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her. "I—"
    "No wonder you and Delia always come to blows.
Neither one of you can keep your temper in check. And neither one
of you can be bothered to say you're sorry, even when wr—"
    Delia!

Chapter Seven
     
    Donovan made his way down the row of chairs to the
open door of the conservatory. If memory served, she'd be in there
with that navy officer, Henry McDaniel, listening to him profess
his undying love.
    He tsked.
    The man had certainly proved how much he cared for
Delia by marrying the youngest daughter of a baron a few months
after the ball. The heartbreak had been too much for his sister and
she'd run off…
    He shook his head, trying to clear the image of
Delia's pain from his mind. He'd been right to forbid the two from
marrying. The swine would have spent Delia's inheritance and left
her penniless.
    Fists clenched, he stormed through the doorway. It
wasn't hard to spot Delia's red dress and the blue of the young
man's navy uniform among the jungle of foliage that lined the room.
Even knowing he'd find her in the arms of McDaniel didn't ease his
temper, and the sight of the two embracing sent his fury plummeting
into blind madness.
    Slapping twigs and leaves aside, he advanced toward
the unsuspecting pair, removing his gloves as he reached them.
Without warning, Donovan swooped down on his prey and punched
McDaniel, unleashing all the hurt and rage he'd carried toward the
man on Delia's behalf for eight years. McDaniel stumbled backward
and crashed to the floor, taking a potted plant with him.
    "Henry!" his sister screamed as she dropped to the
fallen man's side and helped him sit up. "Look what you did. His
eye is already swelling shut."
    Donovan stood transfixed, shocked and humiliated that
he'd let his emotions trigger such barbaric conduct. What had he
done? How had he come back to the past and made things infinitely
worse than before? He'd known full well what would happen, had
lived it — still lived it every day. But instead of the knowledge
working to his advantage, it was a hindrance. The scene he'd caused
would be the talk of the ton for the next month. His mother
would be beside herself when she found out.
    "Let's go, Delia. I'm taking you home." If he could
just get her away from here, away from McDaniel, maybe he could
reason with her and convince her not to make a hasty decision.
    Delia stood and glared at him, a defiant gleam in her
eyes. "I'm not going to just leave Henry. I love him. You can't
make me."
    "You should do as your brother says, Delia. I'm fine.
Go on home." He touched the area surrounding his right eye and
winced.
    She sat back down and took his hands. "No. I won't
leave you."
    "Donovan!" Tess yelled.
    "Have you gone quite mad, Gatewood?"
    Donovan wheeled around. Lord Norcross stood in the
doorway, glaring at him. Tess averted her gaze and hurried to help
Delia, but not before he saw the disapproval radiating from her
liquid blue eyes. Had the earl's arm been around her waist?
    He'd lost Tess to Norcross. Eight years of living
with that finally boiled over. He unleashed it on Norcross with a
vengeance, hitting the earl full force in the nose.
    Lord Norcross jerked back, staggered, grabbed the
doorjamb, and kept his feet. Glaring, he whipped out a handkerchief
and dabbed at his bloody nose. Then he threw down the soiled linen
and drew his arm back, coming at Donovan. The gentlemanly thing to
do was to let Norcross have the satisfaction of landing a blow in
return, to take the punch. But he was past the point of feeling
generous tonight. So just as Norcross swung, he ducked and
uncoiled, driving his fist into the man's face. Blood spewed, and
the earl crumbled to the floor, holding his nose.
    Donovan shook his hand and cursed violently. An
intense sting burned his hand to the bone. Oh but it was a good,
satisfying sort of hurt. Probably he'd just broken his knuckles.
And it had been worth it—
    A sharp pain spiked through his shin — the one Past
Duke had kicked earlier — and he