She was out of her chair in seconds, grabbing his arm. “What are you going to do?”
“What I should have done a long time ago.” He yanked his arm free from her grasp.
Mr Wycliff was on his feet, too. “Rash decisions lead to acts of sheer folly. Wait. Take a moment to calm your temper before you do something you may regret.”
They chased after Benedict, who was already in the hall, instructing the butler to summon the carriage. “Never mind, Slocombe, I’ll walk.”
Mr Wycliff continued to offer words of caution, but Benedict wrenched open the front door and took to the street.
“Damnation!” Mr Wycliff shook his head. “I would follow him, but nothing I say will stop his quest for vengeance. For five years, he’s let his bitterness for your father fester. I fear it’s too late to make him see sense now.”
Tears welled in Cassandra’s eyes. “I would chase after him, too, but my efforts to make him see sense will fall on deaf ears. I cannot help but feel this is all my fault.”
Mr Wycliff touched her gently on the arm. “I’ll not lie to you. I have despised you for five years and cannot fathom what the hell you were thinking when you refused his suit. But I believe you love him. And by God, the man is besotted with you.”
In a state of panic, she grabbed Mr Wycliff’s arm. “I made a dreadful mistake, but we have a real chance of happiness now. Help me. Oh, please help me, Mr Wycliff. Tell me what to do.”
Mr Wycliff dragged his hand down his face and sighed. “We must go to Tregarth. He’s the only one who has the remotest chance of stopping him doing something foolish. Come. It will take Benedict thirty minutes to reach Cavendish Square on foot. Let’s hope his temper has calmed by then. My carriage is waiting outside. Fetch a jacket, and we’ll be on our way.”
* * *
Anger boiled in Benedict’s veins. Hot. Molten. Deadly. When he unleashed his rage, he was guaranteed to cause destruction, untold devastation. For years, he had stood aside while Worthen manipulated events to suit his purpose. He had allowed the earl to browbeat Cassandra into refusing his suit. Though he had pushed the thoughts from his mind, he had always felt less of a man fo
r not supporting her, for not pleading, not fighting.
But he was an outcast—a man who anticipated rejection.
The moment Cassandra told him she didn’t want him, that he wasn’t good enough, was the moment he locked his heart away in a sealed box never to be opened again.
And yet …
Fate had intervened to give them a second chance. A second chance at happiness, a second chance at love. And by all that was holy, he would not let the earl ruin their lives again.
On the march up to Piccadilly, people darted out of his way. No one wanted to approach the crazed gentleman who had taken to cursing and muttering his objections aloud.
The walk up to New Bond Street roused memories of Murray’s arrogant grin as he gripped the reins of his new curricle while playing court to Miss Pendleton. Murray might be innocent of hiring a pack of brutish thugs, but he must have had a hand in the game.
Just thinking of Murray kept his fury flaming.
When he eventually reached Worthen’s house in Cavendish Square, he hammered the front door so hard he hoped to take the damn thing off its hinges.
“Where the bloody hell is he?” Benedict roared, pushing past the shocked butler and charging into the earl’s study.
Worthen shot up from the chair behind the desk, outrage taking command of his countenance. “What’s the meaning of this?” He puffed out his chest. “You’re the only man who would charge into a peer’s house like a raving heathen.”
“Heathen!” Benedict marched across the room. “You have the nerve to call me a heathen when you’re the one who hired men to kill me. To kill your daughter’s husband. Have you not hurt Cassandra enough?”
Benedict remained on the opposite side of the desk, else he was liable to beat the devil, and he was a better man, a more honourable man than that. No. He would end this conversation by naming Tregarth as his second. He would end this bitter feud by frightening this bastard half to death.
“Don’t tell me how to deal with my own damn daughter.”
Blind fury saw Benedict thump the desk. “You can no longer stake your claim.” Neither could he. He did not belong to the group of men who enjoyed dominating their wives. “As my wife, Cassandra falls under my protection. From now on, every pain you inflict on her I shall return tenfold.”
He might have used what he knew about the clerk to blackmail the lord, but in any game one held on to their ace card.
“I have proof Mr Brydden hired the thugs to kill me,” Benedict continued. “Mr Brydden obeyed the order given by your man of business, who in turn obeyed the order given by you.”
“Proof?” the earl scoffed. “Where is your proof?”