“I’m in love with her and mean to marry her.”
“Marry her!” he scoffed. “Do you think I would let her marry a liar, a deceiver, a man who seduced her in this flea pit? A man who thinks of no one but himself?”
Nicholas laughed. “You know that’s not true. I’ve spent the last two years considering your feelings instead of following my heart.”
Sebastian shot out of the chair, but Nicholas did not flinch. “So, this is all my fault. I’m to blame for Holland’s murder. I’m to blame for you dragging my sister into this mess. She’s aiding a felon.”
“I sought him out,” Helen said, joining the fray. “I knew he’d be at Fortune’s Den. Nicholas tried to take me home but—”
“Have you both lost your wits? Tell me you’re suffering from some mental instability, St Clair. Perhaps you’ve inherited your mother’s disease, which accounts for your lapse in judgement.”
Nicholas straightened. “Don’t speak about my mother. Don’t give me a reason to smash my fist down your throat.”
Sebastian was not intimidated. “Outside. Outside now. We’ll settle this like gentlemen. I demand satisfaction for your mistreatment of my sister. Then you can get the hell out of our lives.”
“No!” she cried. “What will that achieve?”
Men really were quite pathetic.
A lead ball to the leg would not give her back her virtue.
Still, her question fell on deaf ears.
Nicholas marched from the room, and Sebastian strode behind.
“Stay here,” he barked, slamming the door shut.
She yanked the door open and raced after them.
Sebastian mumbled a host of obscenities as he followed Nicholas through the taproom. “Lying bastard. If there’s one thing I cannot abide, it’s being deceived by family.”
“I’m not family,” Nicholas countered.
The three rogues by the fireplace proved they were not stuck to their stools because they jumped to their feet at the first sign of trouble.
“Quick. There’s a fight brewing.” The fellow lifted his eye patch and pointed at Sebastian. “I’ll wager two tanners on the angry gent.”
The drunken one hiccuped. “Both buggers are angry.”
“Mine’s the black-haired one,” said the fiend who’d tried to rob them yesterday. “I reckon he could kill a man with his bare hands.”
Helen shivered at the thought.
Hopefully, Sebastian would be content with one punch.
If not, it would be like a clash of Titans.
Both would rather bring down the heavens than surrender.
She hurried after them as they stormed out onto the lane. “Wait! Can we not sit down like rational people and have a proper discussion?”
The answer was a resounding no!
Nicholas leapt over the stile, vaulting into the adjacent field. Then he took to pacing back and forth, his hands braced on his lean hips.
Sebastian shrugged out of his coat and threw it at the one-eyed man, who faced the dilemma of sneaking off with the expensive garment or waiting to see if he won the wager.
Before she reached the stile, Sebastian was in the field, throwing the first punch. His fist smacked into Nicholas’ left cheek and sent his head whipping right.