he’d had no choice. He’d had to convince Eastman that he wasn’t going to let Georgie become yet another one of his conquests. He’d challenged him in the first place because everyone knew about the number of broken hearts and ruined reputations the man had casually left in his wake. It was just a pity the man’s reaction had made him lash out without thinking. Which had been extremely foolish as well as being completely out of character.
But he couldn’t have stood back and let Eastman add Georgie to his tally. Or hurt her in any way at all. Or even touch her, come to that. The thought of Eastman, or that bumbling cavalry Major, fixing his slobbering lips on Georgie’s perfect breasts...
Insupportable.
And yet, in order to protect her, he’d given her would-be seducer the notion he was on the verge of proposing to her himself.
Which he wasn’t.
But now there were at least two people who thought he might be.
And half a dozen more who suspected he had marital intentions in relation to someone.
Dammit!
‘Ashe?’ Havelock was pressing a drink into his hand and looking down at him with concern. And he realised he hadn’t answered Chepstow’s question.
‘He, ah, made a remark I didn’t much care for,’ he said, taking the drink.
‘About a lady?’
Edmund nodded in response to Chepstow’s question, then swallowed almost the entire contents of his glass in one gulp.
‘Want some ice?’
‘What?’
‘Ice,’ Chepstow repeated. ‘For your hand.’
Edmund glanced down to the fist he’d just clenched at the thought of any man putting his hands on Georgie, or starting rumours about her, and for the first time since he’d knocked Eastman down, noted that his knuckles were a touch sore. Not that he minded. A little discomfort was a small price to pay if it meant saving Georgie from an unscrupulous devil like Eastman.
‘You should remove your coat and let one of my people sponge it down for you, too,’ said Havelock, nodding in the direction of his upper arm, where Eastman had gripped him. And left a slight bloodstain.
He stood up jerkily and stripped off his coat while Havelock went to the fireplace and tugged on the bell pull.
‘I wish I’d seen that,’ said Chepstow. ‘You, Ashe, of all men, knocking Eastman down! I mean,’ he said, when Edmund glared at him, ‘must be dozens of men with more compelling reasons.’
‘No, there are not,’ said Havelock.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, clearly, he must have insulted Miss Wickford.’
Edmund sucked in a short, shocked breath. It was almost as if Havelock possessed some kind of sixth sense.
‘No need to look at me like that,’ said Havelock testily. ‘No secret Eastman’s been dangling after her of late. And after the trouble you went to, to get her accepted into society...’ he finished on a shrug.
‘Miss Wickford?’ Chepstow’s brow puckered in confusion briefly. ‘Oh, that girl from the country your sister Julia has taken such a shine to? The horsey one. The one with the brassy stepmother.’
‘That’s her,’ said Havelock. ‘And not only is she brassy, that stepmother has very little in her cockloft. She’s pushing those girls of hers at any man who will look twice. It’s no wonder a man like Eastman assumed she ain’t particular about the kind of propositions they’ll get. Not that I’m condoning him,’ he added, for Edmund’s benefit. ‘Type of man seriously wants knocking down.’
‘But,’ said Chepstow, looking confused, ‘she’s the big strapping one, ain’t she? Everyone knows Ashe here prefers his women small and blonde—like the other one. Whatshername.’
‘I wish,’ said Edmund irritably, flinging his coat across the back of his chair, ‘everyone would stop thinking they know anything about my taste in women.’
‘Look out, Chepstow,’ said Havelock with a grin. ‘He’s clenching his fists.’
Chepstow raised both hands in the air and backed away, an expression of mock terror on his face.
‘You are completely safe from me,’ said Edmund witheringly, deliberately unclenching his fists, which appeared to have taken on a mind of their own tonight. ‘Since you are not at present taking snuff, nor sullying the name of the woman, according to Eastman, I am about to marry.’
‘What?’
‘Snuff?’
Edmund had the satisfaction of getting their full attention with that cryptic remark.
‘Eastman assumed incorrectly,’ he informed them.
Although...if he didn’t marry Georgie, what was to become of her? She’d have to marry someone else. And he’d just discovered he couldn’t bear the thought of any other man touching her. Let alone subject her to the act which she’d consider an assault.
He couldn’t even stomach the thought of her entering into a marriage of convenience, since no other man would have a clue how to make her happy. Or the inclination to make the attempt.
And he wanted her.
So perhaps he should marry her himself.
‘At the time,’ he added, thoughtfully.
‘What? I say, Ashe,’ Chepstow complained, ‘could you not speak a bit more clearly? Because you’ve lost me.’
‘He’s decided to marry Miss Wickford after all,’ Havelock translated, testily. ‘Obviously, knocking Eastman down made him realise he’s in love with her.’
In love with her? He wasn’t in love with her.
‘Oh,’ said Chepstow, breaking into a grin. ‘Now I know why you cannot string three words together and get them to make sense.’
‘Do you?’
‘Yes. Falling in love does tend to addle a man’s brains. As well as making him feel as though he wants to flatten anyone who hurts the woman he loves, then rip them to small pieces and put them through a mincer.’
‘Does it?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Havelock.
‘But...I don’t love her—’
‘Oh, yes, you do,’ Havelock said. ‘Lord, for a man who’s supposed to have brains, it’s taking you the devil of a time to work out what is plain to anyone else. Ever since she arrived in Town
