Page 19 of The Trouble with True Love

“I’ve always thought you knew so much about women.” Lionel gave another laugh. “But this one’s made quite a fool of you, hasn’t she? How long has she been pumping you for information on her columnist’s behalf? How many of our other friends have seen their private affairs used as newspaper fodder, I wonder?”

“For God’s sake, I just met the girl less than an hour ago, and besides, I would never—”

“And when next week’s column features another supposedly fictitious offering that depicts the exact situation of another of our friends, that will be coincidence, too?” He shook his head and laughed again. “I’d never have thought you could lose your head over any girl, but I’ve been proved wrong now, it seems.”

“I have never lost my head over a girl in my life,” Rex assured him. “And your fear for our friends is misplaced. I intend to see to it that this is the only time such a thing will happen—”

“It’s a bit late for that now, don’t you think? Because of you and your lack of discretion,” he added, his voice rising to a shout, “I’ve lost Dina for good!”

A movement past his friend’s shoulder caught Rex’s attention, and he spied Lord and Lady Flinders strolling out onto the terrace. “If discretion is what you’re after, old boy,” he murmured, “I suggest you keep your voice down. We’re no longer alone out here.”

Lionel cast an impatient glance over his shoulder, then looked at Rex again. “Damn it, man,” he said, making no effort to follow Rex’s advice or keep his temper in check, “is that all you can say after what you’ve done? After you’ve betrayed my confidence this way?”

“Lionel, listen to me,” he said quietly, trying to employ reason in the face of his friend’s anger and inebriation. “As I told you, I just met the Deverill girl this evening. And I would never tell anyone—”

“You lying bastard.”

Quick as lightning, Lionel’s fist came up, slamming into the side of Rex’s face before he had the chance to duck. Pain shimmered through the entire left side of his face and knocked him back a step, but when he saw Lionel’s other fist coming for an uppercut to his jaw, he blocked the move, knocking the other man’s arm sideways. He didn’t want to fight, especially not at Auntie’s ball, but it wasn’t as if he had a choice.

He hit back hard, landing two quick blows before his friend could strike again. And since he had no desire to be attacked a second time, he pressed his advantage, tackling Lionel and sending both of them stumbling across the terrace, a move that sent Lord and Lady Flinders scrambling to stay out of the fray, along with several other guests who’d come out to see what the commotion was about. Among those guests, unfortunately, was Auntie Pet, who stopped just outside the doorway to the ballroom, looking so aghast and appalled that the sight of her face stopped him in his tracks.

The blow came out of nowhere, striking with such force that stars shot across his vision like flashing sparks. He felt himself falling backward, pain exploded inside his skull, and his only thought before everything went dark was that he really needed to stop giving people advice.

The black eye wasn’t so bad—a barely noticeable blotch, his valet assured him. The concussion, however, was another matter. The morning after the ball, Rex discovered that the world had the inclination to spin violently every time he sat up, and his body had developed a most inconvenient tendency to heave the contents of his stomach.

It took another forty-eight hours before he was on his feet again, and by that time, the barely noticeable blotch beneath his eye had quadrupled in size and turned a lurid shade of purple.

“God, Cartwright,” he muttered to his valet as he stared into the mirror. “I look like an apache. Any woman sees me coming, she’ll clutch her handbag and cross the street.”

“I think you exaggerate, sir.” The valet set aside the razor and reached for a towel. “Mrs. Snell has prepared breakfast, if you’re feeling up to it?”

He was famished, he realized in some surprise, but before he could offer his valet an affirmative reply to the question of breakfast, there was a tap on the door, and his butler, Whistler, entered the bedroom.

“Begging your pardon, my lord, but Lady Petunia is downstairs.”

“Again?” Rex lowered the mirror in his hand. “That’s three times since the ball.”

“Four, my lord. She seems quite anxious to speak with you.”

“Dear Auntie Pet,” he murmured, smiling. “She’s obviously concerned about me.”

The butler gave a discreet cough. “I wouldn’t quite say that, my lord.”

Rex stiffened. His memories of the other night were still a bit vague, but one image was suddenly clear as glass in his mind: Auntie Pet, standing by the doorway to the ballroom, staring at him in horror. Any inclination to smile vanished at once, and he turned in his chair, facing Whistler directly. “What did she say? Tell me her exact words.”

“When I explained that you were still in no condition to receive callers due to your injuries, she said...” Whistler paused, giving Rex a pained, apologetic look. “She said that in her opinion, any injuries you sustained were no more than you deserved. Given that you had taken to offending young ladies on the dance floor and—”

“The girl dashed off,” Rex interjected, stung. “Then she vanished into thin air. What was I supposed to do? Hunt her down all about the house?”

“She also mentioned something about neglecting your duties as host.”

“Well, I was knocked unconscious,” he pointed out, even though it was hardly necessary to defend himself to his own butler.

“Yes, she mentioned that as well, my lord.”

“Oh, did she?”

“Her description, I believe, was that you had taken to brawling at her balls like a Limehouse longshoreman.”

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