Chapter Eleven #2
“Your cravat is offensive,” Adam said, speaking through clenched teeth.
With a flick of Adam’s wrist, Sir Hubert’s cravat fell limply to the floor at his feet, the single piece of linen now cleanly cut in two.
“As are your buttons.” One by one, jacket buttons fell with a thunk to the floor, the sound echoing in the room.
Not a soul spoke or moved. Harry wasn’t certain everyone present was even blinking. “And the pattern of your waistcoat.”
Sir Hubert paled by multiple degrees as the tip of Adam’s épée slowly, languorously sliced his waistcoat into ribbons without so much as snagging a single thread of his shirt underneath.
“But I am most offended”—Adam slid his sword higher, past the point where Sir Hubert’s cravat should have been, resting the tip directly against Sir Hubert’s Adam’s apple—“at the thought of ever hearing your voice again.”
“I wouldn’t advise swallowing too deeply, Sir Hubert,” Harry offered from his position a few paces behind Adam. “There is no button on the end of that sword.”
Sir Hubert was nearly devoid of color. He inadvisably opted to explain himself, his words choked to the point of being almost indiscernible. “My words must have been exaggerated by your—”
In an exchange well-known to them both, Harry caught the sword as Adam tossed it and simultaneously wrapped his hand around Sir Hubert’s throat.
“You dare presume to utter a lady’s name in a setting like this?” Adam’s voice was calm to the point of being chilling.
Sir Hubert may have just pushed Adam past bearing. A gentleman did not ever hint at a lady’s being the reason for a confrontation or a challenge, let alone mention her specifically. That single breach of etiquette was reason enough to call a man out.
Harry saw the veins in Adam’s hand bulge at the same moment Sir Hubert’s eyes began to pop. The time had come to intervene.
“If you are going to kill him, Your Grace,” Harry said without the slightest hint of concern in his voice, “would you mind doing it quickly? I am looking forward to an evening of dancing, and I would hate to miss the first minuet.”
“I prefer to kill vermin slowly and painfully,” Adam growled, glaring at Sir Hubert. “There is no satisfaction in disposing of refuse efficiently.”
“True.” Harry shrugged as if conceding the point. He managed to keep back a smile of deep amusement. They were reaching his favorite part. Adam would offer the offending party a means of escape that was, in reality, more poison ivy than olive branch.
“Listen very closely, Hubert.”
When Adam began dropping titles, it was time for the general public to take cover.
“Your presence in London ends before nightfall. And I am sick to death of the sound of your voice. If I hear you have uttered a single word before you are at least one county removed from town, I will personally remove your voice box. You can write out your instructions to your servants. Pantomime, if you must. But not a word. And I assure you, I will know if you choose to go against my edict.”
Sir Hubert attempted to nod, but Adam’s grip on his throat kept Sir Hubert’s head still. It seemed to be sufficient enough agreement for Adam. He unceremoniously dropped Sir Hubert to the floor.
Harry glanced quickly at the crowd as he returned Adam’s sword.
Sir Hubert was not well-liked. There was, of course, shock on each and every face, but looks of satisfaction lurked in the eyes of the onlookers.
Adam would, indeed, learn if Sir Hubert chose to speak before removing himself from the metropolis.
Every ear in town would be anxious to report back.
A path instantly appeared as Adam made his way from the room. The look in his eyes was as far from inviting as was humanly possible. Harry walked alongside him, feeling satisfied that the insult Athena had endured from Sir Hubert had been appropriately addressed.
They both climbed into the waiting Kielder carriage and began the familiar trip back to Falstone House. Adam’s expression hadn’t cleared. The man needed to be pulled from his black mood before he changed his mind and opted to not allow Sir Hubert to flee London.
“It has been a while since we enacted an aborted execution,” Harry observed casually. “Sir Hubert should be honored. And my compliments on your swordsmanship, Adam. Excellent piece of artistry.”
“I should have shot him,” Adam grumbled. Harry knew him well enough to know that Adam was being perfectly serious.
“Probably. But Persephone would have been upset if you had,” Harry reminded him. “And she has been upset enough already.”
“Athena as well,” Adam acknowledged. “I have never seen so much crying in all my life,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes.
Harry laughed. “Sure you have. Persephone cried through most of the first few months of your marriage.”
“Except she did so in the isolation of her garden,” Adam replied, “where it wasn’t so torturous.”
“If I didn’t know better, Adam, I would say you care about your wife,” Harry said with feigned shock.
“Someday, Harry, you will meet a lady who wraps you around her finger, and then you won’t be so smug.”
“Smug? No. Definitely not.”
“You’re anticipating failure, then?” Adam asked, curiosity in his tone.
“Just bracing for the inevitable.”
Adam laughed, something he’d seldom done in the decades before Persephone had come into his life. The problem being, of course, there was nothing remotely humorous about Harry’s situation. Perhaps, he thought wistfully, he’d suddenly come into a mountain of money and all his problems would be over.
Harry laughed at the thought. Life never worked out that way.