‘Farnsworth, I believe we might be in for a somewhat cool welcome.’ Lucian began to stroll across the gravel towards the steps, assessing the two men standing there with Sara in front of them. He was too far away to hear what was being said, but from the rigid set of her shoulders and the vehement hand gestures, he suspected not all was well. Gregory’s head turned as he looked for Marguerite. ‘Do not react, whatever the provocation,’ Lucian added. ‘Leave this to me.’
This was Sara’s home and he owed her a great deal, too much to cause a rift with her family. Her brother brushed past her, took the steps down two at a time and strode towards them. Instinctively Lucian shifted his stance, but kept his hands down when every ounce of instinct and training told him to lift his fists in the face of the Viscount’s evident hostility. Even so, he had expected some preliminaries, some insults at least, not that Clere would aim a right hook squarely at his jaw. He rocked back three paces, riding the punch, but stayed on his feet.
He ran one hand over his chin and contemplated throwing manners, caution and common sense to the wind and taking out the frustrations of the past few months on the man in front of him. Then he saw Sara run across the carriage drive towards them and gave her the faintest shake of his head. She stopped, then walked forward warily to stand beside him, facing her brother. Her loyalties would be torn between them both and he admired her for even attempting the balancing act.
‘An unusual welcome,’ Lucian drawled, ignoring the pain. Damn, but the man has a punch like a blacksmith’s hammer. It was a miracle his teeth were not all over the drive. ‘Farnsworth, this is Viscount Clere. I suggest you stay out of his way until we establish whether this is his normal greeting to guests or if I am uniquely honoured by a display of pugilism.’ He should be diplomatic, soothing, make a joke of it, perhaps. He needed this family’s help. But he was not going to act the punching bag for anyone, not even this man whom he had always liked and who was reacting as he strongly suspected he would have himself if he was in Clere’s shoes.
‘You have seduced my sister,’ the other man snarled. ‘And—’
‘Why not wait until you can find a speaking trumpet, Clere? I am sure there must be one or two of our audience who did not quite catch that announcement. Look, the men scything the grass over there must have missed it.’ The truth was, a fight would be welcome. More than welcome. Some mindless violence… His hands curled into fists as Clere took another step forward.
‘Stop it, both of you.’ Sara managed to wriggle between the two of them when they were almost toe to toe. ‘No one has seduced anyone.’
‘It was ravishment, then?’ her brother snarled.
‘It was no such thing and none of your business whatever it was, Ashe Herriard,’ Sara snapped. ‘I am a grown woman, an independent widow, and you have absolutely no right interfering. And, might I remind you, this is not your house and if Mata is happy to welcome my guests—which she is—what have you to say to it?’
God, she is magnificent. Ashe folded his arms and prepared to leap to Sara’s defence if she showed the slightest sign of needing him. At the moment, though, she appeared to have her brother on the back foot.
‘Father is not—’
‘Good day, Cannock.’
Lucian looked away from the seething Viscount to the tall figure of Sara’s father standing behind him. ‘Eldonstone.’ He inclined his head a trifle, as much courtesy as he was prepared to offer the older man in the midst of this crackling hostility. ‘We came at the invitation of Lady Sara. If we are not welcome we will, naturally, remove ourselves.’ He locked gazes with Clere again. Unfinished business, he promised. You will not provoke me into a fist fight on your mother’s doorstep, but later…
‘Do come in.’ The older man regarded him, unsmiling, his grey eyes uncannily like Sara’s. ‘I feel you and I have matters to discuss.’
One thing, and one thing only, kept him from turning round and driving out of there and that was Marguerite. For her sake he would swallow his pride, shackle his temper and deal with these two angry men. But he was damned if he was explaining himself or discussing his relationship with Sara.
He sent her a quick smile and strolled across the expanse of gravel beside Eldonstone. The colour was up on Sara’s cheekbones and she was bristling at her much taller brother like a she-cat confronting a mastiff. As he passed her, Lucian heard her snap, ‘Don’t you dare,’ presumably at her brother. The Marchioness was already leading Marguerite inside, gesticulating with her hands as she talked. It seemed she had prevented his sister from seeing what had just occurred, thank goodness.
‘My study.’ Eldonstone opened a panelled door at the end of the hallway and gestured for him to enter. ‘Have a seat, Cannock. Brandy?’
‘Thank you, no.’ Not when he was an unwelcome intruder in this place.
‘My son went down to Sandbay to visit his sister and found that she had left early that morning, alone with you. And yet you would have us believe that you, and your ent
ourage, have come direct from there. The rumours were already spreading. Something clandestine is going on.’
‘Not under your roof,’ Lucian said coolly. ‘I do not discuss my private affairs with anyone and if you wish to know about Lady Sarisa’s, then I suggest you discuss them with her. My sister and I owe her a great deal and, she is, as she pointed out to her brother, an independent woman.’
‘She is my daughter and if you have been toying with her affections with no intention of marrying her then your private affairs are most definitely my concern.’
‘Her affections do not enter into this.’ The Marquess’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Lucian deliberately poured oil on the flames. Get it over with. ‘Nor does marriage.’
The big hands that had lain relaxed on the desk curled into fists. ‘In my house—’
‘In your house I imagine that Lady Sarisa would conduct herself with the greatest respect to your wishes. As would I, were I a guest here.’
‘He is playing with words.’ The door in the far corner was flung open to reveal Viscount Clere. ‘Playing with us. Will you or will you not marry my sister?’
Lucian curled a lip at him for the drama and received a glare in return. A bout in the stable yard would be so very satisfying. ‘No,’ Lucian said baldly, staying where he was and crossing his legs. Marriage was not what their relationship was about. They were lovers. Sara was not ready for marriage to anyone, he could tell that, and as for himself, he had other plans. Long-standing plans that involved the careful and considered choice of the next Marchioness of Cannock.
‘No, he will not,’ said Sara, emerging from behind the screen in the opposite corner. ‘Why should he? Why should I, come to that?’
‘Give me strength!’ The Marquess slammed one fist down on the desk. ‘What is this? A French farce? This confounded room has too many doors—and I have two disrespectful offspring. Ashe, sit down. Sara, if this man has seduced you, he must marry you.’
Her colour was up and so was her chin. Under any other circumstances Lucian would have sat back and admired the show, but this was his lover under fire and, magnificent as she was, it was his battle to fight, not hers. He stood up and went to stand at her side, not touching. ‘Lady Sarisa makes her own decisions, her own choices. She is an independent woman with enough force of character to withstand seduction. I believe she has made it clear that she does not wish to discuss her personal life. As for my own, I would simply point out that I would not dream of abusing my hostess’s hospitality by any behaviour that might cause her distress or embarrassment.’ And if they could not interpret that to mean that he and Sara would behave with perfect propriety when under her parents’ roof, then he would have to draw them a diagram.