From the corner of his eye Anthony caught a flash of blue, the same color as Celia’s gown. Oh, Lord. He ought never to have followed her. He’d much prefer she didn’t witness this. “Release me,” he ordered in a low, even voice. “You are causing a scene, sir.”
Glowering, Sir George wrenched Anthony’s jacket, releasing him with a shove that made him fall back a step. “Stay away from my wife,” Sir George said once more, pointing a thick finger at him.
“With pleasure,” muttered Anthony, twitching his jacket back into place and moving to step around the man. He would return Lady Howard’s funds tomorrow and avoid her like the deadly plague from now on. No investment was worth this.
But the baronet heard, and with a strangled roar he pulled free of his friend’s restraining hold and lunged. His fist slammed into the side of Anthony’s face, connecting with his nose and cheekbone and sending white-hot pain through his entire head.
For a moment he couldn’t breathe. The force of the blow, coupled with the surprise of it, made him light-headed. Blindly Anthony groped behind him for support, only dimly aware that Sir George’s friends had seized him and dragged him back. Damned fool, Anthony thought to himself, not to see that one coming.
He found the wall and leaned against it, his head ringing. He raised one hand to his face and it came away crimson. The lunatic had probably broken his nose, and now blood was dripping all over his waistcoat. Suddenly exhausted, he turned his back to the onlookers, resting his shoulder against the wall and feeling in his pockets for a handkerchief.
“Mr. Hamilton?” He stiffened at the cautious inquiry behind him. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” he said, but his voice came out thick and muffled. He finally located a handkerchief and pressed it to his nose, hoping she would go away.
But she stepped around in front of him and gasped. “No! Oh, you most certainly are hurt! How could you say no?”
“It’s nothing,” he said, trying not to wince at the way his own voice caused his head to vibrate with greater agony.
“Nothing! There’s blood all over you. Oh, Anthony.” Her eyes filled with dismay, Celia put her hand on his arm. “Stay right there. I’ll be back.”
He ought to walk away, to take himself home where he could bleed in private. This was not at all how he had hoped to approach Celia, and he most especially didn’t want her to hear that Sir George had punched him because he suspected Anthony of having an affair with his wife. He should leave before she returned.
But she was back before he could gather his will to go. “Here, let me help you.” With gentle hands she took the blood-soaked handkerchief away and replaced it with a clean linen, dabbing at the blood on his face. “What happened?”
“A gentlemen’s dispute.” For a moment he just stood slumped against the wall, savoring the feel of her hands on his face in spite of the pain.
Celia snorted. “A gentlemen’s dispute! An obvious lie if ever I heard one. Someone in the retiring room said Sir George Howard called you a thief before he hit you.”
“He might have done.” As much as he was enjoying her ministrations, she was being too tender; blood was still pouring down his chin. “Here, let me. You have to hold it firmly.” He covered her hand with his, taking the cloth. For a moment their fingers tangled together before she extricated hers. “You should go back to the ball,” he said with a gruesome smile as he applied the cloth to his nose again, dropping his chin and squeezing firmly.
“And leave you here like this? Of course not.” Celia looked around. “Come, there’s a settee over here. Sit down.”
He waved one hand in refusal, but she took his arm and tugged him toward it. When he sat, she sat beside him. “I’m quite all right,” he tried to tell her one last time. “You needn’t waste your evening tending me.”
She laughed in disbelief. “Anthony, you can hardly speak! Your nose is going to be swollen, and your clothes are covered with blood. You are not quite all right.”
He cast an awkward glance down at himself. “Oh dear. I do look a fright.” His cravat was pulled askew and wrinkled, and it looked like a pair of buttons had gone missing from his waistcoat. Everything was flecked and splotched with blood.
“Your valet will be terribly upset,” she said, looking at his clothes.
“Ah…yes. No doubt.” Anthony shifted the cloth at his nose.
“You must make certain he brings you cool compresses for your nose,” Celia told him. “David broke his nose once and Mama sent for ice. It helps the pain.”
“I shall trust no one’s advice but yours.”
She beamed at him. “I could ask Mama for more information, if you like. Or is your man used to dealing with things like this?”
“Not so much,” Anthony murmured wryly. She frowned, and he continued quickly, “He’s a proud fellow. Nursing is quite beneath him, I’ve been given to understand. I dare not put him out too much.”
She looked at him as if she couldn’t quite believe it. “I can hardly see you being browbeaten by your servants.”
Anthony sighed. “He’ll scold me properly for getting blood on this waistcoat, and tell me I deserve every ache and pain in my head for bringing home so many stains on my person.”
“How terrible! You mustn’t let him abuse you so. I’m sure it wasn’t your fault at all.” Her eyes flashed. “Sir George has an awful temper, and everyone knows it. Even David says he’s a hothead.”
“No doubt it was the wine.” He removed the cloth and waited, but the bleeding continued. He turned the cloth over and pressed it back to his nose.
“That doesn’t make it acceptable for him to go about punching people,” Celia went on. “Whatever was he thinking?”
Anthony knew the answer to that, just as well as he knew how quickly everyone in London would seize on the story. No doubt within a week everyone would believe he was having a torrid affair with Lady Howard and her husband had been defending her honor. Oh yes, and that he had embezzled three thousand pounds from Sir George as well. Mustn’t forget that bit. He slumped back in his seat.
“Are you feeling faint?” She scooted closer, her face anxious. “Should I send for someone? Fetch another cloth? Would you like a drink, or—?”
“No, no.” He made himself smile. “Really, I am perfectly well. See, the bleeding has stopped.” He took the cloth from his face. She inspected his injured nose closely, and Anthony almost held his breath as she leaned even closer toward him. Good Lord, her eyes were so blue. And her lips were so pink….
“Celia.” Anthony glanced up from under his eyebrows to see Rosalind, the dowager duchess of Exeter, standing over them. From her polite but chilly smile, he guessed she was not pleased to find her daughter here with him.
“Mama, Sir George Howard punched Mr. Hamilton in the face,” Celia said.
“Celia, let’s not gossip,” her mother said in a firm voice.
“It’s not gossip, Mama, I saw it as I left the powder room. And look—he may have broken Mr. Hamilton’s nose!”
The dowager duchess did not appear swayed by this. Her lips pinched together and she glanced at Anthony as he made to rise. She put up her hand. “Please don’t, Mr. Hamilton. There is no need.”
He ignored her, getting to his feet and giving a small bow. “Lady Celia has been most kind in assisting me.”
The duchess smiled a tight little smile. “I am delighted to hear it. Perhaps someone should send for Lord Carfax’s