Page 108 of The Duelist for the Ton
“You mean you challenged him to a…”
Adam trailed off and turned toward her. His eyes darkened with understanding as he continued to stare at her. Then he lowered his gaze to her arm and it began to itch, as if it burned under his scrutiny.
“I see.”
Though his voice was almost a whisper, it seemed to resonate through the room, thickening the atmosphere with menace.
“Adam, perhaps we should serve tea,” Portia said, rising. “I’ll send for someone to tend to the flowers. Thank you, Stephen, for such a beautiful bouquet.”
“Back to pleasantries again, I see,” her brother said, as he continued to stare at Stephen.
Portia reached for the bellpull, then let out a soft moan as the pain in her arm deepened. Placing a protective hand over her arm, she returned to her seat, aware of her brother’s eyes on her.
“I-I trust Angela is not too distressed by what happened?” she said.
“She’s almost fully recovered,” Stephen said, “though she’s aware of the folly of her actions and the danger she placed herself in. But I trust you understand why I had to rush to her side—and take up my responsibilities as an older brother.”
He glanced at Adam, who seemed to be shimmering with barely controlled anger. “I am well aware of the responsibilities of an older brother, colonel,” he said, his voice cold and hard. “He would do anything to defend his sister’s honor—even kill those who brought her to harm.”
Stephen flinched and took a step back. “Have I said anything amiss?”
“Notsaid,” Adam replied. “Am I right, sister?”
Please don’t,Portia mouthed to her brother, but he curled his hands into fists.
“Adam!” she cried. “We should serve tea before it gets cold. If Mrs. Winston has gone to the trouble of baking shortbread, we should at least offer a slice to our guest.”
He turned toward her. “Shortbread? Is that all you can speak of?”
“Forgive me,” Stephen said. “I’m afraid I don’t understand—”
“Then I’llmakeyou understand, given that you consider yourself the expert in an older brother’s responsibilities.”
“Adam!” Portia said. “Please, I-I’m sure Stephen has no intention to harm Sir Heath, and I—”
“Sir Heath?” Stephen’s head snapped round as he shifted his gaze to her. “How the devil do you know it was Sir Heath who compromised Angela?”
“You really are a simpleton, aren’t you, Reid?” Adam sneered.
“Stop it!” she said. “I-I merely assumed, given Sir Heath’s reputation.”
“Sir Heath isn’t the only rake in Town,” Stephen said, and she flinched at the hardness in his voice—the tone that had made her blood freeze with terror only that morning. “Is he,Foxton?” he continued, his voice almost a snarl. “You’ve not exactly been a paragon of gentlemanly behavior.”
“We’re not callingmybehavior into question, Reid,” Adam said. “Besides—”
“What the devil is that?” Stephen said, gesturing toward Portia’s arm. She lowered her gaze and suppressed a cry of horror.
A dark red stain had appeared on her sleeve. Glistening and wet, it seemed to grow with each heartbeat.
“How did you sustain that, Lady Portia?”
“I-I dropped my cologne bottle, and—” she began, at the same time her brother spoke.
“She fell off a horse and cut—”
She met her brother’s gaze.
“Which is it?” Stephen said. “Cologne bottle, or horse? Or…”
