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Bidding farewell to guests at the marriage breakfast following the ceremony was an excruciating exercise in patience. He didn’t encourage chattering; he had Duckworthy bring outer garments to the entry long before people might have expected to depart.

He was saying goodbye to a set of distant cousins when he realized that one man remained.

He wasn’t a guest.

Jake Addison was leaning against the door to Giles’s library, arms crossed over his broad chest. Giles stilled. Jake had the promise of violence in his eyes.

“May I be of service?” Giles asked. He had no fear of Jake. In fact, he would welcome an opportunity to box him. It would be a fair match; they were both burly men. These days he felt buffeted by rage and happy to make use of it.

“Yes. You can come with me.”

“I’m sorry, but I have somewhere I must be.”

“You can postpone it, or I can knock you unconscious and throw you in my carriage.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Giles asked in disbelief. “I don’t care to fight you, but you couldn’t knock me unconscious.”

The American’s eyes narrowed.

Giles didn’t bother to flex his muscles. “Why are you here? Where do you want to take me?”

“Where’s your fiancée?” Jake replied insolently.

Fury spilled through Giles’s limbs like acid. “My fiancée.” He spoke through his teeth. “Why do you ask? She’s with friends.”

“Are you sure?” Insolence shone from Jake’s eyes.

“Are you her messenger boy, then?”

Jake’s fist curled. “Do you want to be knocked down in your own entry?”

“You could try.” Duckworthy was hovering at the back of the entry, gaping at the two of them. Giles looked to his butler. “Has the traveling coach been brought around?”

“Yes, my lord. Your trunk is strapped to the back. Your valet is just packing a few last necessities.”

“Perhaps you’re not the fool I thought,” Jake allowed. “She’s at my house. You might as well come with me. Your coach can follow more slowly. I’m in a chaise with a good team, and can be home by tonight.”

Giles froze. “Is Yasmin ill?” His heart twisted. “Is something wrong with her?”

“No,” Jake said. “Though given your patent disregard for her well-being, I’m surprised you give a damn.”

The Earl of Lilford had never impulsively attacked any man other than Hippolyte Charles, even those who infuriated him in the House of Lords. His sister was the impetuous one in the family; he considered himself a measured, thoughtful, boring man.

Now his mind turned black with rage. He launched himself at Addison without a thought more than the wish to do grave injury, to knock that smirk off the American’s face. His fist rounded into the man’s cheekbone at the same moment that Jake’s fist caught him in the chest. The force of blows rocked them both back. But rather than square up for another round, the American started laughing, deep peals of laughter coming from his chest.

Giles dropped his hands. The man was cracked. “Where the hell is my valet!” Giles barked at Duckworthy.

The butler scurried through the green baize door at the back of the entry.

“I’ll take it that you do give a damn,” Jake said, gingerly feeling around his eyes. “Damn it, you’ve given me a black eye.”

“She’s my fiancée,” Giles snarled.

“My wife and I exchange letters daily when I’m away,” Jake said.

Giles felt a torrent of rage followed by bitter shame. Yasmin didn’t care to write him back. She didn’t love him the way Cleo did her husband. The feeling backed up in his throat like sour milk. “My fiancée is not comfortable writing in the English language,” he managed.

Addison straightened up. “You are ignoring her letters because they’re written in her mother tongue? You plan to marry her, you pigheaded man. Bloody well learn French!”