Though she had tried to keep her voice low, Patience realized that her tone had drawn the attention of those in the immediate vicinity.
Fine. Let them hear.
“And as to how to speak to him—you speak to him as ever you would have. For he is the same man as ever he was.”
While the other ladies stood in stunned silence, the Lady Humphreys stepped forward with a glare, her skirts pushing against Patience’s. “Do you know whom you are addressing, Miss Dare?” She was a woman of formidable size, who was no doubt accustomed to intimidating people just with her presence.
But Patience was taller than both her sisters, and she stared straight into the eyes of the older woman. Refusing to step back, she lifted her chin and raised her brows. “Though, clearly, you already knew my name—I have only just learned yours, Lady Humphreys.”
The Lady Humphreys’s beady eyes narrowed. “I am the
Marchioness
of Humphreys, and I will be addressed with the respect my title merits. And the only reason I know who you are,
miss
, is because of your conspicuous appearance. And I do
not
mean that as a compliment.” She glared at Farnsby and Asher and the small crowd of other gentlemen who had paused behind Patience, but she seemed to excuse Fitz Roy. She lifted her strong chin. “Any woman who is so constantly surrounded by men cannot be a woman of any quality or dignity. I pity you, Miss Dare. And I pity you your low brother-in-law, Mr. Who-ever-he-is.”
Patience trembled with her fury. “Pity me? Rather pity yourself. Any woman who is so constantly surrounded by her own malignant pride cannot be a woman of any kindness or decency. And if
you
are what exemplifies good breeding, then Mr.
Hawkmore
ought to count his blessings that he is not a member of your illustrious society.” Patience leaned forward. “He is good and honest, and I would thank
you
not to speak his name unless you can do so with the respect
his
character merits.”
The Lady Humphreys’s face turned dark red. “Respect? Shall I respect a man who just last eve attacked Lord Danforth over the gaming table—out of malice and jealousy?”
Patience stiffened and felt her own hands fisting. Had Matthew been in a fight? “While violence is obviously regrettable, if my brother-in-law struck Lord Danforth, then Lord Danforth must have provoked him to do so. And as for jealousy, what possible reason could my brother-in-law have to be jealous of Lord Danforth? Rather, the other way around I should think, for Mr. Hawkmore has many enviable attributes.”
Fitz Roy’s bored drawl sounded from beside her. “Actually, Lady Humphreys, it was Lord Danforth who attacked Mr. Hawkmore.”
Patience lifted her chin. “There, you see.”
The Lady Humphreys cast a quick glance at Fitz Roy but otherwise ignored him. Her lip curled as she regarded Patience. “Perhaps you are not aware, Miss Dare, that Lord Danforth just became engaged to Lady Rosalind Benchley, your brother- in-law’s former fiancée.”
A small but decidedly unpleasant tremor moved down Patience’s spine.
“And you declare that he has no reason for jealousy? Really, Miss Dare, I think you are being a bit naïve. If there is one thing everyone knows, it’s how completely in love Mr. Hawkmore was, and likely still is, with Lady Rosalind. Lady Rosalind, who, I might add, is a woman of elegant beauty and impeccable breeding.”
Patience tamped down the surprisingly painful feeling that the marchioness’s words evoked, and pulled herself up. “If there’s one thing everyone knows, my lady, it’s that gossips are most always wrong. Therefore, I can hardly take anything you say seriously. Besides, since Lord Danforth was the one who accosted Mr. Hawkmore, then clearly any malice or jealousy must lie in the heart of Lord Danforth.”
“You are certainly passionate in your defense of your brother-in-law, Miss Dare.” Lady Humphreys raised her thick brows and gave Patience the once-over. “I can only wonder at why that might be?”
“Mr. Hawkmore is a respected member of my family—and that, my
lady
, is reason enough.” Patience took one step closer to the Lady Humphreys and lowered her voice. “Do not slander him again.”
The marchioness narrowed her eyes. “Wait till people hear how you have spoken to me. I hope you have no aspirations of marrying a title, Miss Dare. For you have most certainly ruined any hope of that this evening.”
Patience didn’t back up. “I have no aspirations to marriage at all, so your threats are meaningless.”
The Lady Humphreys narrowed her eyes. “Yes, well, you may be unmarriageable, Miss Dare. But you’ve also just stolen your sister’s chances for admittance into the best drawing rooms.”
