Hope rose within him. So much he could barely contain it.
A ruckus sounded from the front of the house and he went to the door of his study, peering down the hall. His butler suddenly appeared and rushed toward him, an agitated look on his face. Lindley stopped short when he spotted Hartwell.
“My lord, a—gentleman is here who demands to see you this very instant. I told him you were resting but he wouldn’t hear of it.”
“Wh-who is it?” Damnation, the stutter came back, just like that.
Lindley grimaced. “It’s Viscount Huxley, sir. And he’s quite angry. He pushed at the door and forced his way inside, I’m afraid. I left him pacing and mumbling in the front parlor.”
Christ, Daphne’s brother. This couldn’t be good. “T-tell him I’ll be right there.”
He went back into the study after his butler left and poured himself another drink, downing it in one gulp. Brushing the back of his hand against his mouth, he contemplated the reasoning behind Huxley’s sudden appearance. Was he there to call him out on dishonoring his sister? Was he primed and ready to beat him to a bloody pulp for hurting her? Or was it merely a friendly visit from his future brother-in-law?
He was fooling himself if he believed Huxley wanted to make a friendly visit.
Hartwell released a stuttering breath and rubbed his brows with the tips of his fingers. His muscles were tight, his entire body tense. He needed to go face the younger man and get it over with then rush to Daphne’s house and confess his undying affection for her.
The door to his study crashed open with a loud bang. Huxley strode through the doorway, his face a mask of barely contained anger. He rushed for Hartwell, grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket and jerking him forward.
“You are a despicable bastard,” Huxley practically spat in his face before shoving Hartwell away. “Explain yourself.”
“F-for what?” Hartwell winced. Only moments ago he thought himself strong, worthy of his title. Now he was just a weakling again. Stuttering and begging for forgiveness in front of a man who was his peer, the brother of the woman he was falling in love with.
“For what you did to my sister, you ass. Use her up like some sort of common tart and then toss her aside, never to see her again? What the bloody hell is wrong with you?”
“You know not of what you speak.”
Huxley’s eyes narrowed. “I know enough that you’ve made my sister into your mistress and then abandoned her. She’s been miserable ever since you dallied with her. How dare you treat her like a common whore?”
Anger rose at Huxley describing Daphne in such cruel terms. “Take it back.”
Huxley’s brows lowered. “Take what back?”
“Wh-what you called Daphne. You refer to your sister as a tart and a whore—no gentleman does such a thing. Least of all toward the lady I happen to care for very deeply. Take it back, Huxley, before I pummel your face in with my fists.” He clenched his hands at his sides and slowly approached the man, fuming with anger. No one disrespected Daphne like that, not even her brother.
“Ah, that’s rich. You’re defending her honor after you use and neglect her so easily, as if she were a piece of trash. Go to hell,” Huxley snarled as he cocked back his arm, preparing to thrust his fist forward. Straight into Hartwell.
Lord above, he had to defend himself.
Without thought, Hartwell swung his arm, blocking Huxley’s blow. They glared, arms locked, pressed against each other, and then they thrust forward again, Hartwell’s fist connecting with Huxley’s jaw. A sickening crack rent the air and Hartwell winced, cursed below his breath. His knuckles stung. He shook his aching hand as he stepped back from the doubled-over Huxley.
“Oh my God!” The familiar feminine voice sounded from behind.
Hartwell groaned inwardly.
It was Daphne. She moved past him in a flurry of pale blue as she went straight for her brother. She slipped her arm around Huxley’s shoulders and cradled him close, murmuring soothing words as he muttered in reply.
Hartwell stared, unable to move. She was in his house, right in front of him, and he’d most likely made the biggest mistake ever in her eyes.
Brutalizing her brother as if he was some sort of madman.
“How could you, Cam?” She looked up at him, her eyes filled with sadness as she remained at her brother’s side. “You hurt him.”
The blooming purplish color on Huxley’s jaw couldn’t be denied. He’d hit him but good. Hartwell didn’t realize he had it in him. “He threatened me first.”
“He was defending me.” The accusation in her tone was plain. She was angry for his leaving for so long without much word—not that he could blame her.
Hell, he’d completely mucked this up.