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“What cat? You mean this nonsense you’ve been spreading about Juliet running off with a man?”

More clinking glass. “Really, Knighton, you should give up the pretense. I know the truth. After Juliet refused my suit, I hired a man to learn precisely where your two sisters-in-law were when they claimed to be home in Warwickshire. Learned all about Juliet’s little trip down to Sussex with some fellow named Morgan. So don’t try to lie. I know darling Juliet isn’t as pure as she seems.”

Sebastian barely restrained himself from leaping into the next room to throttle Montfort. The one that truly deserved throttling was himself. What had he been thinking? Montfort was a shark, but many more like him swam in society. If Sebastian had taken a moment to think about anyone but himself, he’d have realized how precarious a situation he was placing her in when he kidnapped her.

“So you are the one spreading the rumors,” Knighton bit out.

“Not rumors. Truth. I’m merely providing a service to society. I’d hate to see anyone make assumptions about your sister-in-law when I know what she really is.”

“You blackguard!” Knighton growled. “I’ll see you at dawn for this—”

“I don’t think so. If you fight me, that’ll confirm the rumors, and she’ll be even worse off. Besides, even if you manage to kill me, which is highly uncertain, you’d have to flee England, abandon your business to managers, and leave your family to fend without you. Or take them off to an uncertain existence on the Continent. And that’s only if you win. You might not win. Then I should dearly love to comfort your poor, grieving sister-in-law.”

Sebastian’s blood ran cold at the thought.

“You blackhearted devil, I will ruin you!” Knighton cried. “I’ll see that your name is dragged through the mud—”

“You’re welcome to try. But mine is an old and venerable family, sir, while yours is rife with scandal. If you drag my name through the mud, I’ll emerge unscathed. I doubt I can say the same for you.”

There was a long, tense silence. “So you mean to ruin her, a woman who never did anything more than refuse your offer of marriage.”

“She won’t refuse it for long. Not when no one else will have her.”

“If you think I’d ever let her marry you after this—”

“You say that now.” There was a pause and more tinkling of glass. “But you may decide otherwise after seeing how society treats her and the rest of you.”

Sebastian stood there stunned. All this, only to force Juliet to marry him? Had Montfort lost his blasted mind?

“This isn’t over yet,” Knighton growled. “You won’t get away with this. I’ll find a way to stop you, depend on it.”

Montfort merely chuckled in response. As Knighton apparently left, slamming the outer door to the library behind him, Montfort called out, “Good luck trying to stop me, you bastard!”

Smoothing his features into a semblance of nonchalance, Sebastian strolled through the adjoining door into the library. “One overhears such interesting things at these affairs,” he commented, taking grim pleasure from the way Montfort cursed and dropped the bottle he was holding. With a thud, it fell onto the desk he sat behind.

Then Montfort saw who’d entered and relaxed. “Well, I’ll be damned, if it isn’t Templemore.” He poured wine out of the half-empty bottle into a glass, then held up the bottle. “Want a drink, old fellow? Feathering probably has another glass around here somewhere…” He rose to amble about the room in search of one.

“Thank you, but no,” Sebastian said to halt his stumbling. What he truly wanted was to cram the bottle down Montfort’s throat until the fair-haired demon’s effeminate features turned purple.

But before he showed his hand, he must determine Montfort’s purpose and how far the man would go. It was always wise to know one’s enemy.

Montfort swigged some wine. “Good Lord, man, how long has it been since we saw each other? A year? Two?”

“Two at least. The last time I was in London.”

Leaning unsteadily against a bookcase, Montfort took out a quizzing glass and looked Sebastian over. “I thought you were moldering out at that country estate of yours.”

“I needed a change.” Sebastian propped one hip against the edge of the desk and crossed his arms. “I came to Feathering’s hoping for excitement. So your little contretemps with Knighton amused me enormously.”

A smug smile spread over Montfort’s face. “You heard all that, did you?” He lifted his glass as if toasting himself. “I daresay Knighton’ll think twice before tangling with me again.”

“No doubt. Though I’m surprised you’re going to so much trouble for a woman, and a respectable one at that, from what I hear. Spreading rumors and such—she must be quite the beauty if you’d risk Knighton’s wrath to gain her in marriage.”

Montfort dropped the quizzing glass. “She is, but it’s not really that.” He drained his glass, then set it down hard on a shelf. “It’s the principle of the thing, y’see. I’ve never offered marriage to anyone before. Figured I had a few more years to get leg-shackled. But then I met her and decided she’d do splendidly. Sweet and young and malleable.” He shook his head. “Or so I thought. I was sure she’d be easy to mold to my tastes, which, as you know, are…sophisticated.” He winked at Sebastian.

Only with difficulty did Sebastian suppress a shudder. “Is that what they call it these days when a man likes to use a crop on unwilling bed companions?” Even at fourteen, Montfort’s tastes had shocked the denizens of Llanbrooke. While in Shropshire, he’d never bothered to hide them as he had in London. But then, he’d held the “provincials” in complete contempt.

“So you’re still the prig you were in our youth.” Montfort shrugged. “Must say I’m surprised. Given your father’s wild streak, I’d have expected you to develop some sophisticated tastes of your own by now.”