“Not ringing any bells, I’m afraid. Wait . . . yes. I remember it, but only hazily. There were various intoxicating substances involved.”

“You stole my mistress, you drunken cur! Miss Lucinda Whiting. Stole her with a wink and a leer.”

“I’m sorry, still not ringing any bells.”

“You bloody well threw her over your shoulder and carried her away before I could even challenge you. After that night she broke things off with me. Said that I no longer gave her what she needed. I loved her, Westbury.”

“And you’ve been seething with fury ever since. Venting your hatred for me on first Blanche, stringing her along for years, then slandering her, and now Belinda.”

“They got what you deserved.”

“Good heavens, man, I don’t even remember that night.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? Someone has to put you in your place. You can’t just run around London stealing mistresses and giving the nobility a bad name.”

“I shouldn’t have stolen your mistress. I probably didn’t even know she was yours. And you’re right. I’ve done too many wicked, thoughtless deeds. But no more. I’m reformed. And I won’t be challenging you to a duel tonight.”

“Coward!”

“But you might still die.”

“Even you wouldn’t kill me in cold blood while I’m being held here against my will.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?” West caught him by the collar and hauled him to his feet.

“You . . . you wouldn’t dare.” Laxton tried to break free but West held him immobile.

“This establishment is owned by a dear friend of mine with a very creative mind. I’m sure we could find a way to make it look like an accident.” West released him and shoved him back into his chair. “As much as it pains me to say it, you’re not going to die tonight, Laxton. Instead, you’re going to be engaged.”

“Pardon? I won’t marry Belinda, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

“Not Belinda. Miss Phoebe Trowbridge.”

Laxton quailed. “How did you . . . ?”

“I have contacts in the underworld. We’ve been searching for information on you and we finally found it. You’ve done this before. You abducted Miss Trowbridge four years ago but that occasion was more successful. She went with you willingly, assuming she would become Lady Laxton. Instead, she was left with a babe on the way and no husband.”

“The chit has no proof.”

“I have proof. A signed testimony from Miss Trowbridge, witnesses who saw you leave together, and a signed statement from the innkeeper where the vile deed was done. You’re going to marry Miss Trowbridge. She has no father, brother, or protector who could have forced you at the time. Now she has me.”

“I can’t marry her. She’s beneath my station.”