Page 44 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke (The Athena Society #3)
C omerford recovered quickly, his expression transforming from shock to rage in an instant. “You impudent boy,” he snarled, lunging forward.
His blow caught Percy in the ribs, driving the air from the young viscount’s lungs. Percy stumbled but rallied with surprising determination, landing another strike that glanced off Adam’s shoulder.
“Stop this at once!” Samantha demanded, but her voice was lost in the commotion as spectators gathered around the spectacle.
What Percy lacked in experience, he compensated for with righteous indignation.
His next attack forced Adam backward several steps, but the older man’s superior strength quickly reasserted itself.
Adam seized Percy by the lapels, spinning him around and shoving him hard against a decorative iron railing.
The jagged edge of an ornamental finial caught Percy’s arm, tearing through fabric and flesh. Blood immediately darkened the pale blue sleeve of his coat, though in the heat of the confrontation, Percy seemed not to notice.
“Lord Stonehall!” Miss Waverly’s distressed cry pierced through the clamor of the gathering crowd.
Adam pressed his advantage mercilessly, landing another blow that sent Percy reeling. The young man would have fallen had the railing not supported his weight.
“Enough!” The commanding voice of Lord Tenwick cut through the chaos as he thrust himself between the combatants, one powerful arm restraining Adam while the other steadied Percy. “This disgraceful display ends now.”
“He struck me first,” Comerford protested, though he made no move to break the Marquess’s hold. “The boy clearly requires discipline his uncle has neglected to provide.”
“And you require a lesson in honor no gentleman should need,” Lord Tenwick replied coldly. “Consider yourself fortunate that I intervened before you caused serious harm to the Duke of Valemont’s heir. The consequences would have been… severe.”
Adam’s eyes narrowed, but whatever retort he might have made died on his lips as Uncle William pushed through the crowd, his usually genial expression replaced by stern authority.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, his gaze sweeping from Percy’s disheveled appearance to Adam’s reddening jaw.
“A simple misunderstanding,” Lord Tenwick replied smoothly before either combatant could speak. “One that is concluded, I believe.”
“Indeed,” Samantha added quickly, moving to Percy’s side. “And we were just departing. Percy, are you quite well?”
The young viscount nodded, though his face was unnaturally pale beneath the high color of exertion. “Perfectly fine, Aunt Samantha. Merely… winded.”
Only then did she notice the spreading stain on his sleeve, the crimson bloom stark against the pale blue fabric. “You’re bleeding,” she gasped, reaching for his arm.
“It’s nothing,” Percy insisted, though he winced as she gently pushed back the torn fabric to reveal a shallow but jagged cut along his forearm. “Barely a scratch.”
“Nevertheless, it requires attention,” Samantha replied firmly, casting a meaningful glance at Lord Tenwick. “My lord, if you would be so kind as to assist Lord Stonehall to our carriage?”
The Marquess nodded his understanding, placing a supportive hand beneath Percy’s uninjured arm. “Come, young Stonehall. Let us make our exit before Lady Barnwell recovers from her shock sufficiently to compose a firsthand account for tomorrow’s gossip sheets.”
As they began to move away, the Earl of Comerford stepped forward once more, his expression a curious mixture of satisfaction and residual anger.
“Consider this a lesson in discretion, Lord Stonehall,” he said quietly.
“Some truths are better left unexamined, particularly regarding one’s… family history.”
Percy tensed, but Lord Tenwick’s firm grip prevented any renewed hostilities. “That’s quite enough from you, Comerford,” the Marquess said with quiet menace. “I suggest you find entertainment elsewhere before you encounter someone less restrained than I.”
Samantha placed her hand on Percy’s other arm, steering him away from Adam’s smirking face and toward the gallery’s exit. “Do not give him the satisfaction of a response,” she murmured, feeling the tremors of anger still coursing through the young man’s frame. “He seeks only to provoke.”
“He spoke of Uncle Ewan as though—” Percy began, his voice shaking with emotion.
“I know,” Samantha interrupted gently. “And he was wrong to do so. Your uncle is nothing like his father or brother, whatever Lord Comerford might insinuate.”
The conviction in her voice seemed to steady him somewhat, though his complexion remained worryingly pale. By the time they reached the entrance hall, Jane and Miss Waverly had joined them, the latter’s face tight with concern as she hovered anxiously at Percy’s side.
“Is he badly hurt?” she asked Samantha, her hands twisting anxiously in her gloves.
