“I said-”
“I’d take care not to repeat that if I were you,” Trevel-stam quickly interjected, casting an apprehensive glance at Michael’s darkening visage.
“Eh? It’s no insult,” Hardwick grunted, gulping down the rest of his drink. “She’s been married, so you know she ain’t untouched, but she hasn’t gone and-”
“Stop now,” Michael ground out.
“Eh? Everyone is saying it.”
“Not in my presence,” Michael bit off. “Not if they value their health.”
“Well, it’s better than saying she ain’t like a virgin.” Hardwick chortled. “If you know what I mean.”
Michael lunged.
“Good God, man,” Hardwick yelped, falling back onto the floor. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Michael wasn’t certain how his hands had come to be around Hardwick’s neck, but he realized he rather liked them there. “You will never,” he hissed, “utter her name again. Do you understand me?”
Hardwick nodded frantically, but the motion cut off his air even further, and his cheeks began to purple.
Michael let go and stood up, wiping his hands against each other as if attempting to rub away something foul. “I will not countenance Lady Kilmartin being spoken of in such disrespectful terms,” he bit off. “Is that clear?”
Hardwick nodded. And so did a number of the onlookers.
“Good,” Michael grunted, deciding now was a good time to get the hell out. Hopefully Francesca would already be in bed when he got home. Either that or out. Anything as long as he didn’t have to see her.
He walked toward the exit, but as he stepped out of the room and into the hall, he heard his name being uttered yet again. He turned around, wondering what man was idiot enough to pester him in such a state.
Colin Bridgerton. Francesca’s brother. Damn.
“Kilmartin,” Colin said, his handsome face decorated with his customary half smile.
“Bridgerton.”
Colin motioned lightly to the now overturned table. “That was quite a show in there.”
Michael said nothing. Colin Bridgerton had always unnerved him. They shared the same sort of reputation- that of the devil-may-care rogue. But whereas Colin was the darling of the society mamas, who cooed over his charming demeanor, Michael had always been (or at least until he’d come into the title) treated with a bit more caution.
But Michael had long suspected there was quite a bit of substance under Colin’s ever-jovial surface, and perhaps it was because they were alike in so many ways, but Michael had always feared that if anyone were to sense the truth of his feelings for Francesca, it would be this brother.
“I was having a quiet drink when I heard the commotion,” Colin said, motioning to a private salon. “Come join me.”
Michael wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of the club, but Colin was Francesca’s brother, which made them relations of a sort, requiring at least the pretense of politeness. And so he gritted his teeth and walked into the private salon, fully intending to take his drink and leave in under ten minutes.
“Pleasant night, don’t you think?” Colin said, once Michael was pretending to be comfortable. “Aside from Hardwick and all that.” He sat back in his chair with careless grace. “He’s an ass.”
Michael gave him a terse nod, trying not to notice that Francesca’s brother was watching him as he always did, his shrewd gaze carefully overlaid with an air of charming innocence. Colin cocked his head slightly to the side, rather as if, Michael thought acerbically, he were angling for a better look into his soul.
“Damn it all,” Michael muttered under his breath, and he rang for a waiter.
“What was that?” Colin asked.
Michael turned slowly back to face him. “Do you want another drink?” he asked, his words as clear as he could manage, considering they had to squeeze through his clenched teeth.
“I believe I will,” Colin replied, all friendliness and good cheer.
Michael didn’t believe his facade for a moment.
“Do you have any plans for the remainder of the evening?” Colin asked.
“None.”
“Neither do I, as it happens,” Colin murmured.
Damn. Again. Was it really too much to wish for one bloody hour of solitude?
“Thank you for defending Francesca’s honor,” Colin said quietly.
Michael’s first impulse was to growl that he didn’t need to be thanked; it was his place as well as any Bridgerton’s to defend Francesca’s honor, but Colin’s green eyes seemed uncommonly sharp that evening, so he just nodded instead. “Your sister deserves to be treated with respect,” he finally said, making sure that his voice was smooth and even.
“Of course,” Colin said, inclining his head.
Their drinks arrived. Michael fought the urge to down his in one gulp, but he did take a large enough sip for it to burn down his throat.
Colin, on the other hand, let out an appreciative sigh and sat back. “Excellent whisky,” he said with great appreciation. “Best thing about Britain, really. Or one of them at least. One just can’t get anything like it in Cyprus.”
Michael just grunted a response. It was all that seemed necessary.
Colin took another drink, clearly savoring the brew. “Ahhh,” he said, setting his glass down. “Almost as good as a woman.”
Michael grunted again, raising his glass to his lips.
And then Colin said, “You should just marry her, you know.”