She gasped again, this one a short little puff far more in keeping with her role as an offended young lady. “You, sir, are no gentleman.”

“So we have established,” he bit off. “Now then, I am hungry, I am tired, and I want to go home. You, however, are blocking my sole means of egress.”

She crossed her arms and widened her stance.

He tilted his head and considered the situation. “We appear to have two choices,” he finally said. “You can move, or I can push you out of the way.”

Her head bobbed to the side in what could only be described as a swagger. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Remember, I’m no gentleman.”

She smirked. “But I have two good legs.”

He patted his cane with some affection. “I have a weapon.”

“Which I’m fast enough to avoid.”

He smiled blandly. “Ah, but once you move, there will be no obstruction.” He indulged himself with a midair twirl of his free hand. “Then I may be on my way, and if there is any God in our heaven, I shall never lay eyes upon you again.”

She didn’t exactly step out of the way, but she did seem to lean slightly to one side, so Hugh took the opportunity to thrust his cane out as a barrier and shove his way past her. He made it out, too, and in retrospect he really should have kept going, but then she yelled, “I know exactly who you are, Lord Hugh Prentice.”

He stopped. Exhaled slowly. But he did not turn around.

“I am Lady Sarah Pleinsworth,” she announced, and not for the first time he wished he knew how to better interpret ladies’ voices. There was something in her tone he didn’t quite understand, a little catch where her throat might have closed, just for a millisecond.

He didn’t know what that meant.

But he did know—he certainly did not need to see her face to know it—that she expected him to recognize her name. And as much as he wished he did not recognize it, he did.

Lady Sarah Pleinsworth, first cousin to Daniel Smythe-Smith. According to Charles Dunwoody, she had been quite vocal in her fury over the outcome of the duel. Much more so than Daniel’s mother and sister, who, in Hugh’s opinion, had a far more valid claim to anger.

Hugh turned. Lady Sarah was standing just a few feet away, her posture tight and furious. Her hands were fisted at her sides, and her chin was jutting forward in a manner that reminded him of an angry child, trapped in an absurd argument and determined to stand her ground.

“Lady Sarah,” he said with all due politeness. She was Daniel’s cousin, and despite what had transpired in the last few minutes, he was determined to treat her with respect. “We have not formally met.”

“We hardly need—”

“But nonetheless,” he cut in before she could make another melodramatic proclamation, “I know who you are.”