She gently replaced the wet cloth on Hero’s swollen cheek. Hero closed her eyes, not wanting to see the anxious worry in Cousin Bathilda’s eyes. She lay in her own bed now, hiding from the turmoil outside her room. The entire side of her face throbbed where Thomas had struck her. Mignon was beside her, the little dog’s nose against her good cheek as if to give comfort.
Sudden tears flooded Hero’s eyes. “I don’t deserve your care.”
“Nonsense,” Cousin Bathilda said with some of her former vigor. “The marquess had no right to strike you. The very idea of hitting a lady! It’s very lucky he didn’t break your cheekbone. Really, it’s for the best that you shan’t marry the man after all if he has such violent impulses.”
“He was provoked,” Hero said drily.
The memory of Thomas’s enraged face as he stood over her made her shiver. And then when Griffin had entered with such force. The sight of the brothers locked in mortal combat seemed like a terrible dream. She’d actually worried that Griffin would not be stopped until he killed his brother. How had things come to this?
“We’ll have to make it a small wedding, of course,” Cousin Bathilda said now.
Hero blinked. “But I’m not marrying Mandeville.”
Cousin Bathilda patted her shoulder. “No, dear, Reading. And as soon as possible, before any gossip gets out.”
Hero closed her eyes in weariness. Did she want to marry Griffin? Would Maximus even let her? But thoughts of her brother brought a realization.
“Oh, dear Lord, I forgot Maximus!” Hero sat upright, the wet cloth sliding from her face. She looked at Cousin Bathilda in panic. “Does he know yet?”
Cousin Bathilda blinked, looking taken aback. “I certainly haven’t told him, but you know how he is.”
“Yes, I do,” Hero said, climbing from the bed.
“What are you doing?”
“He’ll have found out by now—you know he will,” Hero muttered as she searched for her slippers. “I don’t know if it’s by informants or gossip or plain alchemy, but he finds out everything sooner or later, and considering the scandalous nature of this news…” She trailed off as she bent to look under the bed. There her slippers were!
“My dear, far be it for me to stop you seeking solace from your brother, but wouldn’t it be better to wait a while until he has had time to properly, er, digest the news?”
“And what do you think he’ll do then?” Hero demanded as she shoved her feet into the slippers. Her hair must be a mess! She rushed to the mirror to look.
“Do? You mean…?” Cousin Bathilda gasped.
Hero turned and saw from the blanched expression on the other woman’s face that at last she’d realized the peril. Without her marriage to Thomas to stop him, Maximus would attack Griffin—or worse.
She nodded and gave her hair a distracted pat. It would simply have to do—she didn’t have the time to wait for it to be dressed again. “He’ll want to do something, perhaps even something violent. And frankly I’ve had enough male violence for today.”
She dashed out of the room and down the stairs, then had to pause in the front hall while a carriage was called.
“Wait for me, dear,” Cousin Bathilda panted behind her. She held Mignon in her arms like a shield.
“He’s bound to be in a terrible mood,” Hero said. “You needn’t accompany me.”
Cousin Bathilda lifted her chin. “I’ve taken care of all of you since your parents’ death. I’ll not let you face him without me. Besides,” she added a bit more prosaically, “it may take two females to calm him.”
The thought did not make Hero more cheerful, but she entered the carriage with determination.
Half an hour later, they were knocking on the door of Wakefield House, the imposing residence her father had built. He’d expected to raise his family here, but only Maximus inhabited the grand town house now.
A flustered butler opened the door, his back straightening at the sight of her. “My lady, I don’t think…”
Hero pushed past him and turned. “Where is my brother?”
“His Grace is in his private rooms, but—”
Hero nodded briskly and mounted the stairs. Normally she would never invade Maximus’s bedroom, but the circumstances were extraordinary.
As it turned out, his door was open, a secretary scurrying out like a chastised dog.
Hero took a deep breath and entered the room.
Maximus was in his shirtsleeves, bent over a desk, writing something. Three other men stood in the room, including Craven, Maximus’s long-time valet. Craven was tall and thin and looked more like a coffin-maker than a valet, dressed as he was all in black.
He saw her and Cousin Bathilda and turned to Maximus. “Your Grace.”
Maximus looked up and met Hero’s gaze.
“Leave us,” he said to the servants.
Craven ushered the other men from the room, closing the door behind him.
Maximus stood and crossed to her. He stared down into her face, his own curiously blank.
Then he touched a finger to her aching cheek. “He’ll die for this.”
She wasn’t sure which “he” Maximus referred to, but it hardly mattered. “No, he won’t.”
He frowned and half turned toward his desk again. “I’ve already sent my seconds to Reading. The matter is settled.”
Cousin Bathilda drew in her breath and moaned softly.
Hero caught his arm. “Then call them back.”
He raised his eyebrows. Maximus was a duke, after all. No one talked to him thusly, not even she.
But this was life or death.
“I don’t want a duel,” she told him, holding his eyes firmly. “I don’t want any more violence, and I certainly don’t want a death.”
“It does not concern you.”
“It most certainly does!” she said. “I am the one responsible for Mandeville’s rage. I am the one who chose to give away my virtue and cause this problem.”
He shook his head. “Hero—”
“No, listen,” she said low. “I am ashamed of what I’ve done, but I will not let shame make me hide from the consequences. Call back your seconds, Maximus. Don’t fight a duel that will ruin you on my behalf. I don’t think I could bear to live with that.”
He gazed at her silently for a moment, then crossed to the door and cracked it open. Craven must still have been waiting outside, because Maximus held a murmured conversation before closing the door again and coming back to her.