Page 84 of The Moonstone Marquess
Also, he was not about to start a fight in Mrs. Halsey’s charming tearoom.
He turned back to the proprietress and handed his boxes to her. “I’ll retrieve them in a moment. Seldon, step outside.”
He gave the man no chance to respond, knocking him aside with his shoulder as he strode out and waited for the dolt to follow.
“Are you going to let him do that to you?” Seline said, goading the dolt.
She had walked in with Lord Seldon and two other lords Cormac did not know very well, but he expected they were of low reputation, or they would not have come here with her. They certainly should not have remained in the village once they realized how dull it was or what Seline’s purpose was in coming here.
Why involve themselves in a confrontation that was only going to see them humiliated? Well, Seline was Lady Whitford and had the means to pay these men to do her loathsome bidding. He would not be surprised if their pay included a romp in the sack with her, although to Cormac’s thinking, Seline had lost the bloom of her youth. Her once-beautiful face was beginning to show signs of wear, and there was nothing soft or sweet about her to redeem it.
The three men finally mustered their nerve and rushed out after him.
Seldon cursed at him, his language shocking several ladies who happened to be passing by. “Fight me, you coward,” he said, then took a swing at Cormac. “I demand satisfaction.”
Cormac easily avoided the fist. “You are making an arse of yourself, Seldon. I have no wish to fight with you. However, beware. Insult me again and I will lay you low.”
Why on earth were these men coming at him in broad daylight in the middle of the high street? This was a respectable part of town. Ladies walked along here with their children.
Well, he understood Seldon’s reason. But he’d had no encounters with the wives or sisters of these other men. Why would they risk serious punishment for striking a marquess?
The promise of sex did odd things to a man’s brain.
None of them were trained for fighting, something he could easily tell by their hesitation in approaching him.
Thaddius Angel came running out from the Kestrel Inn, which was just across the way. “I’ll fetch my uncle,” he said, and took off at a run.
The three men now moved to surround Cormac. Seline stood at the door of the tearoom, a smirk on her face.
Cormac was itching to teach these idiots a lesson, but he had never fought one-handed and was not certain whether his lack of an arm would throw his balance off. Well, hopefully it would not come to that. Constable Angel was an amiable fellow, but he would not tolerate anyone disrupting the peace in his town.
“Coward,” one of Seldon’s companions muttered with a snarl.
Seriously? Had all Cormac’s years of battle and the loss of his arm not proven his worth? Where had these sniveling toadies been while war raged? Definitely not on a battlefield, or they would never have tossed the insult. Soldiers knew better than to talk to their brothers in arms this way.
“Brougham, is it? You are the Duke of Anston’s nephew, are you not?”
“What’s it to you, Burness?”
“I was just curious. I like to know the identity of the man I am about to knock unconscious.”
“Ha, you just—”
Cormac slammed his fist into the man’s face.
The man toppled and then lay groaning on the ground.
Seline shouted at the other two, “What are you waiting for? He’s a lousy cripple.”
Ah, the woman was such a delight.
He easily knocked the other man down when the fool lunged at him—another haughty lord who had no understanding of what it meant to fight for one’s life or one’s country, and how that experience trained one for survival.
The two of them were now rolling on the ground, groaning as they nursed their bruised jaws.
He turned toward Lord Seldon and came to an abrupt halt.
Damn it.
