Scandal Meets Its Match (The May Flowers #7) - Merry Farmer Page 0,71

thing like that to my pretty wife,” Bart growled in a voice that implied murder would be the least of her worries if Bart extracted her from her protectors.

“You think that saying things like that and in that manner is going to persuade any of us to let Lenore out of our sight for so much as a second?” Phin asked, pulling himself to his full height and towering above Bart.

“It will if you know what’s good for you,” Bart said in return, narrowing his eyes.

“Gentlemen, please,” Lenore begged them. “Sit down so that we can come to some sort of an agreement about how to move forward.”

“The only way I’m leaving is if you come with me, sweetie,” Bart said, moving back to his chair and sitting as though he owned all of London.

“And Lenore is in no way going with you,” Freddy said, grabbing Lenore’s hand again. “Ever.”

Lenore was still grateful for the gesture, but with Phin there now, she would much rather he be the one to hold her and comfort her. As it was, she couldn’t even tell if he had forgiven her. He’d stated that he wouldn’t let Bart take her, but that wasn’t the same as forgiveness.

A brittle silence followed. It stretched on for so long that Lenore wasn’t sure what to do. She still roiled with suspicion about Bart’s true reason for pursuing her. It had to be the money. He couldn’t truly care one whit for her. But she couldn’t work out how to get the brute to tip his cards. And aside from that, something had to be done to fill the space before it ignited and the four men broke into a brawl worthy of any London pub or Haskell saloon. Lenore had been around Englishwomen long enough to feel as though it were her responsibility to keep things moving as calmly as possible.

“Phin, have you had a chance to visit your brother since returning to London?” Lionel Mercer had said he would investigate Bart, after all. Perhaps he’d discovered something that might help them.

“I visited him last night,” Phin said, moving awkwardly to sit in the free chair. Reese resumed his seat as well as Phin went on with, “We had a long and interesting discussion. Lionel would like you to host a ball this weekend.”

Lenore blinked. It was absolutely the last thing she would have expected anyone to say. “I’m sorry, but he wants me to host a ball?”

“Yes.” Phin nodded. “Saturday would be best. Here, or perhaps at Lady O’Shea’s house.”

Lenore’s mouth dropped open, but she couldn't think of a single thing to say in response to the outlandish request.

“She can’t do it,” Bart answered for her. “We’ll be on a ship headed home by then.”

“You most certainly will not,” Freddy scoffed, inching closer to Lenore.

“We’re leaving as soon as the next ship sails,” Bart said. “Isn’t that right, pumpkin?”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Lenore snapped, then thought better of it. She glanced to Phin, who seemed as frustrated by the situation as he was furious. “That is to say, if Mr. Lionel Mercer needs me to host a ball this Saturday, I have to host a ball.” Perhaps that would give her time to uncover the truth about what Bart wanted.

“Nonsense,” Bart snorted. “That ball is just a dumb excuse to delay the inevitable. You’re coming with me, and you’re going to be the wife you were supposed to be,” he said, undisguised lasciviousness in his eyes.

“Over my dead body,” Freddy growled.

“And mine,” Reese agreed.

“And yours,” Phin added, almost too quietly to be heard.

Bart did hear it, though. He narrowed his eyes at Phin as though dreaming up ways to kill him as soon as possible.

“I must host a ball for Mr. Mercer,” Lenore said, desperation to keep Phin out of the line of fire suddenly more important than anything else. “It’s a matter of honor, you see.” She turned to Bart, eyes wide, scrambling for an explanation he would understand. “I owe Lionel Mercer. I owe him for a great many things. If he wants me to host a ball, I have an obligation to do so. You understand honor, I’m sure.”

Bart sighed and scrubbed a hand over his stubbly face. “What is it with you English people and balls? They’re stupid, if you ask me.”

“They are a necessary part of social interaction,” Reese said, stony-faced. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Lenore sent him a warning look. Bart was the wrong person to bait, which was clearly