“My lady!” Polly ran to her. “This odd man was here when I arrived. Claims he’s your husband.”
“I am!” Felix roared at the same time Caro said, “He is.”
“No.” Polly’s head swung between Felix and Caro. Caro nodded. “Noooo.” That last tiny wail quieter than before.
“Yes.” Caro inched around the frowning giant still snarling for a fight and hooked her arm around Felix’s. “This is Lord Foxton.”
Pale of face and trembling, Polly curtsied as if the quickness of the gesture would save her. “Apologies, my lord. Apologies.”
Mr. Smith smashed one fist into the other palm.
“Stand down, man,” Felix said. “Or you’ll get the fight you’re clearly aching for.”
Mrs. Smith whimpered again, pressing herself against the wall.
Damn.No matter how badly Felix wanted to lay Mr. Smith flat, he didn’t want to scare the women or put Mrs. Smith at risk when she had to tend a belligerent husband. He shook his fists out and took a few steadying breaths, tried to see the full picture calmly, logically. The facts were damning. Two women were living alone in a big house, a half mile walk from the nearest village… and this walking bad tempered brute of a man.
Felix met Mr. Smith’s beady gaze. “We do not need your services any longer. Thank you.”
“Please do not listen to his lordship, Mr. Smith,” Caroline said. “You will remain here this afternoon to do the work Polly has brought you for.”
Mr. Smith didn’t even look at Caroline. Only steadily regarded Felix. Caroline’s lips thinned, and her eyes narrowed. Oh, she did not like being ignored, did she? Though she clearly had not yet witnessed this man’s treatment of his wife. Otherwise, she’d send him packing.
Felix spoke before her irritation could boil over. “I will board up the windows, Mr. Smith, and see glaziers hired after that.”
“I was promised payment,” Mr. Smith said. Again, he ignored Caroline.
“Very well,” Felix said. “I’ll pay you to leave instead of to stay.”
“I wish I could payyouto leave,” Caroline mumbled.
Felix ignored that as he gathered his coin purse from his valise, still by the door where he’d dropped it earlier, and counted out a good amount in the other man’s palm.
Mr. Smith pocketed them without thanks and shuttled his wife out the door. She looked back at them only once, her face pale, her eyes dull and… dead.
Hell.
Felix pulled Caro aside. “You need to return to London.”
“Still on about that, then?” She rubbed a hand down his arm, then back up again, squeezed his shoulder, fingers lingering there, and Christ, he enjoyed her touch. “Not going to happen. Did you sleep well last night?”
“Perfectly. Thank you.”
The smallest frown, almost imperceptible crept between her brows. She’d wanted him to have the night he’d actually had—miserable.Bloodthirsty wench.
He pulled from her grasp. “Time to see to the windows.”
The house had been crawling with men, the two women unprotected. And he’d had no bloody idea. He clipped through the hallways, poking his head into every room, tallying the missing panes of glass in his head.
His older brothers’ rooms were at the end of the hall. Matthew and Bart used to yell at one another until their father yelled back. Much louder. Always inspired quiet. Or his mother would pop her head out of her drawing room with a heavy and too-loud sigh, hoping out loud that her sons had managed to gain more decorum with their sixteen and fourteen years than yelling across hallways suggested.
Felix swallowed a lump in his throat, his steps slowing. As quickly as the memories flicked these images to life, the dusty reality of Hawthorne scattered them. Easy to forget so many things. When you did not have to face them. He cleared his throat and pushed into another chamber.
The women scuttled behind him.
“You said he wouldn’t come,” the maid whispered.
“I did not think he would.”