Patience’s anger flared. How dare this woman punish Passion! “
My
sister won’t care one whit about that.”
“So you hope.”
“So I know.”
The Lady Humphreys drew in her breath with a hiss. “I do not bid you good evening.” And with that she turned and stomped off, her friends hurrying after her.
Patience drew short breaths and tried to still the trembling that had suddenly started in her legs. Her wonderful mood was gone. She turned back to her companions and the circle of gentlemen who had stayed by to listen. They were all staring at her with a kind of awe.
No comfort there. Where was Matthew?
Lord Fitz Roy stepped forward, breaking the silence. “By God,” he said in his bored drawl, “that was exceptionally well done, Miss Dare.” Her crowd of onlookers, including Farnsby and Asher, nodded and a few
Hear, Hears
were raised to her.
Patience managed a small smile, and tried to ignore the unsettled feeling in her stomach. Her throat felt tight. What was the matter with her?
Where was Matthew?
She glanced back at Fitz Roy and found his pale gaze upon her. He regarded her for a moment before turning to address the group in his bored drawl. “I do believe that this is, perhaps, as great a day as when David slew Goliath.” He raised his brows as he turned back to her and offered her his arm. “Perhaps greater.” Patience tucked her hand into the bend of his elbow as everyone laughed. “Now, if you’ll excuse us my lords, gentlemen, I’m going to escort our heroine for a brief, resuscitative walk.” And with that, he led her away.
Patience breathed a sigh of relief. Sometimes she felt like she couldn’t breathe when so many were clustered around her. And for a horrid moment, as she’d turned and faced the mute circle of amazed gentlemen, she’d thought she might cry. She glanced at Fitz Roy. “Thank you, my lord. Had you not taken my part, those gentlemen might not have either.”
Fitz Roy looked at her and raised one black brow. “My dear Miss Dare, your victory this evening was entirely your own. The Lady Humphreys is one of the most feared members of our—what did you call it?—our ‘illustrious society.’ ”
Patience frowned. “I apologize, my lord. I didn’t mean you.”
Fitz Roy shrugged. “It’s quite all right. We’re a worthless lot, really. Far too much time and money on our hands, and an unfortunate disinclination to do anything substantive with either. No”—he paused by the doors to the grand salon and looked over the milling guests—“we’re more starch than substance, I’m afraid. Stiff, and full of little more than air, we shy away from the weight of true morality for fear it will crush us.” He turned back to her. “Which is why your brilliant and passionate defense of Mr. Hawkmore was so enthralling. It isn’t often that we see such exceptional displays of decency, and loyalty.”
Patience frowned. If her defense had been so brilliant, why did she feel defeated? Matthew wasn’t in the salon either. She met Fitz Roy’s pale gaze. He was being so kind to her, but . . . “Forgive me, my lord. I’m afraid I seem to have lost my good humor.”
Fitz Roy nodded and then regarded her a moment longer. “Miss Dare, the fight between Mr. Hawkmore and Lord Danforth had nothing to do with Lady Rosalind—nothing whatsoever.”
Patience stiffened as, yet again, her eyes welled. She lifted her chin. “No, of course it didn’t.” She blinked and swallowed down her tears. “But thank you, my lord.”
He bowed his head. “You’re welcome, Miss Dare.”
Flushing at her own discomfiture, Patience nodded. “Please, excuse me. I find I am in need of a moment.”
“A moment, if you please.”
Matthew turned from his search for Patience and followed his brother. Mark led him across the foyer to the library and closed the tall doors behind them.
“What is it?” Matthew asked. He could see by his brother’s tense face that it was something significant.
“Benchley is here. He demands to speak with you.”
Matthew stiffened as his hands tightened into fists. A cold fury burned away all vestiges of the good humor he had cultivated with Patience. He spoke through his clenched jaw. “How rude of him to arrive at the dinner hour.”
Mark nodded. “Do you want me to throw him out?”
“No.” Matthew shook his head. “Where is he?”
“I had him escorted to your office.”
“Good. Rear of the house. That way, if I murder him, no one is likely to hear,” he snarled, as he wrenched open the library door.
Striding down the broad corridor to his office, Matthew took long, deep breaths. He needed to remain calm—calm and controlled, no matter what.
