But Lily didn’t stop to plead or even to think. Rage welling up inside her at seeing her friend’s pain, she lunged across the room in three strides and began pummeling O’Rourke’s back with her fists. And when he abruptly released Fleur’s arm and turned to face Lily in startlement, she aimed a blow at his jaw, connecting with a powerful enough impact to make him stumble backward.
“What the bloody devil…?” he exclaimed, raising his arms to protect his face.
“Don’t you dare hurt her!” Lily declared furiously, still attacking with flailing fists.
Yet when O’Rourke saw the size of his opponent, he stopped retreating and stood his ground, easily blocking her blows.
Realizing her disadvantage in size and strength, Lily hastily glanced around her for a weapon, her gaze alighting on a thin bronze statue of a naked Aphrodite on a nearby table.
Picking it up, she brandished it at O’Rourke. “Get out! Get out of this house this instant!”
When he took a threatening step toward her, his eyes narrowing dangerously on her, Lily swung the statue at his shoulder and managed to hit him squarely on the joint.
O’Rourke gave a shocked yelp of pain and fell back again, clutching his shoulder.
“Get out, I say!” she repeated in a fierce hiss.
He held up both his hands defensively, but his tone remained belligerent. “No one tells Mick O’Rourke what to do, Missy.”
“Now! I mean it!” Lily demanded again, raising the statue to swing again.
Practically grinding his teeth, O’Rourke brushed past her and stalked from the room.
Fanny immediately went to Fleur to offer comfort, while Lily followed O’Rourke to make certain he left the house entirely.
He stomped down the corridor, his fury obvious, but as he started down the flight of stairs, he called over his shoulder, “You haven’t heard the last of me! Prison will be the least of their worries, I promise you.”
Wrath vibrated in his tone and in Lily’s retort as well as she moved to the head of the staircase, still wielding her statue. “We will find your money somehow! But you are not welcome here!”
“I am leaving, you bloody madwoman,” he blustered, “but you’ll regret this, no mistake.”
It registered on her that Lord Claybourne was mounting the stairs at the same moment and had paused halfway up, arrested by the commotion. But she only had eyes for O’Rourke.
Lily stood there watching as he bounded down the lower steps and flung open the front door, then fled outside to the safety of his carriage.
When he finally was gone, her gaze shifted blindly to Claybourne. He looked taken aback to have seen her drive O’Rourke from the house, yet it was hard for her to focus on him since she was so enraged, she was shaking.
Then just as suddenly, her rage left her and her knees
went weak. Reaching out, she grasped the balustrade with her free hand to keep from falling.
In three strides, the marquess had sprung up the remaining stairs and caught her about the waist to steady her.
“Sit,” he urged, guiding her down to sit on the top step.
Having no strength left, she obeyed, even though she wanted to protest when he settled close beside her. But she seemed to have lost her voice. Her breath was coming in short gasps, while her body still trembled.
He waited as she tried to gather her composure, although he pried the statue from her grasp and set it on the carpet.
By then several people had gathered below-boarders and servants alike-and Claybourne gave them all a dismissive look as he said tersely, “You may go about your business.”
His order instantly cleared the entrance hall, leaving Lily alone with him.
“What happened?” he asked gently.
“He was hurting Fleur,” Lily rasped.
Muttering a sharp invective under his breath, he glanced sharply down at the front entrance door, as if he wanted to go after O’Rourke himself. But all he said was, “And you came to her rescue.”