And he suffered not a morsel of regret.

Realizing he was staring like a mooncalf, Hadrian pulled his gaze from the now-empty doorway and pummeled his thoughts back into a semblance of rationality. Luckily, Wymark hadn’t noticed.

His second cousin had gone straight to the cabinet to pour himself a drink. Turning, Wymark lifted his glass in a salute that sloshed brandy onto the oriental carpet. “Foul stuff they serve down at the pub. One thing I’ll say for my pinch-fisted sire, he does keep a good cellar.”

As the youth took a swallow, Hadrian went on the offensive. “Your groom assaulted Miss Fanshawe in the kitchen tonight.”

Wymark sputtered and coughed, lowering the glass. “What? Bert?”

“You heard me. The scoundrel tried to force himself on her when she went downstairs for a glass of hot milk. I walked in as she hit him over the head with a cooking pot. He also received a sample of my right hook.”

Wymark ran unsteady fingers through his messy, wheat-gold hair. “I don’t believe it. She must’ve … must’ve led him on—”

For the second time that evening, hot rage surged in Hadrian. Only a thread of coherence kept him from leaping forward and inflicting physical violence. “I ought to lay you out for that slur.”

Looking startled, Wymark stumbled back into a chair and sat down abruptly. “Apologies, coz. Meant nothing by it.”

Hadrian took several deep breaths to calm himself. It would only raise suspicions that would hurt Natalie if he behaved in a way that was at odds with his usual self-possession. When he felt restrained enough to speak, he said tersely, “Bert left Miss Fanshawe in a wretched state of distress. I’ve had the very devil of a time calming her nerves this past hour.” Although other matters also had affected her state of mind, it was best to convince Wymark it was entirely due to the groom.

“Hope y’ told her not to press charges.”

“I’ve dismissed the scoundrel. He’s gone.”

“Gone?” Wymark shot back to his feet, nearly toppling over in the process and spilling the last of his drink. He glanced angrily at the empty glass, then hurled it toward the hearth. His drunken aim kept it from shattering, so that it merely rolled across the carpet and under a table. “You can’t do that, Clayton. He’s my groom, not yours!”

“It’s too late. You’ll have to find yourself someone else.”

“But … he’s the only one with the skill to handle Thunder! My stallion needs weeks o’ training. Else he won’t be ready to race!”

“That is neither here nor there. A violent abuser of women cannot be permitted to remain at Oak Knoll. I’m sure your father would agree.”

At the mention of Godwin, gloom clouded Wymark’s features, along with a measure of resentment. “That’s easy for you to say with your piles of gold. Good trainers don’t come cheap, and Bert was working for free in exchange for a cut o’ the prize money. I’ll never be able to pay off my vowels…” He glanced sullenly at Hadrian. “Never mind. You wouldn’t understand.”