“The cut appears shallow,” Samantha replied, offering what reassurance she could. “Though it will require proper cleaning and bandaging.”
“I assure you, I am perfectly well,” Percy insisted, summoning a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “Though I must apologize for this unseemly display, Miss Waverly. It was most unworthy of?—”
“You defended your family’s honor,” Miss Waverly interrupted with surprising firmness. “There is nothing unworthy in that.”
The simple statement brought a flush of genuine pleasure to Percy’s pallid features, momentarily displacing the pain and embarrassment of the encounter. “You are too kind,” he murmured.
“Not at all,” she replied, a shy smile softening her usually composed expression. “Though perhaps in future, you might consider less… physical methods of expressing your displeasure.”
This elicited a weak chuckle from Percy. “I shall endeavor to remember your wisdom, though I confess poetic verse seemed insufficient for the occasion.”
Their carriage awaited outside, the footmen scrambling to attention at Lord Tenwick’s brisk commands.
As they assisted Percy inside, Samantha noted with growing concern that his skin had taken on a clammy sheen despite the warmth of the afternoon.
When his hand touched hers, she felt the unnatural heat radiating from his palm.
“Percy, are you certain you feel well?” she asked quietly as the others arranged themselves within the carriage. “You seem rather flushed.”
“Merely the excitement of the moment,” he assured her, though his attempt at a cavalier smile did not quite succeed. “And perhaps a touch of embarrassment at having caused such a scene.”
Samantha was not convinced, but she refrained from pressing the issue as the carriage lurched into motion.
Throughout the journey back to Uncle William’s townhouse, she observed Percy with growing unease.
His usual animation had dimmed, replaced by a distracted quality that suggested his mind was elsewhere—or perhaps, more concerningly, that he was marshaling his strength to maintain the appearance of wellness.
By the time they arrived, his color had deteriorated further, the earlier flush giving way to an alarming pallor broken only by two spots of hectic color high on his cheekbones.
As he descended from the carriage, he swayed slightly, Lord Tenwick’s steady hand at his elbow all that prevented him from stumbling.
“Percy?” Samantha questioned, alarm sharpening her voice.
“Just a momentary dizziness,” he replied, though his voice lacked its usual confidence. “Nothing to concern yourself with, Aunt Samantha.”
But as they entered the house, the bright afternoon light streaming through the windows illuminated the perspiration beading on his forehead and the glassy sheen of his eyes. When Miss Waverly hesitantly touched his hand in farewell, she drew back with a small gasp.
“Lord Stonehall, you’re burning with fever!” she exclaimed, her concern evident in every line of her face.
Samantha pressed her palm to Percy’s forehead, confirming the young woman’s assessment with growing alarm. “Jane, have Simmons prepare the blue guest chamber immediately,” she instructed. “Ralph, if you would assist Percy upstairs? I fear he is indeed unwell.”
“I assure you, there is no need for such—” Percy began, but the protest died on his lips as another wave of dizziness visibly overcame him. “Perhaps… perhaps I might rest for a moment before returning home,” he conceded.
As Tenwick guided him toward the stairs, Samantha turned to Uncle William, her decision crystallizing with sudden clarity. “Uncle, I must send word to Ewan immediately. Percy’s condition appears to be worsening by the moment, and his guardian should be informed without delay.”
“Your Grace, I must urge you to remain calm, but the Viscount has sent for you.” His butler’s typically unflappable voice carried an unusual edge that immediately set Ewan’s nerves alight.
“What’s happened?” Ewan demanded, already rising from his desk where he’d been pretending to review estate papers, his mind a thousand miles away—or rather, merely across London where his wife had taken refuge.
“I’m not entirely certain of the details, Your Grace.
” The butler hesitated, which was so uncharacteristic that Ewan felt ice form in his veins.
“A messenger from Lord Norfeld’s household arrived moments ago.
It seems Lord Stonehall has been injured in some sort of altercation at Somerset House.
He is now at Lord Norfeld’s townhouse, and apparently in a state of considerable distress. ”
Ewan was halfway to the door before the other man had finished speaking. “Have the carriage brought round immediately.”
“It awaits you already, Your Grace. I took the liberty?—”
But Ewan had already pushed past him, taking the stairs two at a time, his heart hammering against his ribs with a fear he had not experienced since the night he’d found Benedict standing over that poor stable boy, fists bloodied and eyes wild with cruelty.