Page 23 of An Earl Like You (Games Earls Play #6)
Chapter
Twelve
B y the time Cass returned to the ballroom Hattie, her sisters and Lady Fosberry were gone. It was just as well, as the evening’s scandal was already making its way from every mouth to every ear.
And it had already made it to Hayward’s ear, judging by his grim expression.
As soon as Hayward saw him approaching he signaled to Cass to follow him, turned on his heel and left the ballroom. He didn’t say a word as they waited for Hayward’s carriage to be brought, and the ride from Lady Dumfries’s ball to Cass’s townhouse in Mount Street also passed in utter silence.
Neither of them moved when Massey stopped the carriage outside Cass’s townhouse in Mount Street.
Hayward sat in one corner of the carriage, his every appendage stiff in a silent mutiny, his knees locked together, and his arms crossed over his chest. If he could have crossed his upper and lower lip he certainly would have, but instead he settled for pinching them tightly together.
It wasn’t the first time Hayward had been angry with him.
He’d been subjected to Hayward’s pinched-lipped glare on any number of occasions.
Hayward had his own private sense of proper behavior, despite his mildly rakish tendencies.
In his friend’s estimation, there were certain things a gentleman simply did not do .
Brawling at a private ball was one of them.
Cass’s own moral code was a touch flimsier than Hayward’s, and so he’d never troubled himself much with his friend’s fits and tempers. They’d always had an unspoken agreement that Hayward was welcome to disapprove of him, and Cass was welcome to ignore that disapproval.
But this time he couldn’t abide his friend’s seething discontent.
This time, it was different. This time, it wasn’t his gaming, or his drunkenness, or his tendency to dally with a lady he’d much better not have dallied with that had earned him Hayward’s ire.
Yes, he’d engaged in a brawl at a ball, and half of Lady Dumfries’s guests had witnessed Egerton stumbling into the ballroom looking as if he’d been trampled by a horse.
By tomorrow morning, all of London would know of it.
Was it his finest moment? No. But this time, for the first time since he’d come to London, Cass wasn’t ashamed of his behavior. Egerton had hurt Hattie. The man was a villain, and it was well past time someone held him to account for it.
Still, he wasn’t immune to Hayward’s silence, and he’d rather have it out between them sooner than later. “I sense a lecture in the making, Hayward. You may as well get it over with.”
Hayward raised an eyebrow but stubbornly maintained his stoic silence.
“At least the gossips will be pleased with me. I daresay the scandal sheets will enjoy a brisk business tomorrow morning. The ton does love a brawl.”
Hayward glared at him, but his lips remained closed.
“Nothing at all to say, Hayward? No sermons or speeches? No treatise on the proper way for a gentleman to conduct himself? That is unusual. I expected a reprimand, at least.”
Nothing. Not even a sternly raised eyebrow.
Cass sighed. “Very well, Hayward. Massey will take you on to the Albany. Massey, if you’d be so good as to take Lord Hayward on to Piccadilly?—”
“If you’d be so good as to wait here for me, Massey,” Hayward interrupted. “Lord Windham and I are going to have a chat first. I won’t be long.”
That was a bald-faced lie. Hayward had never delivered a short lecture in his life.
Exhaustion was catching up to Cass, a heavy weariness seeping through the cracks, and he wanted his bed more than anything, but there was no arguing with Hayward’s grim tone.
Even if he’d had a mind to, Hayward was already out of the carriage and striding up the steps to the front door, and there was little he could do but accept his fate and trail after his friend to his study.
His moment of reckoning had come at last. A bit overdue, really, all told.
Hayward didn’t bother to light a lamp but went directly to the sideboard and helped himself to a splash of brandy. He drank it down quickly, then poured two more, and handed one to Cass before planting himself in front of the fireplace.
He still didn’t speak but stood there as silent as a cipher and as stiff as the fireplace pokers in the rack beside him, his stern gaze fixed on Cass.
Ah. So, they were back to seething disapproval, then.
For God’s sake, why didn’t Hayward say something? Cass squirmed as the silence stretched between them, until he could stand it no longer and snapped, “Well, Hayward? You’ve clearly got something to say, so you may as well say it, and put us both out of our misery.”
“Very well, Windham, since you insist.” Hayward tossed back his brandy, placed the empty glass on the mantel, then turned to face Cass. “Would you care to explain what happened with Egerton? Because from what I can see it looks as if you made an utter cake of yourself tonight.”
Heat rose in Cass’s cheeks, but it wasn’t shame. Not this time. It was anger. “I’m aware of how it looks, Hayward, but?—”
“Are you, Windham? Are you truly aware? Tell me, did you see Lady Dumfries’s face when she realized what had happened in her ballroom?”
