“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied.

“Is this man bothering you?” Lockwood asked her, pointing at the reporter. “If so, I can fetch the maître d’hôtel.”

“Everyone calm down,” Kit said, putting his palms out as he stood. “Littleton, this is not the time or the place. You may call on me at another arranged time to get answers, but you will stay away from Miss Lusk.”

“Lucciola, my dear. What is happening here?” Chef Franconi arrived into their circle, unhappiness at having his domain overrun evident on his face. He concentrated on Alice. “Are you being harassed?”

“Lucciola?” Littleton’s smirk grew wider. “I see. If you all will excuse me, I believe my work here is done.”

“Wait,” Kit called, not a little desperately. “We can work something out.”

“I answer to a man more powerful than any of you. I apologize, Mr. Ward. Good night.” The reporter disappeared out the back of the kitchen, toward the alley.

Alice couldn’t move. All that she’d feared had just come to pass in the last two minutes. Why hadn’t she and Kit gone outside? Why had she agreed to help his supper club in the first place? Why hadn’t she waited to pursue her dream of cooking until after she was married?

There were no good answers to those questions, except that she lost all her sense and reason around this man.

“I believe I will lock the back door,” Angelo said, and followed the path the reporter had taken out of the kitchen.

“Shit!” Kit slapped a palm on the white-tiled wall.

“Ward,” the duke barked. “There are ladies present.”

“This doesn’t concern you, Lockwood. Go back to your table.”

“I will stay as long as Miss Lusk is here.”

Kit took a menacing step forward. “I said, go back to your table. Now.”

The edges of Lockwood’s mouth tightened. “Or?”

Alice’s head throbbed and the tension between the two men certainly wasn’t helping. Ignoring them, she stared at the wall. What on earth was she going to do?

Furious with himself and the reporter, Kit was happy to transfer some of that anger onto the duke. Moving in, he snarled, “I said, go back to your table. Now.”

Lockwood had the nerve to lift a brow. “Or?”

“Or I’ll put my fist in your face. You are upsetting her.” He pointed at Alice, who was as pale as snow.

“I am upsetting her?” Lockwood’s voice rose in outrage. “Fairly certain you have done a fine job of that on your own. And why was a newspaperman here? What was he talking about?”

“None of your concern.” If it was the last thing Kit did, he would stop that story from running. Who did he know at the Journal? There must be a favor he or Preston could call in . . .

He would not let this ruin Alice’s life.