Free Birds of a Feather by Allison Lane

protection. I am perfectly happy with my own. Now step aside.”
    That look of haughty disapproval might have been intimidating if she’d had an ounce of intelligence to back it up – and if her cheeks weren’t blazing like beacons. But he saw little need to explain in words of one syllable that she had misinterpreted his intentions.
    Not that you would mind, whispered a voice in his head.
    He jumped. Where had that thought come from? Raising his glass, he quizzed her thoroughly, ignoring her sputtered protests. He could recall every curve of the delectable body tucked under that uninspired gown.
    She slapped the glass out of his hand. “How dare you pass judgment on someone you don’t even know?”
    “I have eyes,” he snapped.
    “Eyes are useless without a brain to interpret what they see. Society must be worthless indeed to have elevated so condescending a toad to the pinnacle of power.”
    He grabbed her shoulders through a haze of red mist. “How dare you insult your betters?” he demanded, shaking her again – and backing into the victim, who abandoned her grumbled complaints to shout obscenities at him. “Have you wit enough to remember your own name?”
    “I’ve more wit than you, thank God. Maybe you can afford to waste your life in pompous posturings and petty prattle, but I must make my own way in the world. Now unhand me before my reputation is sullied by contact with a fool.”
    Burning heat climbed his face. What the devil was he doing? Fighting down his temper, he took stock of the situation. Mrs. Stanhope was cursing at the top of her lungs, drawing every eye on Bond Street. His public facade was long gone, and in his fury, he’d pulled the woman close enough that he appeared to be embracing her. Arguing with an imbecile over her mental capacity was ridiculous. Doing so in public was worse. Why had he allowed her ravings to destroy his control – all of his control, he admitted as another wave of lust engulfed him. Never in his life had he appeared so foolish. And it was all her fault.
    Donning the tattered remnants of his composure, he dropped his hands. It was past time to leave town. This ridiculous attraction called his sanity into question and threatened his reputation with ruin.
    “If you don’t wish to draw unfavorable notice, then pay attention to your surroundings,” he growled. “Next time I’ll deliver you to Bedlam, where you belong.” Giving her no chance to respond, he headed for his rooms.
     
    Joanna castigated herself as Lord Sedgewick strode away. How had she tumbled into another bumblebroth? After yesterday, she had vowed to be more careful. Yet barely twenty-four hours later, she had fallen into a new abstraction that again had drawn his attention.
    Why did it have to be him? She had run Harriet’s errands every day since arriving in town. Not once had she created a scandal, except when he was in the vicinity.
    She had no excuse. Granted, she was plagued by problems, not least of which was Harriet’s penchant for ruining gloves and stockings. But pondering solutions should not have blinded her to her surroundings. Not until she’d crashed into that woman had she recalled where she was.
    She was grateful that someone had prevented a worse disaster, but did it have to be Lord Sedgewick? His look of horror at recognizing her had left her incoherent, stammering and stuttering until even she was not sure what she had been trying to say. Her performance had flustered her so badly that she’d compounded the problem by blurting out mortifying insults. Why hadn’t the street opened up to swallow her?
    The echo of her words raised new blushes. She could hardly blame him for losing his temper. How could she have been so stupid? And this was only the beginning. They were attending Almack’s tonight. If he recognized her, he would delight in exposing her foibles. What would Lady Wicksfield do if Joanna was ejected?
    But even fear could not hold her attention for long. Her arms