Page 110 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
“I trust you’re not referring tomybehavior,” Dunton said. “I was merely passing on my way to luncheon when this bounder insulted me.”
“Sit down, Radham,” Foxton said. “There’s nothing to be gained from this.”
“Other than personal satisfaction,” Andrew snarled.
“Drunken beast!” Dunton said, gesturing toward Andrew’s glass. “Brandy at luncheon—I should have known. Your brother was just the same, and much good did it do him. If you wish to accuse me of debauchery, I suggest you look to your own house.Who knows how many bastards your brother has littered over the countryside? As to that Howard whore…”
Andrew fisted his hands as his stomach churned at the stench of sweat and stale liquor. Then Dunton lowered his voice to a whisper.
“How does it feel to know thatIgot there first? Who knows? With your brother’s reputation, I’d not be surprised if he dipped into that well himself. Next time you fuck her, think on that—think on how she squealed like a sow in heat as I took her from behind.”
Dunton stepped back, a broad grin creasing his fleshy face, triumph glittering in his eyes, and a swell of anger coiled in Andrew’s chest—an over-wound spring.
“I wish you joy of her,” Dunton said. “Many a man has had to content himself with my leavings, and you can at least console yourself with the thought that I broke her in nicely for you. At very little cost to myself, I’ll add. She might not be the best fuck in town, but she was the cheapest.”
The spring snapped. With a roar of rage, Andrew lunged forward and slammed his fist into Dunton’s face.
“Vile bastard!” he cried as pain exploded in his knuckles. He drew back his arm and again struck Dunton, who toppled backward and crumpled to the floor. Andrew flew toward him, both fists raised, and landed another punch in the man’s gut while Dunton curled up and wailed.
But before Andrew could secure another blow, he was pulled back and found himself restrained by two footmen.
“Stop!” Foxton cried. “That’s not how we settle our differences.”
“Then what do we do?” Andrew replied. “Tut loudly at each other? Stand each other a round of drinks then agree we’ll say no more on the matter? Cordially shake hands while the sin goes unpunished?”
“Yes,” Foxton said. “It’s called being a gentleman.”
“If that’s the case, then I want no part of it.”
“You’re no gentleman,” Dunton said. “You’re…” He broke off in a fit of coughing, spattering droplets of blood on his jacket. “Damn you, Radham—that’ll have to be cleaned.”
“Is that all you care for? Your damnedjacket?” Andrew stepped forward, but the footman tightened his grip.
“That’s enough, sir,” he said. “This behavior is not to be tolerated.” He turned to Foxton. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but if you do not show this man out, I’ll have to evict him.”
“Then evict me!” Andrew said. “If you’d rather protect creatures such as Dunton, then I have no wish to set foot inside this cursed building again!”
“Very well, sir. You give us no choice.” The footmen tightened their grips, then marched Andrew toward the main doors.
“I can see myself out,” Andrew said, but the expressions of satisfaction on the footmen’s faces told him that they’d relish the opportunity to forcibly throw an undesirable out of their establishment. The door opened, and Andrew found himself pushed down the steps, where he lost his footing and fell to the pavement just as a man and woman approached, arm in arm.
“Well, really!” the man said, raising his eyebrows. The lady said nothing, until Foxton appeared at the top of the steps and a sheen of desire colored her expression.
“Oh, Your Grace,” she said, and her husband frowned. Ignoring them, Foxton helped Andrew up and brushed the dust off his jacket. Then he steered Andrew along the pavement, leaving the couple open mouthed at the foot of the steps.
“There goes luncheon,” Foxton said, sighing.
“Sorry about that,” Andrew said.
Foxton snorted. “No matter. I’ll wager there’s several fathers who’d applaud you for giving the fellow a shiner. But you’ll never be able to show your face at White’s again.”
“You think I care?”
“And…Miss Howard?”
“It matters not,” Andrew said. “I doubt I’ll see her again.”
Foxton shook his head. “Look for the source of a man’s misery and you’ll always find a woman,” he said. “When a man drives himself to ruination, invariably a doxy sits at the root of it. Women are not to be trusted—instead they are to be enjoyed. In that, if nothing else, I find myself in agreement with Dunton.”
