“What price?” Miss Collyer asked warily.
In answer, the nobleman reached out and trailed a languid finger along her bare throat to the low neckline of her gown.
When she visibly gritted her teeth, Ash felt some satisfaction that she wasn’t soliciting the viscount’s advances, far from it. Yet he was surprised by his own violent reaction: The urge to wrap his hands around the lecher’s throat speared through him.
Then Deering gave a low, seductive laugh that raised his ire even further.
“I see you take my meaning, Miss Collyer. If you are truly interested in regaining your property, you will accommodate my wishes. You are quite lovely. I find I want you almost as much as I coveted your magnificent stallion.”
Flinching, she took a step backward, out of reach, distaste written in every line of her face. “I regret I must decline your proposition, Lord Deering.”
“You should realize that beggars cannot be choosers.”
“I am not a beggar quite yet.”
The viscount moved closer, but she stood her ground. When his fingers covered her breast and squeezed, Ash took a reflexive step toward them.
But Maura Collyer evidently did not need defending, for she brought her heel down hard on the viscount’s instep, forcing him to release her. Even with her soft evening slippers, the impact must have hurt.
It did, if the viscount’s pained growl was any indication.
“Your stubbornness reminds me of your damned father!” Deering ground out through his teeth. “I could not persuade him to sell, but I found a way to win in the end. Your stepmother was far more accommodating.”
For a moment Miss Collyer froze, her expression one of devastation. Only then did Ash recall the bad blood between her family and the viscount. Deering had accused her father of cheating at cards two years ago, but Noah Collyer had died before the matter could be resolved.
When Deering reached for her breast again, she broke out of her paralysis with ferocity. Uttering an audible curse, she brought her knee up to contact with the viscount’s satin breeches at an especially vulnerable point.
Deering gave a harsh groan and doubled over, clutching his bollocks. Then Maura stamped down on his other instep for good measure.
Ash didn’t know which of his emotions was strongest just then—amusement, admiration, or anger.
Amusement because he’d wanted to do the same thing to Deering for years.
Admiration because very few females outside those in his own family had the spirit or courage to engage in a physical brawl with a significantly larger man.
And anger because a genteel young lady had been accosted in his own home. Specifically this young lady, who was Katharine’s friend and therefore deserved his protection.
Deering was clearly angry also; in fact, he was in a fury. “You … will regret this … you damned vixen!” he panted, still bent over.
“The only thing I regret,” retorted Miss Collyer, “is thinking you were honorable enough to let me plead my case! I was fully prepared to purchase my horse back, not sell myself to you!”
She was panting as much as her suffering adversary, but her breathlessness stemmed from outrage instead of pain. Even at a distance, Ash could practically see sparks flashing from her eyes. When she balled her fists as if she might strike a blow at the viscount’s sneering face, Ash decided it was time to intervene.
“It is time you took your leave, Deering,” he declared, striding across the terrace toward them.
At his sudden appearance, Miss Collyer gave a start, while the viscount straightened painfully.
“This is none of your affair, Beaufort!” Deering snapped.
“It is very much my affair. You assaulted one of my guests.”
“I assaulted her?” he sputtered. “That she-devil is the one who assaulted me!”
Ash bit back a smile. “I would not advertise that fact if I were you, Rupert. You will only invite scorn and make yourself a target for the cartoonist
s. Do you need assistance calling for your carriage?”
“Bloody hell … no, I can summon my own infernal carriage.”