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“Either make yourself useful,” Honoria said, returning to the forged signature, “or go away.”
Since neither man had anywhere to go—Montagne not being allowed out of Lord Anthony’s sight and Lord Anthony trapped in the safe house—a tense quiet descended again.
Finally, just as Honoria dipped her pen to make a slight modification to the signature—the R was not quite right—the marquis said, “I do not eat frogs.”
“It shows. Even a frog knows to hop away when in danger.”
And just like that the quiet was over. Montagne leapt from his chair and Lord Anthony was ready.
The two men collided, the French marquis sending the son of the British duke smashing into a chair. Honoria’s hand jumped and ink slid across her document. She was too shocked at first to do much more than stare at the men. The Lord Anthony rolled and struck Montagne before the marquis wobbled to his feet and threw a punch.
“Arrêtez!”Honoria cried, standing for effect, though what effect it had was negligible as neither man took any notice of her. “Stop!” she tried in English.
Lord Anthony bent and rammed Montagne in the belly. Both men sailed backward, the marquis slamming into the dining table. Honoria grabbed for her inkpot before it could be upended, but she could not rescue her other tools. Stamps, pens, and papers scattered into the air.
Lord Anthony advanced on Montagne, but the marquis kicked out, shoving the Pimpernel’s man back.
And right into a small table. It flattened under Dewhurst’s weight. The sound of cracking wood echoed. Honoria could not allow this to go on or the neighbors would come to investigate. She scooted around the still shuddering table and threw her body in front of Montagne before Lord Anthony could launch his next offensive.
“Stop!” She held her arms out, blocking the marquis.
“You allow a woman to fight your battles?” Lord Anthony sneered.
“Fils de salope!”The marquis attempted to maneuver past Honoria, but she shifted to block him.
“No! No more. Do you want the neighbors to call the guard?”
Lord Anthony lowered his fists and cut his eyes to survey the room. “Merde. Ffoulkes will have my head.”
“If the republicans don’t claim it first.” Honoria leveled a gaze at Lord Anthony and then Montagne. “What is wrong with you two? You were behaving more like criminals than gentlemen.” Her gaze fell on the pile of papers and other debris from her once tidy workstation. “And look what you’ve done! Hours of work—ruined!”
Lord Anthony lowered his gaze, while Montagne climbed off the table.“Je suis désolé.”
“Now you are repentant.” She turned to chastise him further and gasped. “You have blood all over your cheek.”
He touched a hand to it gingerly and pulled back, studying his crimson fingers. “It is nothing.”
“You’re hurt.”
“The cut on my temple opened again. That is all.”
But when he moved to collect the detritus on the floor, he hissed in a breath.
“What else hurts?” she demanded.
“Hopefully, his pride,” Lord Anthony said under his breath.
Honoria glared at him. “This is your fault, you know.”
“My fault!” He blinked his dark eyes innocently. “Heattackedme.”
“You were spoiling for a fight. You’ve been prowling about like a caged panther all morning.” She held out a hand at the marquis, bending to retrieve her papers, though he was obviously stiff with pain. “Arrêtez. Lord Anthony can see to that. You had better lie down.” Not only had the gash on his temple been reopened, his cheek swelled with the beginnings of a bruise.
“I am perfectly well, mademoiselle.”
She put her hands on her hips, thoroughly irritated by these two men in particular and all men in general. “If you won’t lie down on your own, I’ll make Lord Anthony carry you to your bed.”
“I would like to see him try.”
