he seemed to think better of it. He reached down and hauled Henry to his feet.
“Come on, then,” he said. “Let us go.”
“But…” Henry began, still winded.
“We are here on a trial membership that my father sponsored,” Wentworth said, low and firm. “If we make any more of this than we already have, we shall never see proper membership. Now come.”
He gave Gideon one last look and steered Henry toward the door. As they went, Gideon heard Henry mutter something indignant and Wentworth reply in an undertone, “Leave it. He’d have drawn your cork next.”
