Chapter Nineteen
Harry rubbed hisjaw. Sir Julian’s somewhat indolent appearance masked a man with a fierce right hook. A man who must have boxed in his time at school. And now this man stood threateningly over him, his fists raised as though ready to do further battle, like an irate turkey cock.
Miranda was getting to her feet so Harry did so as well, hoping Sir Julian didn’t take the opportunity to knock him down again, and more than a little confused about what was going on.
Miranda, it seemed, was not.
“I am not your fiancée,” she said, with far more fire than he’d ever witnessed in her. “What on earth do you think you’re doing? Look what you’ve done to my gown. It’s covered in mud, thanks to you.” She was indeed liberally smeared with mud from the damp ground.
Sir Julian, feathers ruffled and fists still half up in pugilistic stance, glared from one to the other of them, his eyes bulging alarmingly. “I’ll tell you what I’m doing,” he spluttered in his haste to get his accusations out. “This man was in the act of compromising you. I saw his actions as I approached. I couldn’t miss them. You fainted and he proceeded to assault you. The man has no honor. No honor whatsoever. He’s an out and out bounder. A cad. A jumped up good for nothing.” He was fairly spitting with rage.
Harry kept silent. He’d long ago learned that it was a good idea to let someone like Sir Julian hang himself with his own words. Andbesides which, interrupting him with a denial was not likely to lessen his spleen.
Miranda, however, glared at their assailant. “He most certainly did not assault me. What you saw was me becoming a little light headed as I’ve not yet had any breakfast and Harry being kind enough to catch me in his arms and save me from ending up like this.” She gestured at her muddy gown. “I was quite all right until you came along, I can assure you. It was you who dragged me from his protecting arms and threw me to the ground.”
Harry rubbed his jaw again. If it hadn’t been aching so much he might have found this situation a little amusing. The term “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” came to mind, only this time it needed to be applied to a man.
Miranda folded her arms, her stance nearly as belligerent as her would-be rescuer’s. “And you had the temerity to strike the very man who was saving me. You knocked him down. And in the process you treated me like an unwanted sack of potatoes.”
Sir Julian’s alarming color grew more alarming, something that did not match well with his hair. “Lady Madeley. Miranda.” He really did look as though his eyes were threatening to come popping out of his head. “I can assure you that I have got nothing wrong here. You might think this blackguard was helping you, but I can assure you he was not. I have met men like him before, who wheedle their way into a vulnerable lady’s good books. And I saw with my own eyes where he had his hands. Disgusting.” More spit flew. “I saw him press his face to yours. And with you almost promised to me. I will not stand for it. I cannot stand back and allow this upstart to violate the woman I love. Who loves me.” His voice rose with each sentence. Harry had to wonder if the rest of the inhabitants of Rampton Farm were being woken by his irate shouting.
Miranda stamped her foot. “Please go away and leave us alone.”
Sir Julian’s eyes narrowed, and in that instant the situation was nolonger amusing. “I will not leave you here with this man who is patently not a gentleman. We none of us know anything of his background, and he’s come insinuating his way into the house and estate that should have been mine. I refuse to believe his claim that he’s the true heir to your esteemed husband.”
Harry took a step forward. “Yours? You think Windrush should be yours?” He was taller than Sir Julian and it gave him great pleasure to look down on the man and instill some threat into his tone.
But Sir Julian was well into his delusion. “Yes, mine. Sir Geoffrey asked me before he died if I would take care of Miranda in the event of his death, as he was older than me. Of course I promised I would. So he left her to me. Not you. Sir Geoffrey meant me to marry her and incorporate Windrush into my estate as he knew how well I would manage it. He did not mean for some distant jumped-up, long-lost relation to come and steal it from us both. From me. You have no right to be here and no right to Miranda’s hand. It is mine.” And at this point, as if to illustrate his claim, he grabbed hold of Miranda’s actual hand and jerked her towards him.
“Let go of me,” Miranda snapped, tugging hard, but Sir Julian had a tight grip on her.
Harry took another step forward and managed to put himself between them. No mean feat as Sir Julian had pulled her close. “Release her now.”
Sir Julian’s face was now only inches from his. He could see the man’s sandy eyelashes and wild eyes, the pores on his nose, and the sweat beading on his skin. His breath smelled sourly of over-brewed coffee and possibly something alcoholic. But he relinquished his hold on Miranda and she staggered back a few steps, rubbing her wrist as though he’d hurt her.
Harry glared down at the man. “Whatever you wish to believe about me, let me inform you that you are at this moment trespassing on my land. I will thank you to get off it immediately and not toreturn. And you will cease to pester Lady Madeley who has no desire to be married to you.” He glanced at Miranda. “In fact, I feel I should inform you that she has acceptedmyproposal and we are to be married very shortly. As soon as I have obtained a common licence.”
A moment’s long silence ensued. No doubt not only Sir Julian, but also Miranda, were both digesting this information that was not entirely true. It had come to Harry on the spur of the moment that the best way to rid them both of this odious man was to put Miranda out of his reach. And what better way than to claim her as his own? Because didn’t he want just that? Of course he did. He had to hope she did too.
Sir Julian hissed, like a kettle about to boil. Harry would not have been the least bit surprised to have seen steam coming out of his ears. “In that case, sir,” he spat, with an enormous helping of pent-up venom, “I challenge you to a duel. I demand satisfaction. You have stolen the woman I intended to make my wife, and I will not tolerate it. You are a nobody crawled here from nowhere. I abhor you, sir. Name your second and we shall meet at dawn. You-you despicable, thieving blackguard. You dishonorable upstart. You cad.”
The temptation to plant the man a facer, which would have been a lot more powerful than the one he’d received, had to be controlled, even though Harry was of the opinion that this might settle the matter on the spot. The man was a buffoon, but a dangerous one. A mad one, even. Harry gave him a curt nod. “Very well, sir. If you insist, I accept your challenge. Tomorrow morning at dawn. On the old battlefield. That will give me the excuse to see it.” He paused. “Pistols. And, as you might imagine, as a military man I am an excellent shot.”
Sir Julian, throwing a furious glare at Miranda, attempted to make a dignified retreat. It didn’t work, as his horse had wandered off, had to be caught, and then refused to stand still for him to mount but insisted on swinging round every time he got his foot in the stirrup.
“Do you think I should go and offer to hold the animal still forhim?” Harry said.
Miranda, who’d come to stand by his side, shook her head. “I think not.” And at last Sir Julian was on and spurring his horse into a gallop.
She watched himleave with a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived. As soon as horse and rider had vanished from sight, she rounded on Harry and couldn’t stop herself from punching him on his arm. “What on earth did you agree to that for? A duel? An actual duel? Are you a pair of schoolboys? Are you as bad as he is?” Not to mention that duels were illegal.
She’d known Sir Julian was a mad fool, but it came as a surprise to discover Harry was also one. Men and their ridiculous sense of self-importance and pride. Then she remembered what else he’d said. “And what did you mean by telling him we were to be married?”
He was looking at her rather oddly, half crestfallen schoolboy and half longingly. “But we are, aren’t we?”
The colossal cheek of the man. Only she couldn’t think of a reason why they should not be. Heat swarmed up her cheeks at the very thought of it.
He smiled, seemingly unruffled by the thought of having to fight a duel over her first thing in the morning—in less than twenty-four hours. In fact, he seemed full of confidence. “Because I’m certain you were about to tell me you loved me when we were so rudely interrupted.” He tilted his head to one side, reminding her of any one of her dogs when they were after a tidbit or even when they were just listening to her. “You were, weren’t you?”
