opponent’s level of skill. Hayle was a showy fencer and quick on his feet, but there was no strategy to his play; at times, his technique was downright sloppy. Barrington easily scored five hits in a matter of minutes—and watched his opponent’s face grow redder with each one.
‘I think that’s enough for one morning,’ he said, starting to remove his mask.
‘Stand your ground, sir!’ Hayle shouted. ‘I will say when this is finished.’ He took up his stance again. ‘En guarde!’
Barrington saw the anger in the other man’s eyes and knew this could only end badly. He had no wish to humiliate Hayle in front of a room full of his friends and acquaintances, but neither was he about to throw the game in order to appease his vanity. ‘Very well. We shall play one more bout and then call a halt. Does that meet with your approval?’
Hayle gave a terse nod and resumed his position.
The match recommenced. Barrington tried not to make the other man look bad, but the more desperate Hayle became, the more careless his play. He was caught flat footed several times and as the bout went on his moves became more and more erratic. After receiving his fourth hit, he shouted, ‘Damn you, Parker!’, then, abandoning sportsmanlike conduct altogether, he lunged, aiming the point of his sword directly at Barrington’s throat.
Barrington heard the gasp from the crowd, but was already out of range. He stepped lithely to one side and quickly raised his own foil, deflecting the blow. Hayle spun around and was about to charge again when a voice rang out, ‘Enough, Edward! Put down your sword! This engagement is at an end!’
The command vibrated with anger, but Hayle was oblivious, his attention riveted on his adversary. Barrington held his position, too, unwilling to trust his opponent. He risked a quick glance across the room and saw the Earl of Cambermere standing by the edge of the crowd. His face was red and he was shaking with barely suppressed fury. ‘Did you not hear me, sir?’ he called again. ‘I said put down your sword!’
‘I will not, sir!’ His son’s face was equally flushed. ‘How dare you ask me to!’
‘How dare I?’ his father exploded, marching on to the floor. ‘You impugn our family’s honour by behaving in such a way and then have the audacity to question me? No, sir, I will not have it! If you cannot control your temper, find another sport in which to indulge.’ He ripped the foil from his son’s hand and threw it on the floor. ‘This is a gentleman’s game. You will apologise to Sir Barrington at once or I’ll know the reason why!’
Barrington slowly lowered his sword, but remained in a ready position, prepared to fight if Hayle picked up his sword and re-engaged him. He had no idea what the man was going to do, but it was evident to everyone in the place that Hayle was beyond furious. In that moment, Barrington wasn’t sure the man wouldn’t turn on his own father and run him through.
Thankfully, the moment passed. As if realising he couldn’t win and that his reputation would only suffer further by prolonging the encounter, Hayle took a step back, then bent to pick up his sword. ‘I will not apologise to you this day or any other, Sir Barrington,’ he said coldly. ‘But I do regret that we were unable to finish our match. I look forward to the opportunity of doing so in the future.’ Then, without so much as a second glance at his father, he snatched up his jacket and left.
Barely had the door closed before the level of conversation swelled to fill the silence. Barrington heard snippets of conversations, some questioning, many derogatory. Overall, none were particularly complimentary of Hayle’s behaviour on the floor. Fencing was, after all, a gentleman’s sport and what the audience had just witnessed was a display of anything but.
It was a few minutes before the earl was calm enough to speak. When he did, Barrington could see it was with considerable effort. ‘Sir Barrington, pray accept my apologies on behalf of my son. His behaviour was unforgivable and I am truly sorry.’
‘Apology accepted, but I suggest you do not take this too much to heart, Cambermere,’ Barrington said. ‘It is not uncommon for a young man to wish to win, especially in front of his peers.’
‘If a man cannot win fairly or lose graciously, he should not play the game,’ Cambermere snapped. ‘I’m sorry you had to see that side of Edward’s nature. He’s always been a competitive lad, but of late, he has become even more so. I suspect it has much to do with Peregrine’s arrival.’ The earl sighed. ‘They have not become the friends I’d hoped.’
‘Was it realistic to believe they would?’
The earl glanced up, his sharp eyes meeting Barrington’s. But Barrington’s didn’t waver, and, not surprisingly, the earl was the first to look away. ‘Perhaps not. But they had to meet at some time.’
‘Did they? I would have thought it possible for their paths never to have crossed. But it’s a moot point now. You made the decision to invite Rand to London and must now deal with the consequences,’ Barrington said.
‘I know. But I was asked if I would have him,’ the earl said quietly. ‘And I wanted him to come.’
Used to gleaning meanings from things that were left unsaid, Barrington inclined his head. ‘Then it really is none of anyone else’s business.’
‘Yet people choose to make it so,’ Cambermere said fiercely.
Barrington’s smile was tight. ‘People like to pass judgement on matters that do not concern them. Some do it with the best of intentions, others do it without any care for the consequences at all. But as we said, the matter is private and one that concerns you and your family alone.’
Even has he said it, however, Barrington realised he had been given another glimpse into the complicated workings of Lord Cambermere’s family, and it was evident from the morning’s events that all was far from harmonious. There were simmering resentments, unsettled grievances, and barely restrained tempers. Instead of warming to the fact that his father had brought his godson to London, Hayle intended to do whatever he could to make Rand feel unwelcome—even to the point of humiliating him in front of his peers.
That much had become patently clear. As Barrington left the club and climbed into his carriage for the drive home, he knew who had asked the Marquess of Yew to make an example of Peregrine Rand. And, sadly, he also knew the reason why.
A full week passed during which Anna neither saw nor heard from Barrington. She told herself she didn’t care, but as she lay awake in the dark hours of the night, she knew she was lying to herself. She did care. And it troubled her deeply that they had parted on such bad terms.
Try as she might, she couldn’t forget the feeling of Barrington’s arms closing warm and strong around her. She kept remembering the tenderness of his mouth as it moved with deliberate slowness over hers, sending shivers of delight up and down her spine.
It still made her quiver when she thought about it.
Still, longing for something you couldn’t have was a complete waste of one’s time, and there wasn’t a doubt in Anna’s mind that she would never have a life with Barrington. He’d made it perfectly clear that he had no intention of getting married, and it certainly wasn’t her place to get him to change his mind. She was the foolish one if she thought there was any merit in that.
‘Ah, Anna, there you are,’ her father said, walking into the drawing room. ‘Not going out this evening?’
‘I’m not, but it would seem you are,’ she said, rousing herself. ‘Is that a new coat?’
To her amusement, her father’s cheeks took on a ruddy hue. ‘I decided it was time to spruce up my wardrobe. Doesn’t do for a gentleman to let himself go and I haven’t paid much attention to things like that since your mother died.’ His voice softened. ‘I had no reason to.’
‘And have you a reason now?’
He glanced at her, suddenly looking boyish. ‘Would it disturb you if I said I had?’
‘Not