Free Return of the Viscount by Gayle Callen Page B

grunted.
    She felt him lunge past her. She flung back the door to the billiard room, and yellow, flickering light spilled out into the corridor, illuminating the shadows. She whirled about and saw Lord Blackthorne in his shirtsleeves, trousers, and boots. He knelt above her assailant, pummeling him. The man—she now recognized him as Sir Bevis Fenton from London—threw a couple punches of his own, but Lord Blackthorne had him pinned to the floor. Helplessly, Cecilia picked up his cane, not knowing what else to do.
    Oliver staggered to the doorway and was bumped from behind by several other curious men, who stood on tiptoes to see past him.
    â€œHey, who’s that attackin’ Fenton?” one of them cried, beginning to push Oliver aside.
    She stepped into the light, knowing she looked wrinkled and wild, with her hair falling all around her. The men pulled up in surprise. One of them actually lost his balance and fell backward onto a chair, gaping openmouthed like a fish.
    â€œHe’s getting what he deserves,” she said coldly. “He attacked me from behind.”
    She saw Oliver’s grin falter and fade, and he glanced again at Lord Blackthorne, who was now dragging the nearly insensible man to his feet. In the shadows away from the door, Lord Blackthorne’s eyes gleamed, but his face remained vague and full of menace. His big body controlled Sir Bevis with ease, his movements precise yet full of power. If his injured leg bothered him, he didn’t show it. She could imagine what his opponents saw on the battlefield: a brutally strong, angry foe, a man who’d show no mercy. He dragged Sir Bevis toward the open doorway, limping slightly, and the younger men fell back.
    â€œI say, who is that?” one of them whispered to Oliver.
    â€œLord Blackthorne, my sister’s husband.” His voice was wary but laced with more respect than he’d shown so far.
    Lord Blackthorne dumped her assailant on a sofa near the door, where the man groaned softly as his head lolled to the side. Her husband turned around and regarded the gathering of a half dozen young men with a cold impassiveness edged with disdain.
    â€œLord Appertan, this is your home and these”—he nudged the man’s boot with his own—“are your guests. But they abuse their welcome when they dare attack my wife. ”
    She wasn’t his possession, but a woman he’d married in name only. Yet he had saved her from assault, she reminded herself.
    â€œI’m certain Fenton didn’t realize she was my sister,” Oliver said with a touch of belligerence. “You are well, Cecilia?” he asked belatedly.
    She put her hands on her hips, the cane bumping her thigh. “I wouldn’t have been for long. I believe Sir Bevis was expecting other women to this party tonight?”
    Silence was her only answer, and she saw the beginning of resistance rise in Oliver’s eyes.
    â€œThis is a gentle household,” she continued, “not a bachelor establishment. Surely you gentlemen should meet elsewhere from now on, where you can conduct yourselves as you see fit.”
    Oliver’s tension ratcheted another level, and he was close to belligerence. She should never have challenged his authority in front of his friends, but she’d begun to shake with the aftermath of the attack. Oliver might not notice that, but Lord Blackthorne did, approaching her, eyes narrowed. He took the cane from her and leaned against it.
    â€œMadam,” he began, “are you well?”
    She found herself looking again at Sir Bevis, who seemed helpless on the sofa but had been very real, very menacing with his arms about her, handling her as he wished. Her lips were trembling now, and she pressed them together. Hearing voices in the corridor, she knew some of the staff had gathered to await orders. She could not appear so weak in front of them.
    â€œI am fine,” she said briskly.
    But at