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It was her turn to take a step toward him. “What happened that night, Lord Shuttleworth, is you took advantage of the friendship I believed we shared. You followed me outside andattackedme. I cried for you to stop and tried to push you away, and youslappedme.”
His shoulders stiffened as if in rejection of her accusation.
“If not for approaching footsteps, I do not believe you would have stopped at only rending my gown.”And my heart, my courage, and my faith. He was not owed those vulnerabilities; only those close to her knew how much his attack had profoundly affected Pippa.
His lips tightened. “I implore you to believe that I regret my actions most keenly, Lady Phillipa.”
Pippa jutted her chin. “I did not tell my father or brother what happened, for I feared I would have fallen into your compromising trap. Because of that awful fear, my honor was left undefended for two years, and you were allowed no consequences for your disgusting conduct.”
The viscount grimaced. “Lady Phillipa—”
She held up a palm to forestall his reply. “I suspected you would have followed me out here tonight.” Pippa took a deep breath for courage. “I challenge you to a duel.”
His eyes widened in comical dismay. “You wha…what?”
“You heard me, my lord; I challenge you to a duel. Right here…right now.”
The viscount shook his head, a choked, somewhat mocking laugh escaping him. “Why are you acting in this manner, Phillipa? This is not like you.”
“You do not know the manner of lady I am, Lord Shuttleworth, nor are you allowed to pretend that you do.” Pippa held up her fist and moved into a perfect boxing position. “Are you afraid to face me?”
He narrowed his eyes, an annoyed air hovering about him. “As a gentleman, I will tender my apology, and we will move on from this…distasteful memory.”
As a gentleman? Apology?
Pippa smiled without humor, sauntered forward, and with perfect agility and strength, jabbed right at his nose.
CHAPTERTWO
William Coventry, the Marquess of Trent, was inarguably surprised and impressed. Such two feelings had not existed within him at the same time in years, perhaps never. He carefully outed the cheroot he’d been smoking and, slowly, as not to give away his position, rose from the stone bench hidden by the entrance of the small maze and stared at the spectacle in the gardens. Dark amusement wafted through him. The chit was barely above five feet and a delicate little thing, even if she had a stubborn chin and a lush mouth that was now flattened in a determined line.
She truly would not dare…would she?
It happened so fast that William almost missed it. A jab to the nose, a quick dance to the left and then a solid right to the underjaw.
Bloody hell.
“That hurt, you she-devil,” the viscount roared, stumbling back, and pressing a hand to his nose. “I am bleeding! Why, you—”
Another graceful dart forward, that slim hand shot out, and the viscount’s neck snapped back. He crumbled as if a heavyweight fighter had taken him to task.
Thud.
If William had not witnessed it, he would not have believed the tale, even if it was repeated by his most trusted friend. A chuckle escaped him, and he drifted closer, keeping to the shadows. The young lady who had just planted a facer on that lecherous libertine leaned forward to admire her handiwork. She straightened, shaking her hand to perhaps relieve the pain. She tipped her head to the sky, took a deep breath, and released it. Then she laughed.
The sound was…incredible—soft and sensual, yet airy and free. William could feel that laugh getting lighter and lighter as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She doubled over with her mirth, hugging her middle. That laugh tapered off in a small sob, then she collected herself and straightened her shoulders. Only then did she glance around the gardens to ascertain she remained alone. He ensured that he remained hidden in the shadows, truly fascinated to simply…watch her.
That thought jolted him; however, the strangeness of the desire was not enough for him to brush it aside and move on. She padded over to the viscount and peered down at him. Her eyes widened, and she reared back as if slapped.
I wonder what color your eyes are.
Noting how alarmed she appeared, William lowered his gaze to the man on the ground. He was unmoving. Not even the rise and fall of his chest could be detected.
“Oh, dear!”
That astonished gasp echoed in the gardens. William guessed the bounder was out cold. Not that it was her impressive fist that did the job; it was more the knock of his head against the edge of the stone bench that had rendered the viscount unconscious.
“Are youdead?” she whispered, sounding appropriately horrified. She eased a foot forward and nudged his shoulder. Nary a groan or movement came from the viscount. She recoiled. “Upon my word, please say it isn’t so!”