Without pausing, he jerked open the office door. Benchley stood in the middle of the room, but Matthew managed to ignore him as he slammed the door and walked behind his desk. Only then did he meet the older man’s glaring blue eyes.
Matthew gritted his teeth and his heart pounded as he prepared for battle. “What do you want?”
Benchley strode forward, his coat swinging back from his bulky frame. “I came for my mine, Hawkmore. Danforth informed me this afternoon that you cheated him out of it. I demand that you return it to me, at once.”
Matthew leaned his fists on the desk. “Call me a cheat again, and I’ll sue you for slander.” A muscle in his arm twitched. “As for the mine, Danforth’s name was on the deed to Gwenellyn, not yours.”
“You know damned well that means nothing. Danforth can’t tie his own cravat, let alone run one of my mines. Now give it back to me!”
“And why the hell should I do that?” He was barely able to bite out the words.
Benchley stepped closer and pointed his finger accusingly. “Because you bloody owe me.”
Heat flooded Matthew’s head as he leaned forward and planted his hands on the desktop. “I owe you?” he repeated slowly. His arms trembled with the effort it took not to hurl himself at Benchley. “I don’t owe you anything but the bottom of my boot.”
The earl’s face grew florid. “You bastard! You sullied my daughter and me with your lies and your low attempt to pass yourself off as a man of pure and noble blood. You embroiled us in your hideous scandal and then you embarrassed and shamed us with your attempt to see Rosalind, even after I told you myself that she didn’t ever want to see you again!” He slammed the flat of his hand on the desk. “And thanks to our association with you, upon which we embarked in good faith, we have been tainted to such a degree that now the only husband I can get for my daughter—
my
daughter who can trace her pure, perfect line back to the Conqueror—is a penniless gambler! And
that
is why you owe me.”
Matthew heard the papers crinkling on his desk as his fingers curled into fists. His whole body was stiff with suppressed rage. “I never lied to you because I never knew,” he snarled, baring his teeth. “But despite that fact, you cast me off—adding derision and insults to your public denouncing of me. You sullied
me
with your lies about my paternity until, I am sure, doors closed to me based on that alone. And as if it weren’t enough for you to run me into the ground personally and socially, you have the unmitigated gall and villainy to try to ruin me financially as well!” He ground his knuckles into the top of the desk. “So, thanks to my association with
you
, upon which
I
embarked in good faith, I have suffered losses tenfold what they would have been without you!” Matthew picked up a long, silver letter opener, and with the full swing of his arm, stabbed it into the desktop. “I owe you? I owe you nothing!” he roared.
Benchley’s hand clenched over a large marble paperweight. His breathing came hard and fast. “Why shouldn’t you suffer financially, you son of a bitch? I am! Danforth is practically penniless, yet he is the best I can get for Rosalind now. His earldom is the only thing he shall bring to this marriage, but small consolation is the title of countess when I shall have to fund my daughter’s life entirely while keeping her gambling husband out of fucking debt!”
Matthew drew back. Just let Benchley make one move with that paperweight. “Forgive me if I do not weep for you,” Matthew sneered. “Had you stood by me, you and Rosalind would have had the benefit of all my money. You chose your path, now you deal with what lies in it.”
Benchley began to shake. “I swear, you will rue the day you lied to me.”
“I never lied to you!” Matthew bellowed.
“You did! You knew!” Benchley’s fingers whitened around the block of marble. “What man can look upon a bastard child—the incarnation of his wife’s betrayal—without making that bastard suffer the knowledge of his own low birth?” He shook his graying head. “No. With
your
slut of a mother at the root of things—the way she always favored you. No man could tolerate that. So, don’t tell me you never knew.”
Matthew’s fury escalated at the mention of his mother. A muscle pulled in his shoulder. He hated that he was her son, and he hated Benchley for reminding him that he was. He clenched his jaw. “Get out.”
“Give me back my mine!”
“Go to hell!”
Benchley’s eyes narrowed to slits. “By God, I shall ruin you.”
Matthew leaned forward, his blood racing. “The only ruination to come will be your own.”
“Have you forgotten?” Benchley pulled back, his mouth twisting into a sneer. “You’re not the son of an earl anymore. And the last I heard, no one will do business with you. Ruin me? You don’t have the resources.”