“Yes, you have been busy. Murdering peers of the realm so you can steal their daughters and their fortunes would take up no little amount of precious time, one would think.”
Darius could practically hear the thoughts of those within spitting distance, not that Harold was being quiet at all. Quite the opposite really. “Are you accusing me of something, brother?” If Harold thought he could draw strangers into their arguments by manipulating his words, Darius could too. Confirming that Wickham had at least one bastard on the street, staring down the legitimate heir, would hopefully be remembered by the gossips more readily than the accusations he had a feeling were about to fly.
“The Duke of Penfold is dead and you have moved his unwed daughters beneath your roof. The tale tells its own truths.”
Darius resisted the urge to clench his fists at his sides, instead preferring to cross his arms over his chest and appear to be at ease. “The Duke of Penfold is a very sick man, though hardly dead yet.”
“Ah, so you’ve seen him then? Alive? Recently?”
Darius pitched his voice a little higher now that it was quite clear they had an audience. “The duke returned to his home last night, weary and ill. His family are taking care of him under my roof since his seems to have caved in under the weight of that last snowfall.”
Harold’s face went beyond red. He almost looked purple for a moment until he shrieked, “Liar!”
With a shrug, Darius turned away from the maniac but before he got two steps, he was propelled forward with a shove to his back. Wes and Tarquin caught him before he could fall flat on his face. Taking a much-needed moment, the crowd standing stock-still in stunned disbelief, Darius dusted off his trousers with a sigh and then faced his attacker. “Do you need something else, brother?”
“Your lies will not work here, pirate.”
A murmur rippled through the onlookers but Darius met the insult with a shrug. “That’s the best of it then? You have proof of these accusations? A magistrate to haul me off?” When Harold only grew angrier, Darius refolded his arms over his chest. “I didn’t think so.”
He saw it coming, saw his brother’s nostrils flare and his fists clench. He braced for impact but was still shocked when Harold raised his arm and punched Darius in the face. His nose crunched slightly but the blow was off centre and he took most of the hit to his eye. There was pain but he’d experienced worse. Much worse.
The gasp of the crowd was instantaneous. So was his brother’s madness as he raised his arm to hit him again. Wes stepped in front of Darius and caught the other man’s fist with his hand, murmuring, “You got one in—that’s all you get.”
The better part of not starting a fight was the ability to keep a clearer head. It was also best not to be insane or desperate enough to start a brawl in the street when you were hopelessly outnumbered. Darius wiped a trickle of blood away that had dripped from the corner of his eye socket and then down his cheek. “I’m not going to fight you, Harold. What would Father say about the scandal?”
Harold shrieked again but seemed to be beyond coherency as he tried to pull away. Wes only squeezed his fist tighter but did not let go.
“Run home, Harold. Run home before you embarrass yourself any further.”
Wes gave a shove of his own but no one caught the future Earl of Wickham as he landed roughly on his backside. Behind him, Darius glimpsed their father in the crowd but then he turned quickly away and was gone before he could call out to him to save his beloved heir. The disgust on his features said he’d rather throw Harold to the wolves anyway.
Prendergast had made his way to Darius’s side in the commotion so Darius came to say what he needed to so he could get out of the eye of the gossipmongers. “I leave at first light in two days’ time, come past the house for your orders.”
Prendergast nodded, his gaze flicking from Harold who scrambled to regain his feet, and back to Darius who probably looked fit to put a bullet in someone. “I’ll call this afternoon, Captain.”
Darius inclined his head in return, appreciation of his using the correct address hopefully conveyed in his short smile, and then without another glance for his impulsive brother, turned and left the village square. Not until they were on their horses did Darius finally unclench his jaw and admit his brother actually packed more of a punch than he’d have thought.
“Is it bad?” he asked Tarquin who rode at his left side.
Tarquin shook his head. “It won’t be needing to be stitched by your lady wife but she’s going to ask questions.”
“I have a question,” Wes grunted from his right. “Why the bloody hell didn’t you knock the sod on his arse? He’d never beat you in a fight.”
Darius chuckled. “A bastard with a history of piracy? I would have been arrested by the end of the day, which I’m sure is the outcome Harold hoped for. He already asked for Eliza once and I’ll bet he hasn’t given up yet.”
“But she’s your wife already,” Wes said.
“I don’t want him to know that.” If his sights weren’t set on Eliza, then they would be targeted on Gabriella who thankfully needed her father’s permission to wed since she was far too young to be carried off.
Darius groaned. Without her father’s permission, her guardian could consent. Is that what Harold was getting at by staging the little confrontation? Did he think Darius a simpleton still? That he would confess the duke’s demise in the
