Page 95 of My Wicked Earl
“This way, Lord Kilmaire.” Zander’s tone was curt. Stopping before the large mahogany doors, Zander rapped with his knuckles and poked his head inside. He said something in a low tone, then ushered Colin through the doorway, before stepping deftly to the side.
The first blow from Cam’s fist hit Colin squarely in the jaw, splitting his lip and knocking his head back.
“What the bloody—”
The next punch landed in the middle of his stomach, doubling Colin over and knocking him to the floor. He fell sideways, his head lolling against the fine Persian carpet.
Blinking to clear his vision, Colin attempted to focus on the pattern of blue and green swirls he lay upon, stupidly wondering whether the swirls were supposed to be flowers. He thought they looked like teardrops.
“You bastard.” A pair of boots landed squarely before Colin’s nose. “Get up.”
It occurred to Colin as he studied the carpet, that while it was certain that his friend had not known of Colin’s relationship with Mirandabefore, Cam sure as hell didnow.
Zander’s lack of welcome should have given Colin ample warning. His observation skills aside, Colin was mainly concerned that one of his closest friends was about to beat him to death.
Christ, he hits hard.
Blood trickled down the corner of his mouth as he pushed his tongue against his lip, wincing a bit at the pain. He’d been in many a brawl. After all, he’d grown up with two older brothers, but he was not going to fight Cam. Cautiously Colin stood, bracing himself against the door.
Cam rolled back on his heels, fists clenched, ready to beat Colin to a bloody pulp at the slightest provocation.
“Cam,” Colin held up his hand in a gesture of supplication. “Where is Miranda? I can explain—”
Pain exploded in his temple and cheekbone. Colin’s head swam a bit, and for just a moment, he saw two furious Lord Cambournes standing before him.
“Bloody hell, Cam. Stop for just a moment.”
“No.” Cam’s grunted with a snarl. “Stand up. Fucking Irish—”
“There’s no need for insults,” Colin replied a bit flippantly. “Besides, even your grandmother agrees I am only a quarter Irish.” He wiped at the stream of blood dribbling down his chin, anger flaring at Cam’s words. “Are you trying to ruin what’s left of my looks? You never could tolerate any man being as pretty as you.”
Cam made a sound like an enraged bull and moved forward but halted as a voice emanated from the large leather couch facing the fireplace.
“Sutton,” the imperious voice commanded, “I insist you stop this instant. I’ll not have Lord Kilmaire’s blood all over the carpet. The rug was quite expensive and a favorite of your father’s. As it is, I fear Zander will never be able to get the stain out. And your language. You’ve forgotten yourself speaking so in front of me.”
Colin stared in disbelief at the couch.
The Dowager peeked around the side, her gloved hands wrapped around the head of her cane, expression bland as if she watched Cam engage in fisticuffs every day and tolerated the spectacle. A silver brow raised as she noted Colin’s regard, and there was no welcome for him in her face.
He moved a step towards the couch.
Cam snarled at him.
Next to the Dowager, sat Miranda. He swayed with the urge to go to her.
The ebony locks of her hair were pulled back and tied with a ribbon, allowing a cascade of dark strands to curl over her shoulder. She was busy twisting the sprigged muslin of her dress, wrinkling the fabric. Deep emerald eyes gazed at him without the slightest hint of mercy.
“My God, were you both going to allow him to beat me to death? Miranda?”
She turned away from him.
Bloody Hell. I should have left a note.
The Dowager pursed her lips in disapproval. “You are impertinent, Lord Kilmaire.”
“Why did you come back to Gray Covington? Did you forget something in your haste to follow the Cottinghams to London?” Cam hissed.
“Why would I follow the Cottinghams anywhere? Let alone to London? They were here when I left Gray Covington.”