“It happened on the terrace, not in the ballroom.”
“Splitting hairs, Windham.”
“I didn’t see Lady Dumfries’s face, no. You’ll have to excuse me, Hayward. I was a bit preoccupied with planting my fist in Egerton’s jaw at the time.”
“Well, I did see her face. Nearly everyone in the ballroom saw it, and you may be sure it’s all anyone will be talking about as they pay their calls tomorrow. By this time tomorrow evening, all of London will know of it.”
“I don’t give a damn what the ton says.”
“That’s precisely my point, Windham! You can’t simply do whatever you?—”
“Egerton’s a brute. He got what he deserved.”
“Egerton’s a brute, so you deemed it appropriate to brawl with him in the middle of Lady Dumfries’s ball?”
“Can it properly be called a brawl? I struck Egerton, and Egerton toppled over like a nine pin. It was hardly a brawl.” He didn’t mention that he’d also slammed Egerton’s head against the wrought iron gate, as it didn’t seem likely to help matters.
But he didn’t regret it. Perhaps he would later, but not now. There’d be plenty of time for self-recrimination when he was alone in his bed.
“Are you entertained, Windham. Is this amusing to you?”
“Amusing, to find the lady I lo…a lady I care very much for suffering such an insult by a scoundrel like Egerton? He was hurting Hattie, Hayward.”
“ What ?” Hayward whispered, the color draining from his face.
“He was hurting her.” Cass clutched his glass tighter to keep himself from hurling it into the grate and watching it shatter into a thousand shards. “Egerton was…he tried to hurt Hattie, Hayward. What would you have had me do?”
“Dear God, Windham.” Hayward reached for the arm of a chair to steady himself and sank into it. “I had no idea.”
Cass leaped to his feet, unable to sit still a moment longer. “God, Hayward, Hattie’s face! I won’t soon forget her expression when I burst onto the terrace and found her pinned against the door with Egerton looming over her. She was utterly terrified.”
“I sincerely beg your pardon, Windham. I should have known better than to trust the rumors flying around the ballroom. The gossips always paint you as the villain.”
“The ton already has their own version of events, then?” It didn’t surprise him. They always did, and he’d been the villain often enough to give any lie the appearance of truth.
He was, after all, a St. Giles guttersnipe, and this was not his first brawl.
“They have it that you attacked Egerton in a hallway outside the ballroom and threatened to throw him from the second floor of Lady Dumfries’s townhouse.”
“I should have done just that, since I’m to be blamed for it anyway.” It was no wonder Egerton had returned to the ballroom after their encounter. What better way to start that rumor than to appear in public bloodied and battered?
“I knew Egerton was a villain, but this?” Hayward shook his head. “How did he discover that Lady Harriet and Hattie were one and the same person?”
“It’s a long story, but the short version is that Lady Laetitia Tremblay told him.”
“I might have known. That woman is pure poison. You’re well rid of her.” Hayward glanced at him, eyebrow raised. “You are rid of her, are you not?”
“God, yes, and I hope my father is rolling in his grave right now. I hope he never has a moment of peaceful rest again.”
“It’s wicked to wish ill on the dead, but in your father’s case, I’ll make an exception.” Hayward hesitated. “Is Lady Harriet going to be all right?”
“I don’t know.” Cass dragged his hand down his face. “I don’t know, Hayward. She was badly shaken.”
Sweet, gentle Hattie, who’d never hurt a soul had been utterly at Egerton’s mercy tonight.
He’d relive her terror again and again, but the part of tonight’s disaster that kept playing over in his mind, the part that would keep him up tonight was the question of what might have happened if he hadn’t reached her when he did.
What if she hadn’t lost her slipper, and he hadn’t been able to find her? What if he’d arrived five minutes later than he had? Or ten? God above, but he couldn’t bear to think of it.
“Egerton got what he deserved, Hayward. He’s villain and shouldn’t be tolerated in decent society.”
But the ton had never been particularly discriminating when it came to aristocratic gentlemen, particularly those with money. They’d tolerated his father, hadn’t they?
They’d tolerated him .
“I don’t dispute it, Windham. Only the worst sort of monster would hurt a lady.”
Cass threw himself back into his chair, suddenly drained. “What do you think would have happened if I hadn’t found her when I did, Hayward?”
The very thought of what that blackguard might have done to Hattie made his stomach roil with rage and fear, but he kept his grip on his glass, because throwing it into the grate was too much like something his father would have done.