Page 2 of The Scoundrel's Christmas Challenge
She shook her head and handed it back with a shiver. “I don’t care for spirits. You know that.”
“The more for me, then,” he mumbled.
“Don’t get foxed.”
“Only mellow,” he promised.
“Papa says it’s time you start looking for your own wife. She may never come around, Lucius.” Annette reached up on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Lady Jersey is introducing me to… someone, and I must dance the next quadrille with him. Please make sure you’re back before eleven. Please, Lucius. Don’t embarrass me by leaving me unchaperoned.”
He sighed like a true martyr. “Of course. I’m your oldest brother. I will always protect you. Now go,” he said, pushing her toward the stairs. “I’m crossing my fingers for you that he’s handsome, plump in the pocket, and brave enough to face all your brothers.”
This produced a snort from his sister, who promptly returned to the ballroom.
Lucius wasn’t sure how long he sat there, drowning in his self-pity. But his flask was empty. Reason enough to return to the dance. It was a quarter of an hour before eleven. He poked his head inside, searching the room for Nettie. He saw her near the refreshments, her gaze scanning the occupants. She’s worried I won’t make it.
He cursed himself as he moved through the crowd, holding up a hand so Nettie would know he was there. Behind her, Lord Frederick—a well-known rapscallion in the clubs—approached his sister from behind. Another growl scraped his throat. The man better not touch her.
A knot formed in his stomach when Lord Frederick smiled. No, leered. Nettie’s eyes went wide. The bloody nodcock had done something. Lucius saw him wink at a friend and extend his hand out again. Rage seared his chest as he yelled for his sister.
It happened so quickly. Nettie turned with a clenched fist and punched the cretin in the nose. Planted a perfect facer. His pride at her skill was cut short as chaos ensued. A deafening silence followed by a roar of gasps and murmurs. They gathered around her like vultures, the women whispering and pointing, the men smirking and nodding. Lord Frederick whined like the coward he was as red spurted from his nose, his finger wagging at Nettie as if she were the devil incarnate. Someone shouted for help.
Lucius couldn’t help the slight smile. Justice, to be sure. But the consequences would be ruinous. He watched helplessly as Nettie offered Lord Frederick a handkerchief and was rebuffed like a leper. As Lucius pushed through the crowd, the remarks echoing throughout the room would soon be all over Town.
“Lord Frederick has been attacked!”
“Did Lady Annette plant him a facer?”
“Lecherous lickpenny? Such language!”
“She never did act a proper lady.”
“Between her brothers and that right hook...”
“She’s this Season’s social pariah now.”
Lucius reached his sister just as her courage faded. He gripped her elbow, silently cursing the panic in her eyes. “I-I…” The tears fell, and she hid her face in his coat.
Anger bubbled in his belly, sending heat to his face as he held Nettie close. “I saw what happened, you disgusting cur. To think a lady could take you out, you deuced molly,” he yelled over her head.
“She’s no lady,” came the muffled response from behind a second bloody handkerchief. His blond hair was splattered with tiny droplets of cherry red, his weak chin thrust out indignantly.
“I will find you later and finish the job. Count on that.” Lucius smiled thinly when Lord Frederick went even paler. Yes, he would find the rat and beat him soundly.
The crowd parted as they made their way to the door, indicating the need to distance themselves from the ruined lady and her brother. Lucius noticed her hands trembling, one tugging on his coat.
“I think I may?—”
Lucius swept his sister into his arms as she fainted. His heart twisted again. This was his fault. If he’d been in the ballroom instead of drowning his sorrows, he would have stopped the duke’s son. Nettie wouldn’t be ruined.
***
One week later
White’s Gentlemen’s Club
“She’s a hoyden.” A nasal voice coming from the library. “If she were my daughter, I’d beat her soundly.”
“Because you couldn’t, eh?” asked another deeper voice. “She has a deuced good right punch, though I’d be more worried about her brothers.”
