Page 93 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke
“Lord Comerford, that is quite enough,” Samantha interjected, alarmed by the rising tension.
But Comerford seemed to enjoy the effects his words were having on the lad, and the crowd it was gathering around them. So, he continued relentlessly, his gaze fixed on Percy.
“Your uncle lacks even the courage to face his failures directly. Instead, he hides behind estate matters while his duchess makes public appearances without him. One might almost pity the poor fool if his cowardice weren’t so?—”
The blow came with surprising swiftness, Percy’s fist connecting with the Earl’s jaw with enough force to snap the older man’s head back and send a collective gasp through the witnessing crowd. Samantha gasped as he staggered, momentarily stunned by the unexpected attack.
“Percy!” she exclaimed, horrified by the sudden violence.
CHAPTER 29
Comerford recovered quickly, his expression transforming from shock to rage in an instant. “You impudent boy,” he snarled, lunging forward.
His blow caught Percy in the ribs, driving the air from the young viscount’s lungs. Percy stumbled but rallied with surprising determination, landing another strike that glanced off Adam’s shoulder.
“Stop this at once!” Samantha demanded, but her voice was lost in the commotion as spectators gathered around the spectacle.
What Percy lacked in experience, he compensated for with righteous indignation. His next attack forced Adam backward several steps, but the older man’s superior strength quickly reasserted itself. Adam seized Percy by the lapels, spinning him around and shoving him hard against a decorative iron railing.
The jagged edge of an ornamental finial caught Percy’s arm, tearing through fabric and flesh. Blood immediately darkened the pale blue sleeve of his coat, though in the heat of the confrontation, Percy seemed not to notice.
“Lord Stonehall!” Miss Waverly’s distressed cry pierced through the clamor of the gathering crowd.
Adam pressed his advantage mercilessly, landing another blow that sent Percy reeling. The young man would have fallen had the railing not supported his weight.
“Enough!” The commanding voice of Lord Tenwick cut through the chaos as he thrust himself between the combatants, one powerful arm restraining Adam while the other steadied Percy. “This disgraceful display ends now.”
“He struck me first,” Comerford protested, though he made no move to break the Marquess’s hold. “The boy clearly requires discipline his uncle has neglected to provide.”
“And you require a lesson in honor no gentleman should need,” Lord Tenwick replied coldly. “Consider yourself fortunate that I intervened before you caused serious harm to the Duke of Valemont’s heir. The consequences would have been… severe.”
Adam’s eyes narrowed, but whatever retort he might have made died on his lips as Uncle William pushed through the crowd, his usually genial expression replaced by stern authority.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, his gaze sweeping from Percy’s disheveled appearance to Adam’s reddening jaw.
“A simple misunderstanding,” Lord Tenwick replied smoothly before either combatant could speak. “One that is concluded, I believe.”
“Indeed,” Samantha added quickly, moving to Percy’s side. “And we were just departing. Percy, are you quite well?”
The young viscount nodded, though his face was unnaturally pale beneath the high color of exertion. “Perfectly fine, Aunt Samantha. Merely… winded.”
Only then did she notice the spreading stain on his sleeve, the crimson bloom stark against the pale blue fabric. “You’re bleeding,” she gasped, reaching for his arm.
“It’s nothing,” Percy insisted, though he winced as she gently pushed back the torn fabric to reveal a shallow but jagged cut along his forearm. “Barely a scratch.”
“Nevertheless, it requires attention,” Samantha replied firmly, casting a meaningful glance at Lord Tenwick. “My lord, if you would be so kind as to assist Lord Stonehall to our carriage?”
The Marquess nodded his understanding, placing a supportive hand beneath Percy’s uninjured arm. “Come, young Stonehall. Let us make our exit before Lady Barnwell recovers from hershock sufficiently to compose a firsthand account for tomorrow’s gossip sheets.”
As they began to move away, the Earl of Comerford stepped forward once more, his expression a curious mixture of satisfaction and residual anger. “Consider this a lesson in discretion, Lord Stonehall,” he said quietly. “Some truths are better left unexamined, particularly regarding one’s… family history.”
Percy tensed, but Lord Tenwick’s firm grip prevented any renewed hostilities. “That’s quite enough from you, Comerford,” the Marquess said with quiet menace. “I suggest you find entertainment elsewhere before you encounter someone less restrained than I.”
Samantha placed her hand on Percy’s other arm, steering him away from Adam’s smirking face and toward the gallery’s exit. “Do not give him the satisfaction of a response,” she murmured, feeling the tremors of anger still coursing through the young man’s frame. “He seeks only to provoke.”
“He spoke of Uncle Ewan as though—” Percy began, his voice shaking with emotion.
“I know,” Samantha interrupted gently. “And he was wrong to do so. Your uncle is nothing like his father or brother, whatever Lord Comerford might insinuate.”
