Page 64 of A Lady of Conscience

“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.