Page 20 of Reckless Desire

Two more men rushed into the room. She nearly cried at sight of Sir Stirling.

When they reached her, Kenna seized Stirling’s arm. “Stop them!”

“What the bloody hell happened?” he demanded.

Steel rang behind her. “Lord Newhall has lost his mind. He came into the room and demanded that Lord Wilshire leave me alone.”

Stirling pinned her with a hard stare. “Did Lord Wilshire do something untoward?”

Her cheeks warmed.

“Miss Ramsay.” The steel in his voice matched the clash of blades.

“He tried to steal a kiss. Nothing more.”

“Much more, I wager,” Stirling muttered.

“Shouldn’t we stop them, Stirling?” the first man said.

“Perhaps we should,” he said. “Newhall’s last parry was a little too close to William’s nose.

Her heart thundered. “They are going onto the balcony.”

Kenna glimpsed half a dozen other guests enter the room. Tears stung. She was at the center of what was sure to be a terrible scandal. Lady Chastity would be embarrassed and disappointed.

A terrible—selfish—thought struck. To her shame, hope surged. With this scandal, Sir Stirling and Lady Chastity wouldn’t want to be associated with her. This wasn’t her fault. Lord Newhall had completely misread the situation. Well, that wasn’t true. Lord Wilshire had been somewhat forward with her, but she had had the situation in hand.

Lord Newhall and Lord Wilshire disappeared through the balcony doors, swords clashing. Stirling started forward. Kenna followed, as did the onlookers. They hurried down the few steps to the lawn. Torches lit the lawn where a dozen guests had stopped what they’d been doing and now watched the swordsmen.

Stirling reached the lawn. “By God, William, put down the bloody sword. You, too, Newhall.”

Whether or not the men heard him or chose to ignore him, Kenna didn’t know, but Viscount Newhall advanced on Lord Wilshire with a vengeance that frightened her.

“Has anyone a pistol?” Sir Stirling asked.

“I do,” said a woman.

Kenna looked at the petite brunette, who pulled a muff pistol from the olive green, velvet reticule she carried.

He took the pistol. “It is loaded, I assume?” he asked.

She smiled. “Of course.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Jones.” Stirling faced the men. “Benjamin, you and Mister Hall tackle them once I fire.”

The two men sent startled glances his way, but took three steps toward the men. Stirling pointed the pistol into the air. Kenna clapped her hands over her ears as the gun roared. The two men swung to face them, swords pointed at the new danger, breath coming in heaving gasps.

“Lay down your swords,” Sir Stirling ordered.

They hesitated.

“The next bullet will enter your shoulder, William,” Sir Stirling said.

“You have used your one shot,” the marquess replied in a strained voice.

“I will get another pistol.” His eyes shifted to the viscount. “How about you, Newhall?”

Lord Newhall’s gaze locked onto Kenna. He stared long enough for her to realize that everyone else also stared at her. He yanked his gaze onto Lord Wilshire, then threw the sword to the ground and stalked past them and up the balcony stairs. Kenna watched until he disappeared into the parlor, then looked at Sir Stirling, who had that same odd smile on his face.