“I—” Joseph tried to explain, but something about Miss Garrett left him tongue-tied. Every time. Especially when he breathed in the scent of her perfume and got lost in the rose of her cheeks and her surprisingly straight and white teeth.
Those observations threatened to make him lose his head entirely, and perhaps he would have if not for the deep, menacing chuckle that sounded from close behind him.
“Yes, Mr. Rathborne-Paxton, do tell us what you are doing so near to so many gentleman’s clubs?” The question was asked by none other than Montrose himself. As Joseph turned to glare at the man, Montrose went on with, “You cannot possibly be old enough for membership in one of them, can you?”
In fact, Joseph, like the rest of his brothers, had a membership at White’s. That detail was irrelevant at the moment, however.
“Montrose.” He greeted the villain with narrowed eyes and a scowl. “As it happens, I have ventured out this morning in the hopes of crossing paths with you.”
“Me?” Montrose leaned back, looking amused. It was not a natural look on him, and it made his narrow, pale face look like a grotesque mask. “Whatever could a whelp like you want with me?”
The same sort of feelings that had boiled restlessly in Joseph at breakfast with his mother and aunt threatened to scream through to the surface. He ignored the fit of rage at the way he was denigrated and squared his shoulders.
“I demand you tell me why you have suddenly surfaced again, Montrose,” he said, feeling as though he sounded as serious as he felt, for a change. “You were not invited to my brother’s wedding, and yet you felt it necessary to attend uninvited so that you could make threats. I demand to know what villainy you are planning now. You will not succeed, whatever your plan.”
A beat passed.
Then Montrose burst into laughter.
Shame and humiliation washed over Joseph like a sudden torrential downpour.
“What a delightful encounter to have of a morning,” Montrose laughed. “That was quite a sweet display of claws and teeth, pup. I am certain your brothers would be quite proud of your little growl.”
Joseph wanted to do more than growl. He wanted to roar with frustration. He would not stand for that sort of humiliation.
“You will not succeed in intimidating me or lifting another finger to harm my family, Montrose,” he insisted, fighting tooth and nail to maintain an aura of strength and maturity. He would not take Montrose’s bait and dissolve into a tantrum of frustration. “We know who you are now. We know your weaknesses. You will be defeated.”
Montrose laughed again and shook his head as though Joseph had told him a particularly juvenile joke. He touched the brim of his hat, bowed slightly, and said, “Good day, Mr. Rathborne-Paxton.” He then turned to go without giving Joseph a backward glance.
“I am not finished with you,” Joseph called after the blackguard, then immediately regretted it. He sounded and felt like a fool. Even more so because as he took a step after Montrose, the weight of Miss Garrett holding his arm pulled him back.
“That was horrifically rude of him,” Miss Garrett said in a dark voice.
Feeling hopeless and wretched, Joseph turned to her and sighed. “I do not even know how….” He did not even know how to finish the sentence.
Miss Garrett tore her murderous gaze from Montrose’s retreating back and smiled sympathetically at Joseph. “I am sorry that man is such a horse’s ass,” she said.
Joseph wanted to burst with laughter. Miss Garrett’s cursing was delivered in such a sweet voice. And she truly did look lovely with her hair down, its gold catching the sunlight. Even if she stood out like a particularly sore thumb. Joseph’s heart continued to race, and for some reason, he found it difficult to breathe properly.
“No, Miss Garrett, I am sorry that you were forced to see such wickedness,” he said. “Montrose is the Devil himself.”
“I’d like to take one of my father’s cattle brands to his backside,” Miss Garrett growled.
Again, Joseph was tempted to laugh, but that emotion was cut short by a tight, refined snort of derision and the words, “Of course, an aberration like you, Miss Garrett, would think of nothing more than violence and mayhem.”
Joseph’s brow shot straight up to his hairline as he and Miss Garrett turned to find the elegant figure of Lady Margaret Grosvenor and her ever-present entourage of titled young maidens sneering at Miss Garrett.
Chapter Two
A morning stroll in St. James’s Park had seemed like such a lovely idea when Phineas, Ellen’s brother-in-law, had suggested it that morning. Even though she was quite certain dear Phin was simply bothered to distraction by her restlessness and wanted to get her out of the house and away from him, so he could concentrate on his business, Ellen had found it to be an excellent idea. So much so that she’d grabbed her sister, Lenore, and bolted straight out the door without so much as styling her hair or finding her hat. She wasn’t entirely certain what had become of her hat, and sitting for Lenore’s maid to pin her hair up would have made her come right out of her skin with impatience.
When she had spotted Joseph—she was supposed to be formal and refer to him as Mr. Rathborne-Paxton, but there were two other Mr. Rathborne-Paxtons, Joseph’s brothers, and Ellen simply could not think of him that way—her heart had lifted and soared on the wings of the bright, crisp morning. With only a passing word to Lenore, and forgetting what excuse she’d given her sister as soon as the words were past her lips, Ellen had dashed across the brittle, fading grass of the park and straight to her sweetheart’s side.
The fact that Joseph had yet to truly acknowledge that he was her sweetheart was irrelevant. She’d come to England to marry, and from the moment she’d met handsome, honest, clever, shy Joseph Rathborne-Paxton, she’d known she would marry him.
She’d been about to remind him of as much when that horrible man, Montrose, had accosted Joseph. Ellen would have done more to come to Joseph’s defense and rail against the odious man, but she hadn’t wanted to steal Joseph’s thunder or detract from the noble and gallant way he’d faced his oppressor.
And not two minutes after the man had left him, as if the winds had shifted, as if to waft in the scent of a thousand cow pats just to dampen her day, Ellen herself was accosted by her own personal villain, Lady Margaret Grosvenor.