Reckless Angel by Jane Feather Page A

outrage at the insult, drew himself upright. The next minute he fell to the floor beneath a hammer blow from Sir Gerald’s fist. Will’s chin cracked against the corner of the fender and he lay still before the cheerful crackling of the fire on the hearth.
    â€œYou have killed him!” Henrietta dropped to her knees beside the fallen figure.
    â€œI’ve not begun yet. A taste of this will soon bring him to his senses!” Sir Gerald raised his heavy whip. “Move aside, girl.”
    â€œNay.” She looked up at him, appalled at the brutality that would horsewhip an unconscious man. “Ye’ll not touch him. He’s done you no injury.”
    â€œYou’d prefer to be driven away, would ye?” The long thong of the whip cracked. Henrietta’s breath whistled through her teeth as the pain bit deep into her shoulders, but she remained where she was, shielding Will with her body. At the next blow she cried out, but the innate obstinacy her father knew only too well kept her still, gritting her teeth, her will to resist only strengthened by the means used to break it.
    Daniel Drummond heard the whip crack and the cry from abovestairs as he strolled into the inn. The innkeeper stood at the foot of the stairs, his expression both indignant and fearful. “This is a respectable ’ouse, sir,” he blustered as Daniel strode past him. “’Tis the young lady’s father ’as come fer ’er. I don’t want nogoings-on, sir. Either the wench is yer niece or she ain’t. I would never ’ave given ye room if ’n I’d known.”
    â€œKnown what?” Daniel snapped over his shoulder, cursing himself for not having expected this so soon. He had thought to have time to prepare Henrietta and explain his actions. “There’s nothing to know!” He mounted the stairs two at a time and burst into the parlor.
    â€œGod’s grace, man! Leave her be!” He covered the distance between the door and the tableau by the fire in two strides.
    â€œAnd just who d’ye think you are?” demanded Sir Gerald, although he stayed his arm. “’Tis no business of yours to come between a man and his child.”
    â€œDaniel Drummond,” Daniel said shortly. “And in this instance, Sir Gerald, I claim that right. Get up, Henrietta.” He held out his hand to her, but she recoiled as if he offered something noxious.
    â€œYou betrayed me,” she said without expression. “You broke your promise and you betrayed me.”
    He shook his head. “It may look like that, but ’tis not so. Is Will hurt?”
    â€œNow just a minute,” broke in Sir Gerald. “I’ll accept that I owe ye some gratitude, sir, but I’ve a mind to know how ye became involved with this pair of fornicators, much as it grieves me to use such a word of my own daughter.”
    â€œThen it is fortunate such a word is misapplied,” Daniel said dryly. “I can assure you, Sir Gerald, that to my certain knowledge, there has been no dishonor and your daughter is still in possession of her maidenhead.”
    Will groaned and stirred. Henrietta bent over him again, her own pain forgotten in her anxiety. “Will, are ye all right?”
    His eyes opened. “My head! What happened?” Then the face of Sir Gerald Ashby swam into focus and memory returned. “Sir, I’ll not stand for your insults.” He struggled to sit up, his face contorted with effort to form the words of dignified outrage.
    â€œY’are not in a state to stand for anything at present.” It was Daniel who spoke. “Come, let me help you up. Sit yourself down and take a mouthful of brandy. Henrietta, fetch the decanter from the sideboard.”
    â€œI do not think we require your assistance, Sir Daniel,” Henrietta said bitterly, getting to her feet, wincing at the smarting in her shoulders. “Or your instructions. ’Tis