Thea's Marquis by Carola Dunn Page B

open front door, staring suspiciously at the morning-room door. A fleshy bear of a man, tall, with massive shoulders slightly hunched, clenched fists half raised, his very presence was a threat. His clothes, once good, were neat but on the verge of shabbiness, his boots well polished but run down at the heels.
    “Mr. Vaughn?”
    He swung round, glowering, reddish eyes overshadowed by a heavy brow. “Who’re you?” A whiff of stale gin accompanied the words.
    “Thea Kilmore, Penelope’s sister-in-law.” She held herself tightly, afraid that if she relaxed a single muscle she would turn and run. “She is unwell and cannot see anyone.”
    “Unwell, hey? Doing it too brown, missy. She’s never ill.”
    “I assure you, sir, she is not fit to receive guests.”
    “Got a bun in the oven, I suppose. At it like rabbits, they was, before the ink hardly dried on their marriage lines. I’m no guest, though. Family, I am. Her own mother’s brother-in-law. She’ll see me, or she’ll regret it.”
    I must keep him talking, Thea thought. Perhaps he would calm down. Perhaps George would return soon. “I will take her a message. What is your business with her?”
    “Business! Two years of my life I gave the jade, neglecting my own business so as I could take care of her affairs for her, treating her like a daughter, and what do I get? She up and cheats me, runs off with that fine, featherless brother of yours, and not a shilling do I get for my trouble.”
    Thea’s glance flew round the hall: the Turkey carpet, the cherrywood half-moon table, brocade-covered side chairs, gilt-framed mirror. She remembered the stark bareness that had met their arrival in Russell Square. Not a shilling? she almost asked aloud. “You need money?”
    “I’ve got a good scheme on the cards.” He was whining now. “All I need’s a spot of the ready to invest. And her aunt’s ill again. Doctors and medicines cost a mint.”
    “I am sorry, sir, but Penny does not handle her own finances.” She tried to speak firmly. “You must consult my brother, and the lawyers.”
    “Bloody lawyers, is it?” he shouted. “And your bloody brother? I’ll see ’em in Hell first. She’ll shell out if I have to shake every penny out of her. And I don’t take kindly to them as stands in my way.” He advanced on her, his angry face suffused with blood, his fist raised.
    Behind him in the doorway a tall figure appeared. In three strides Lord Hazlewood was between Thea and Mr. Vaughn, his back to her. Though of a height with the bully, his shoulders near as broad, he was far less massive.
    Thea could not bear it if he were hurt. Hands clasped in a plea, she stepped forward as the two men stared at each other. Dunmow reached for her arm and tugged her back, shaking his head. He was watching them, his face intent but unworried.
    Then she saw them as the butler did. The marquis was fit and trim where his adversary was flabby. Relaxed yet wary, Lord Hazlewood’s stance contrasted with Vaughn’s aggressive rigidity.
    Penny’s uncle was now livid with fury, whereas Lord Hazlewood’s voice, at least, had lost none of its accustomed calm. “You are not welcome in this house, I think.”
    “What’s it to you where I’m welcome?” snarled Vaughn.
    “A lady’s wishes must be the natural concern of any gentleman.”
    “To the devil with a lady’s wishes! It’s no lady I’ve come to see but my niece, and you’ve got no right to keep me from her.” He rushed forward, fists flailing.
    Thea gasped as the marquis stepped suddenly aside, his arms moving too quickly for her to follow. Vaughn staggered backwards, clutching his belly, his eyes dazed. Making an involuntary exit through the open front door, he lost his balance on the step and sat down, hard.
    “If you’ll pardon the liberty, my lord,” said Dunmow admiringly, “you’ve a punishing left. I wager your lordship strips to advantage. Spar with the Gentleman, do you?”
    “Jackson has honoured