The lady in question shivered, her eyes widening.
“Gloucester.” Lord McFall’s neck was so tense a tendon stood out. “Your brother was seducing my wife here on that table, and he has the audacity to negate the truth. I saw them with my own eyes.”
“Nothing happened. McFall is overreacting. That’s all,” Patrick said with nonchalance.
Had Anthony been alone with his brother, he would have told him not to insult his intelligence. He didn’t know what was worse—Patrick having seduced a married lady or Patrick’s flippant attitude. No, the worst thing was poor Lady McFall’s reputation.
He turned to his butler. “Rogers, fetch Mrs. Stamell to assist Lady McFall and take her to the ladies’ room.”
“Sir.” Rogers hurried away.
“McFall,” he said. “Perhaps we should let the lady go and collect herself while we discuss the matter.”
McFall closed a fist. “My wife isn’t going anywhere until I hear the truth from Lord Patrick.”
Good luck with that.
They could spend the whole week in the library. What Patrick lacked in common sense, he made up for with his stubbornness in always deflecting responsibilities.
“As I said, nothing serious happened. We were simply joking around.” Patrick buttoned his shirt and had the decency to offer his jacket to the lady since her clothes were nowhere to be seen. “Then McFall barged into the room and started shouting.”
“I’m not stupid, Lord Patrick,” McFall said. “You don’t expect me to believe your cock-and-bull story, do you? My wife is half naked.”
Patrick shrugged. “Yes, but as I said, nothing happened.”
“Because I intervened.” McFall thumped the desk.
Dammit. “Patrick.” Anthony kept his tone calm. “At least you could clear the lady’s name and take responsibility for whatever happened here.”
Patrick held up his hands. “Of course. Everything that has never happened here is my sole responsibility.”
“McFall, be reasonable. We should avoid a scene.” Anthony glanced at the lady. “Let your wife compose herself.”
McFall straightened. “Gloucester, you’re right. We should end the conversation here.”
Anthony glanced at the still half-hidden lady when the housekeeper arrived. “My lady, you should leave. My housekeeper, Mrs. Stamell, will take good care of you.”
Mrs. Stamell curtsied from the door. “Your Grace.”
Lady McFall walked out of the room, clutching the front of Patrick’s jacket. Layers of fabric fell in disarray over her legs. Her stockings were bunched at the ankles.
Anthony shot a burning glare at his brother before turning towards the woman. “My lady, wait.” He followed her to the dimly lit hallway and lowered his voice. “Are you afraid of going home with your husband? Perhaps you should go to a relative or a friend’s house tonight. Mrs. Stamell will have a carriage ready for you to take you wherever you want.” He didn’t believe McFall to be violent towards his wife, but better to be cautious.
Lady McFall curtsied. “Thank you. I’ll go to my sister’s.”
“Good.” After a nod to Mrs. Stamell, Anthony inhaled deeply before entering the library again where the tension was oppressive. “McFall, I’m sure Patrick will apologise for his behaviour.”
Patrick arched his brow but didn’t say a word. Good for him.
“I have a better idea.” McFall straightened in front of Patrick and slapped him with a glove. “Lord Patrick, I’ll see you at dawn. Battersea Park. Pistols. Don’t be late.”
Bloody hell. Anthony rubbed his forehead.
Patrick flourished a hand and bowed. “As you wish.”
“What?” Anthony roared. “Patrick, apologise this instant.”
“McFall challenged me. I want to accept the challenge.”
