Page 75 of What a Widow Wants

Aghast at this strange behavior, yet confident the man would stop when he reached the first step, Matthew stood firm, though the peer’s disheveled appearance and erratic behavior filled him with uneasiness. Surely the man would—

Theale reached the bottom step and ploughed straight into Matthew, knocking him back into the footmen close behind him. He stumbled, but the men kept him standing.

“Noyes, call for reinforcements,” Theale shouted, picking himself up off the stairs, and finally adjusting his coat.

The butler scurried away.

“Now you’ll get what’s coming to you, you blackguard. This is for Stephen.” Theale pulled his arm back for a blow.

Matthew was a longtime patron of Jackson’s boxing saloon, often training at the hands of Jackson himself. That training now took over. When Theale began his swing, Matthew blocked the blow, then jabbed his fist into the marquess’s snarling face.

With a loud groan, the man fell back onto the steps, staring up at Matthew, an utterly shocked expression on his face.

At that moment, Noyes arrived with every footman, groom, and stable boy the marquess employed.

Shaking his hand, Matthew signaled his men to go. Theale’s belligerent behavior was completely uncharacteristic of the man, which was troubling. “I will return, Theale, to retrieve Fanny’s things.”

“And I’ll not give you quarter then either, Lathbury.” Theale laughed as he sat up, wiping at the blood trickling from his nose.

Noyes ran forward to assist his master to stand.

“Have her trunks ready and we won’t have to repeat this scene.” Despite the satisfaction of finally planting the odious man a facer, his manner still seemed unusual. Perhaps it was time Matthew paid a call on Theale’s heir, Craighaven.

“Hah. Got you on the run, have I? I’ll have a go at you again if you come back.”

“I’ll be back,” Matthew spoke under his breath. “And I guarantee you will not like it when I do.”

* * *

Two days later, Matthew once again knocked on the door of Theale House, although this time he was accompanied by a single man.

Noyes opened the door, his face registering alarm at seeing Matthew. “Lord Lathbury. Please, my lord. I cannot allow you to pass.”

“You won’t deny me entry, will you, Noyes?” Craighaven stepped from behind Matthew, his tone even but firm.

“Lord Craighaven.” Noyes made a full bow to his master’s heir. “Please my lord, come in.”

Pushing past the butler, Craighaven crossed the threshold into the entrance hall, Matthew following closely behind. “Where is my father?”

“I believe he is in his study, my lord.”

“Alone?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Good.” Craighaven glanced at Matthew. “This way, Lathbury.”

“But, my lord . . .” Noyes hurried after them as Craighaven started up the stairs. “His lordship has expressly forbidden—”

Craighaven threw up a hand in dismissal. “I will take care of the matter, Noyes. Thank you.” They continued up the stairs to the first landing and turned left. “It’s just this way.” His voice betrayed his annoyance with these dealings, yet the man had agreed to confront his father. He stopped before a familiar door. “Here.”

Lord Theale sat behind the desk, in his overlarge chair, writing a letter. He did not look up when they entered, and when they reached the desk, Matthew discovered the letter was merely a series of doodles—looping swirls, squares stacked upon squares, never-ending spirals.

“Father.”

At his son’s voice, the marquess finally raised his head. “Craighaven. Have you come for the holidays after all?”

“I live here, Father. Remember? With you and Mother. I gave up my bachelor apartments a year ago when I married.” His son’s patient voice told Matthew this conversation had taken place before. Perhaps many times.