Gabriel had no trouble recognizing Imogen’s former husband’s voice. She stiffened in his arms. The fool had a particularly nasal delivery. It had driven him crazy at Eton. Tonight it inspired him, much like the urge of a dog to shake a rat until its head snapped off.
Gabriel swallowed hard, his hand gripping Imogen’s arm, squeezing until he was sure he must be bruising her. He was afraid to let go, sure she’d dash from the room, which would only make things worse. He’d hoped they would be married long before she was forced to confront Perrin. Before he was forced to confront the man.
No one in the room moved as Gabriel turned his head to face Perrin, who was staring directly at him, his face red, and his whole body tensed. Perrin knew exactly what he’d done.
Whether or not he’d meant to be overheard Gabriel didn’t know, but he did know that Mr William Perrin was now very, very afraid. And he was going to be very, very sorry.
And he should be.
Gabriel hadn’t fought a duel in years, but he’d never lost one, and that comment was far beyond the pale of what he could allow to pass.
Begin as you mean to go on. That was the only rule worth living by. If he let Perrin get by with insulting Imogen in such a way now, their lives truly would be miserable. He’d hound them incessantly. Drive them from the ton if he could. But if Gabriel stood up to him now, the matter would be settled.
Gabriel sensed more than saw his friends moving to stand behind him. Behind them. It was as though they stood in a boat, in a lock quickly filling, raising them to the next stage of their journey. George glittered in all her finery. Morpeth’s shadow fell across them. Alençon stood at his shoulder, dangerous, radiating anger so strongly he could feel it wash over him.
Perrin’s eyes got wider and wider as the ranks behind them swelled, becoming more and more formidable with each addition. The crowd stepped back, creating a clear path between them; perfectly aware that they didn’t want to get caught between Brimstone and whatever fool had offended him.
A few men moved to stand behind Perrin, proving that he had some friends willing to make a stand for him. Which was all Gabriel needed.
He couldn’t challenge a man who couldn’t so much as produce a second, but a man with friends at his side? That man was vulnerable to the form of counterattack Gabriel had in mind. To the kind he was a master of.
A few people tittered into the uncomfortable silence, but no one made a move to leave and go into dinner. A man coughed somewhere in the crowd. The crystals of the chandeliers tinkled overhead. Wax dripped onto the sleeve of his coat, marring the silk forever.
Gabriel dropped Imogen’s arm, catching Alençon’s smouldering eye as he did so. He nodded as the duke stepped up to take his place, then he advanced slowly towards Perrin, his heels ringing smartly on the floor, every step a death knell…
But he wasn’t going to kill the man. At least not here. Not now. He actually got halfway to his goal before Lord Jersey appeared in front of him, looking slightly panicked, his eyes searching out the crowd at Gabriel’s back, silently begging for assistance.
‘Mr Angelstone?’ He sounded as if he was going to be sick.
A hand gripped his shoulder, halting his progress. Gabriel glanced back at his cousin’s husband.
‘Not here,’ the earl said flatly, eyes boring not into him but into Perrin.
A shudder ran though Gabriel. He jerked out of Morpeth’s grasp. ‘Perrin made his insult publicly enough, and he’ll damn well make his apology the same way.’
Perrin puffed out his chest and glared back at him. A toad puffing up; its only defence. Was he really foolish enough to think he could brazen it out? Probably. He’d been fool enough to divorce Imogen, and that was a sign of lunacy.
‘I’ll say anything I want about that slut. I think I’m entitled to that after what she put me through.’
Gabriel flicked his gaze up and down Perrin, his expression as insulting as he could make it. He wanted a fight. He wanted to kill him.
‘I believe I am more than capable of making you regret uttering even the mildest slight against my future wife.’ He pitched his threat to carry to the farthest reaches of the titillated crowd. ‘So you’ll apologize to her, and then to me for putting me to the bother, and you’ll do so now.’
‘Or what?’
Perrin clearly still did not understand the danger he stood in, or was simply unwilling to believe that he could be in any real danger. Gabriel smiled, letting his intention to kill the man leak from every pore.
‘Or you’ll name your seconds, and you’ll make your apology in a much more public and humiliating fashion.’
Perrin’s nostrils flared, and his eyes narrowed, but he made no response. His hands shook visibly as he glanced behind him to see which of his friends were present.
He’d put himself between a rock and a hard place. Unable to back down, but clearly terrified of the situation he’d catapulted himself into. Gabriel took one deliberate step towards him, exalting as the bastard gave way.
‘In fact,’ Gabriel added, baring his teeth in a wicked smile. ‘I think I prefer the option of exacting your apology, so much more satisfying; for me anyway. Morpeth?’
He glanced over and the earl nodded. A sea of grim faces surrounded them, frowns marring finely powdered skin. George looked as if she’d like to remove Perrin’s head with her fan. Even Torrie wore an expression that he could only describe as bloodthirsty.
‘Your second may make the arrangements with Lord Morpeth.’ Done, he turned his attention away from Perrin and strode back to where he’d left Imogen with the duke, relieved to see that
