“You have been writing—”
“But that hasn’t worked. So let me speak as my father does. Marry me, and the business will naturally come to both of us. I’ll let you have all the money you want. You can run it or hire someone else to do it. You can have as large a laboratory as you like. Your own place, and you won’t have to keep cleaning up your father’s messes.”
Trevor could see that she wanted to stop him. He saw her lashes blink away tears, not of love, but of frustration and despair. And yet, she didn’t say anything, and the damned poet kept talking.
“I love you, Mellie. I always have. And even if you don’t feel the same way right now, even you must see how very perfect we are for one another. Please,” he said as he pressed his mouth to her knuckles. “Please be my bride.”
Which is when—for no reason whatsoever—Trevor punched the man, knocking him flat.
Two
Rakes, like all men, are guided by their own bizarre code, incomprehensible even to themselves.
Mellie squeaked in alarm, and she was not a woman who usually made animal sounds. Which made her all the more furious with the situation. Ronnie lay sprawled on the ground, a look of total shock on his face. Lord Charming stood over her cousin, his expression equally startled, though she detected a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes that belied his whispered, “Bloody hell.”
She felt a hysterical giggle rise in her throat, but quickly swallowed it down. This was not a good situation. Not a good one at all, and yet how many times had she wanted to plant a facer to her cousin? Too many to count. That it had come during yet another of Ronnie’s proposals was beyond perfect.
Except it wasn’t perfect. Ronnie was likely to be her husband, and she couldn’t really approve of people flattening him. So she schooled her face to be serious. “Mr. Anaedsley, I hardly think—”
“Sir, you are a cad and a…a monster!” Ronnie cried as he rubbed at his swelling jaw. “I was proposing!”
“I know,” Mr. Anaedsley returned. “Everybodyknows,” he said as he looked pointedly at the servants dotting the hallway. What Mr. Anaedsley didn’t realize is that Ronnie loved an audience for his romantic gestures. The more, the merrier.
“You haven’t the right to interfere!” Ronnie gasped. Oh dear. He was exercising his righteous indignation, and that never ended well.
“Never mind that, Ronnie,” she said as she reached forward to help her cousin stand. Or so she tried, but Mr. Anaedsley blocked her path. And when she attempted to move around him, he shifted to stop her. “Mr. Anaedsley, I assure you, this is not helpful.”
He flashed her an odd look—part rueful chagrin, part gleeful miscreant. “You did beg me not to abandon you to your cousin’s attention.”
“I did not!” she said, though she wondered if perhaps she had.
Meanwhile, Ronnie was rising to his full and impressive height. His brows were drawn together, and his lips were curled back into a sneer. He looked fierce, and she took a step backward in surprise.
“Step away, Sir Monster,” her cousin intoned, his tone dire.
SirMonster?
The appellation obviously had no effect on Mr. Anaedsley. He simply raised his brows and shrugged. “I must insist that you stop importuning your cousin. She is not amenable to your suit, and—”
“Do we fight as gentlemen? Or as brutes?” Her cousin’s voice had dropped to a velvet threat, both soft and cold. It sounded very dramatic. And wholly unnecessary.
Melinda pasted on a placating smile. “Perhaps we should all retire to the parlor for some refreshments. Ronnie, I have especially requested those cakes you like—”
“I have no interest in cakes, my Mellie,” he answered as he lifted his fists.
Damn it, this was spiraling out of control. First, she hated it when he called her “my Mellie.” And second, it was clear he intended to brawl in the foyer.
Mr. Anaedsley must have seen it too. She watched him grimace in distaste, even as his fists came up in a defensive posture. Sadly, he had no way of knowing that Ronnie was extremely accomplished with his fists. And given his size advantage, Mr. Anaedsley was soon to be in a bad way.
Which meant she had to stop this now. Gathering all the strength she could muster in her voice, she snapped out her words like a sergeant issuing orders. “Ronald Gregory Smithson, you will cease this ridiculousness right now! You will not resort to fisticuffs in my hallway. Not in front of the servants and not with a future duke!”
Something flickered in Ronnie’s eyes. Something wild and manic. It was in his gaze, in the pull of his lips back from his teeth, and in the way he suddenly opened his fists as if his fingers had springs. She didn’t know what it was. Her cousin was prone to many romantic fits, but this was new. And she didn’t completely trust new.
“Ronnie—” she began.
“As gentlemen then,” her cousin said. And faster than she thought possible, he grabbed a pair of gloves off the table and smacked them across Mr. Anaedsley’s face.
Whack!