Page 50 of Earl Crazy
As soon as the scoundrel raised his hand to Tilly, everything had become crystal clear.
Wyle hadhurther, and that had been a drastic mistake.
“Tilly!” Lady Harriett shrieked. She was in full hysterics now, her sobbing having given way to a wailing that would surely draw the servants from the house.
But there wasn’t time to wait.
Wyle was advancing on Tilly, the crop raised to strike. She backed away from him, but after a few steps she stumbled, and fell onto her backside in the drive. Her eyes went wide and dark with fear as Wyle drew closer, his face scarlet, and a cascade of vile threats and curses pouring from his lips.
Kit didn’t give him a chance to make good on them.
He didn’t remember moving, but he must have done, because the next thing he knew he was in the drive, his body between Wyle and Tilly, blocking Wyle’s advance. He was vaguely aware of Tilly scrambling to her feet behind him, and of Lucius barking, and the carriage door flying open, but he never took his eyes off Wyle. “Have I caught you at an awkward moment, Wyle?”
“This doesn’t concern you, Prestwick,” Wyle snarled. “Be on your way.”
“No. I don’t believe I will. I think I’ll stay right where I am. Oh, and I’ll be taking that crop, as well.”
Wyle made another clumsy swipe with the crop. “I’ll beat you bloody with it first, Prestwick.”
“I doubt it. You would have done well to follow Miss Mathilda’s advice, Wyle, and leave while you had the chance, because God knows you’ve made a mess of this. So much for being the Nonesuch, eh? But have it your way, if you must.”
Wyle didn’t waste any time. He took a wild swing at Kit’s head, but he was far too furious to take proper aim, and the blow fell short. He jerked his arm back to attempt a second attack, but before he could gather his wits Kit slammed a fist into his face. Pain exploded across his knuckles, but there was a satisfying crack, and an instant later a fountain of blood spurted from Wyle’s nose.
That should have been the end of it, but Wyle, maddened by pain and his disappointed hopes regarding Lady Harriett, came at Kit like a man possessed.
“Kit!” Tilly screamed, just as the crop sliced through the air in an arc, and came down hard on Kit’s arm. Blood blossomed in the wake of the blow, soaking the arm of Kit’s white linen shirt. It hurt like the devil, but he sucked in a sharp breath and shook off the pain. “Come, Wyle. You can do better than that.”
Wyle charged forward, aiming another strike at Kit’s jaw. Kit leapt backwards just in time, dodging the blow, and a good thing, because Wyle had thrown his weight behind the attack. If it had landed, it likely would have broken his jaw.
Alas for Wyle, he stumbled, the momentum from his furious attack carrying him forward, and Kit finished the job by sweeping his leg out from under him with a well-aimed kick.
Wyle fell heavily onto his side, his temple striking the ground. The crop fell from his hand, and bounced across the drive. In a flash, Tilly darted forward and snatched it out of Wyle’s reach, but by then, the battle was already over.
Everyone could see it but Wyle, who staggered, but managed to regain his feet. He made a few half-hearted attempts to land a fist to Kit’s rib cage, but he was panting with exhaustion, and looked half mad, with sweat and the blood from his broken nose streaming down his face.
Or more than half. He’d have to be mad, to make such a foolhardy attempt to make off with Lady Harriett against her will. It didn’t make sense he should have resorted to this, when he’d spent all season successfully courting her.
Anyone could see Lady Harriett was in love with him, or had been, before Wyle revealed his violent nature. What had pushed him into such a desperate attempt?
There was more to this story, but Kit was in no frame of mind to hear it. Lady Harriett had fallen into hysterics, and was babbling incoherently to Tilly, who was attempting to soothe her, but Tilly’s face was as pale as death, and the hand stroking Harriett’s back was shaking.
All he wanted, all he could think of, was wrapping his arms around her, and cradling her head against his chest.
Wyle would be dealt with, but not now.
He stepped up to Wyle, his voice grim. “Get out of here.”
For a moment, Wyle looked as if he were considering another attack. It was a sure sign he’d lost his wits entirely, as any sane man could see this was finished, but at that moment a lantern flared to life in an upstairs window of Fosberry House. A second lantern followed, the light casting a faint glow onto the drive.
“Lady Fosberry and her servants will be crowding the drive soon. I hate to think what she’ll have her footmen to do you, Wyle, when she sees the state her niece is in.”
Wyle turned back toward the carriage.
“Leave it. Just go,now.”
Wyle cast him a glance of pure hatred, but he turned without a word, and limped toward the hedge.
“Oh, and Wyle?” Kit called.
