“What did you say to her, Grimston?” Marcus repeated, not stopping until he was directly in front of her tormentor.

A flash of memory lit through Honoria. It was Basil Grimston. He’d been away from town for several years, but during his heyday he had been known for his brutal wit. Her sisters had hated him.

Mr. Grimston lifted his chin and said, “I said only the truth.”

One of Marcus’s hands made a fist; his other hand cradled it. “You would not be the first person I struck this evening,” he said calmly.

That was when Honoria finally got a good look at him. He looked positively untamed—his hair was sticking every which way, his eye was ringed with shades of black and blue, and his mouth looked as if it was beginning to swell on the left side. His shirt was ripped, stained with blood and dust, and if she wasn’t mistaken there was a tiny feather stuck to the shoulder of his coat.

She thought he might be the most handsome man she’d ever seen.

“Honoria?” Iris whispered, her fingers digging hard into her arm.

Honoria just shook her head. She didn’t want to talk to Iris. She didn’t want to turn her head away from Marcus for even a second.

“What did you say to her?” Marcus asked yet again.

Mr. Grimston turned toward the crowd. “Surely he must be removed. Where is our hostess?”

“Right here,” Honoria said, stepping forward. It wasn’t strictly true, but her mother wasn’t anywhere to be found, and she figured she was the next best thing.

But when she looked at Marcus, he gave her a little shake of his head, and she quietly stepped back into place next to Iris.

“If you do not apologize to Lady Honoria,” Marcus said, his voice so mild as to be terrifying, “I will kill you.”

There was a collective gasp, and Daisy faked a swoon, sliding elegantly into Iris, who promptly stepped aside and let her hit the floor.

“Oh, come now,” Mr. Grimston said. “Surely it won’t come to pistols at dawn.”

“I’m not talking about a duel,” Marcus said. “I mean I will kill you right here.”

“You’re mad,” Mr. Grimston gasped.

Marcus shrugged. “Perhaps.”

Mr. Grimston looked from Marcus to his friend, to the crowd, and then back to his friend again. No one seemed to be offering him any advice, silent or otherwise, and so, as any dandy about to get his face smashed in would do, he cleared his throat, turned to Honoria, and said to her forehead, “I beg your pardon, Lady Honoria.”

“Do it properly,” Marcus bit off.

“I apologize,” Mr. Grimston said through clenched teeth.

“Grimston . . .” Marcus warned.

Finally, Mr. Grimston lowered his gaze until he was looking Honoria in the eye. “Please accept my apologies,” he said to her. He looked miserable and sounded furious, but he said it.