Lord Stanbury advanced toward the gentleman at that, and Della was suddenly grateful that he’d taken ownership of her arm because she was able to drag him back, yanking on him so he couldn’t move forward and do whatever it was he was going to do.

Which was hit him. She knew he was planning on hitting him.

But that would cause a far worse scandal than this man saying terrible things to her. It would mean that the duke’s heir would be seen as a low-class brawler, not a gentleman worthy of his forthcoming title.

And the whispers would start, as Della well knew—that he’d run off to sea, that he cavorted with his lessers, that he had even spent an evening in jail.

So she held on to his fist with all her might, making him turn his head to glare at her because she was impeding his movement.

Yes, because this is the kind of rash impulsivity you absolutely do not wish to engage in, she wished she could say. This is why you enlisted me as your pretend betrothed, so you could fake respectability and keep determined young ladies at bay.

“Stop it,” she said in a fierce whisper. “You do not wish to do this.”

“Oh, but I do,” he said through a clenched jaw. “He’s maligned your honor.”

That fiery spark of anger flared through her, making her throat tight and her heart hammer against her ribs. “My honor. Not yours. It is mine to defend or not. That is my choice. I do not want—I will not have—you leaping to my defense.”

He took a step back, giving her an incredulous look. “You don’t want me to hit this bastard?”

The man in question was just over Lord Stanbury’s shoulder, looking smugly at her. I should just let him hit you, she thought. But I won’t, because I am a better person than you.

“No. This is bound to happen, I did warn you. The best thing to do,” she said, moving closer to him so only he could hear her, “is to ignore it. People like that one just want to get a reaction.” She lifted her eyes to his face. “And he did. I can barely speak I am so angry, and you are on the verge of stomping about and smashing things with your fists.” She took his hand in hers, wrapping her fingers as best she could around it. He had an awfully large hand.

“I couldn’t just accidentally trip him or something?” he asked in a mournful tone, as though he knew what her answer would be.

She snorted. “No, you can’t.”