Page 82 of A Misguided Devotion

“Please stop—” Miss Barrington cried.

“I’m sorry, Laura. I can’t. It’s a matter of honour.”

She squealed with frustration. “If you loved me…”

“It’s because I love you I must fight for you. Go home. This won’t be pretty.”

With a final glance at both men, she picked up her skirts and hurried along the path back toward the house.

Before William realised what was happening, the riding officer lurched forward, knocking him to the ground, sending his hat rolling down the hill.

Winded from the impact of his fall, he had no defence when Mr Jenkin landed on top of him and thrust his fist into his stomach. “How dare you kiss Laura, you blackguard?”

William gasped for breath. How was he going to survive this fight? Pugilism was something he’d always avoided. His hands were too important to his art to risk damaging them in a bout of fisticuffs. Fortunately, he had learned a trick or two from Anthony.

He let his body go limp before rolling to the left, catching Mr Jenkin off guard. Their positions were reversed, with him straddling the stockier man.

“It would have been followed by an honourable proposal if you had not interrupted us.”

Mr Jenkin jerked his head forward into William’s chest, and while he was still gasping for breath, the preventive officer rolled back on top of him.

“A proposal she would have rejected. You can’t marry her.”

“You seem very certain of yourself. I have her father’s permission—unlike you.”

Mr Jenkin landed a punch in William’s stomach.

He gasped for air again. Why couldn’t the man see reason? “D’you think he’ll let you wed her if I don’t? Wasn’t Blake’s warning enough?”

His adversary paused with his fist raised. “What are you talking about?”

Relieved that Mr Jenkin was not pummelling his body, William was eager to keep speaking. He blurted out an explanation, punctuated by gasps for breath. “He was sent to teach you a lesson—to stop you meeting his daughter—in the garden—at night.”

“I’ve never visited Laura under cover of darkness. And I’ve had no fight with Blake. Not knowingly, at least. What makes you think I did?”

If only he could keep the man talking, he might live to see another day.

“Kitty suspected—you and Miss Barrington—someone smoking in the garden—at night—thought it was you—feared for her friend’s reputation—challenged her—she said there was a madman—in the basement.”

“Laura told that story?”

“Yes—father supported it—didn’t want any slur on his daughter—desperate for me to marry her—”

“Over my dead body.”

“You’ll fight me to the death? For kissing her on the cheek. Before making her an honest proposal? That I felt honour-bound to offer?”

Empowered by his outrage, he rolled on top of Mr Jenkin again.

He would give his last breath to prove he was an honourable man, but he would much rather live. “Killing me won’t gain her as your bride.”

“You’ll have to kill me to make her yours.”

William tumbled off Mr Jenkin and sat up, breathing heavily. “You win. I won’t become a murderer to marry a lady I don’t care for, whatever her father says.”

His opponent raised himself to sitting and eyed him warily. “You’re not in love with my wife?”

A chill cascaded down William’s body. It wasn’t possible. He must have misheard. “Your wife?”