Page 65 of A Lady of Conscience

Lord Fennick took the opportunity to deliver a punishing blow to the side of James’s jaw.

“Oh!” Hannah cried. “How could you?” Heedless of the danger in coming between them, she flew to James’s side. She brought her hands to tenderly cradle his face, even as she scowled at Fennick. “Is that what you call honorable, sir?”

Fennick’s nose was bleeding and one of his eyes was swollen half shut. His hair hung limply over his forehead. He looked altogether worse than James. “It wasn’t I who struck the first blow, ma’am,” he said rigidly.

“Whoever started the quarrel is irrelevant,” Lady Carleton pronounced, coming to join them. “It has gone on quite long enough.” She glared first at Fennick and then at James. “Shame on the pair of you. There are ladies present.” Her gaze swept over the crowd. “And shame on the rest of you. Any one of you gentlemen could have broken this up at the onset. Instead, you’ve stood by, gawping, as though you were enjoying a match in a boxing saloon.”

The gentlemen sheepishly murmured their regrets before dispersing along with the ladies.

“My apologies, my lady,” James said. “Miss Heywood.”

Hannah required no apology. She continued gently examining James’s face for injuries. In addition to the blood and bruising he’d received from his fight, he had another wound to add to his tally. There was a plaster on his cheek in the place where the kitten had scratched him. Seeing it, her heart swelled with love for him.

“I beg your pardon, your ladyship. Miss Heywood.” Fennick gave a stilted bow. “If you will excuse me.”

Jack watched him go with an expression of satisfaction. “You made mincemeat out of him,” he remarked to James.

“That is sufficient commentary from you, Mr. Beresford,” Lady Carleton snapped. And then to James. “Remove yourself, my lord. You are in no state to attend the concert.”

“Yes, ma’am,” James said.

Hannah’s hands slid to the front of his waistcoat. “I’ll go with you.”

James’s countenance softened as he looked at her. “No.” He covered her hand with his. “I appreciate the sentiment, but it wouldn’t be proper.”

“Propriety fled some time ago, sir,” Lady Carleton said dryly. “See him home, Miss Heywood, if that is what you wish. You may use my carriage.”

Chapter Twenty-One

“Why did you fight him?” Hannah asked. She and James were seated side-by-side in Lady Carleton’s luxurious, velvet-upholstered carriage as the driver guided the horses at a leisurely walk over the cobblestones. The carriage lamps were lit, casting a faint glow over the darkened interior of the cab.

“I shouldn’t have,” James said as Hannah applied her handkerchief to the edge of his lip. His mouth was set in a pensive frown, his gray eyes watchful. He’d been studying her face ever since they left the Octagon Room, seeming to be gauging the measure of her reaction to the altercation she’d just witnessed.

“No, indeed,” she said, dabbing at the blood. “Not at the Assembly Rooms, at any rate.” She paused before softly asking again. “Why did you?”

“Because he deserved it,” James replied gruffly. “And because…I’d had enough.”

Hannah met his eyes with slow dawning understanding. “He said something about your family?”

“After a fashion.” His frown deepened. For a moment, it seemed he wouldn’t expound on his answer. And then: “He made a comment about your cat article.”

Hannah lowered her hand from his face. Her handkerchief remained clutched limply in her fingers. “Lord Fennick read my article?”

“The animal journal was at the draper’s shop, apparently. Jack says they were giving them away.”

Hannah nodded. “Miss Winthrop distributes copies there. It helps her to get the word out.”

“She’s succeeded. Fennick saw it, along with Miss Paley and their friends. He took the opportunity to remark on it, after I’d explicitly warned him that he wasn’t to mention your name.”

She stilled. This was news to her. “Why ever would you have issued such a warning?”

“Fennick and I have been at odds since university,” James said. “If he thought for a moment that he could get to me by hurting you, he wouldn’t hesitate to do it. And I won’t permit him, or anyone, to hurt you. Not ever. Not even if I must make a thorough spectacle of myself.”

Guilt assailed her. However tender the sentiment in his words, the meaning was the same. He’d lost control because of her. He’d subjected himself to scandal. No wonder he was looking so grim, so unrelentingly somber. He must have at last realized the price of any connection with someone as eccentric as herself.

“This is my fault,” she said. “If I hadn’t exposed myself to ridicule, you would never have felt obliged to fight with Lord Fennick. And now you’re upset with me⁠—”

“I’m not upset with you,” he said.