Page 23 of Dukes Do It Better
Standing in the middle of the room was a trifle awkward, so Malachi took his drink and leaned against a wall while he counted to one hundred. Which didn’t seem long enough to avoid the appearance of him chasing after her like a dog after a bone. So he counted again.
He was revisiting the seventies for a third time, and mentally halfway down the hall toward the lady waiting for him, when a familiar man walked in.
The scoundrel Emma had been quarreling with at the park didn’t seem to be faring better this evening. In the light of day, he’d seemed a bit worse for wear around the edges. Tonight, he’d clearly been in the bottle before arriving at the ball. What had she called him? Lord Roxbury.
Roxbury clutched a glass in one hand half full of an amber liquid normally served by the finger width, if Malachi wasn’t mistaken. A sway dominated the man’s gait, much like a sailor on his first days back ashore. Except, as far as Malachi knew, he hadn’t seen the deck of a ship anytime recently.
The man was drowning in drink and wandering about unsupervised. Where were his friends? Everyone should have companions willing to shepherd their acquaintances home when they’d had too much. As if on cue, another inebriated man entered the room and called out. Roxbury stumbled as he turned.
“Damn it all, you spilled my drink, Coswell.” Roxbury shook liquor off his hand, then wiped the drops on his coat. The friend taking the blame, although he hadn’t touched Roxbury, apologized and whipped out a handkerchief to help, which the other man ignored.
What a mess of a human. And Malachi had dealt with his fair share of drunkards.
He shook his head. Enough of this. Emma was waiting. Malachi pushed off the wall and headed for the door.
“You! Raggedy-looking chap. Where’s Emma? I wanna dance.”
Malachi paused and spoke over his shoulder. “If you want a partner, I suggest putting down your glass and looking in the ballroom.”
“Ss-is she there?”
“I’m not sure what gave you the idea I’m her keeper, but I assure you, if Lady Emma wished to speak with you, you’d already be talking to her.”
“Of course you’re her keeper. You’re her new friend, aren’t you? Have you met the little bastard yet? Doesn’ even look like me, does he?” Roxbury slurred the words, but the meaning was clear.
In three steps, Mal crossed the room and invaded the man’s space. Roxbury might be wide, but so was Malachi. And he not only had several inches of height on the nasty little bugger, but after years of climbing lines and clambering about a ship, his bulk was solid.
This could get one of them kicked out of the Vanfords’ home, and fast, so Malachi clenched his hands to stop himself from reacting the way he wished to. Even if he’d love to wrap that damned fussy cravat around his fist and tighten it around Roxbury’s neck, Malachi wouldn’t lay a single finger on anyone except the gorgeous blonde this worm had just insulted.
“You may be drunk, but that’s no excuse for maligning a woman and her child.”
Roxbury opened his mouth for what Malachi assumed would be a rebuttal, and a blast of hot alcohol-scented breath hit the air between them.
“You’re foul, Roxbury. Inside and out. It’s time for you to leave. And if I hear a single word about you spreading your vicious filth about Lady Emma, I’ll come for you.”
“Is that a threat?” Roxbury puffed up like a cock ready to fight, bumping his chest against Malachi’s.
“Damned right it is.” Malachi showed his teeth in a growling, almost-smile of anticipation at the idea of taking out this particular piece of rubbish. “And when you wake up tomorrow with a splitting head, I need you to remember this, so concentrate. I have the means to take you to the Baltic Sea, where the wind cuts to the bone and tears freeze on your face.” The sound of Roxbury swallowing hard was music to his ears. “When you go overboard, icy water will invade your lungs while you scream for mercy. But you won’t find mercy with me.”
He turned to the one called Coswell. “Lord Roxbury needs to find his bed. You’re responsible for getting him there. Do I make myself clear?”
The red-faced Coswell nodded so vehemently his head was in danger of rolling off his shoulders.
Without another glance, Malachi left the room. But he wasn’t a fool. He turned right, then leaned against the wall, putting his body between Roxbury and the hall leading to Emma. Sure enough, after about three minutes Coswell and Roxbury exited the refreshments room.
“No one threatens me,” Roxbury slurred, while Coswell tugged him toward the front door. With any luck, their grumblings would be dismissed as drunken nonsense.
As Malachi stood watching the flurry of movement in the front hall with servants fetching hats and accessories for the gentlemen, Coswell checked over his shoulder repeatedly to see if Malachi still had them in his sights.
It was damned near impossible to not examine the things Roxbury had said.
In the park, when Malachi had approached Emma, his goal had been to intercede if needed. He hadn’t meant to overhear certain things, and had tried to dismiss them from his memory. Tonight, Roxbury’s slurred sludge of words repeated the same troublesome accusations. Even thoroughly intoxicated, he’d stuck to his story, despite his general arseholery.
An entry from the journal he’d found on the beach ran through his mind.
I learned young that consistency was an attribute no wise woman should expect from a man. First my fickle father, then the man who ruined me. I still have nightmares about how he laughed when I told him I was expecting. How he claimed he couldn’t be sure the baby was his.
Yet I can’t shake a hope that somewhere out there you exist. And you are trustworthy.
