He stepped forward, not between them, but beside the sisters.
"Lord Lucien," he said evenly. "Lady Clara has already given you her answer."
For the first time that evening, Lucien looked straight at him.
"I don’t recall this conversation involving you."
"Lady Clara and Lady Elise came here with me," Owen said. "I’m not going to stand here while someone keeps pressing either of them after they’ve given him a clear answer."
"So the Ashcombes need a Ferrers to speak for them."
"She spoke for herself," Owen said. "Twice. The problem is that you won’t accept what she said."
A flush crept up Lucien’s neck. He was plainly used to people stepping aside when he walked toward them, and he had walked up to a viscount’s daughter in front of half the room and been politely turned down. Now a Ferrers was refusing to let him pretend otherwise.
His attention left Clara altogether.
"You’re very confident," he said, "for someone who only just managed to awaken."
Owen heard what was underneath it. He let it pass.
"Lady Clara declined a dance," he said. "That should have been the end of it."
"You’ve gone out of your way to embarrass me in front of everyone here."
"You embarrassed yourself," Owen said, "when you wouldn’t take a polite answer."
Someone nearby drew in a breath. A pair of guests exchanged glances, and the space around them went noticeably quieter.
Alaric de Clare appeared at the edge of the group.
He looked from his brother to Owen to the two sisters, and to the growing number of nobles who were very carefully not watching.
"Lucien," he said quietly. "What’s going on?"
"I asked Lady Ashcombe to dance," Lucien said. "Lord Owen decided to interfere."
Before Owen could answer, Clara did.
"Lord Lucien asked me to dance, and I declined because I wanted to rest," she said. "He kept asking why. Then he started making remarks about my family’s position."
Alaric listened without interrupting. When she had finished, he turned to his brother.
"Lady Ashcombe is under no obligation to accept your invitation," he said. "Let it go, Lucien."
Lucien’s jaw tightened. Being corrected in front of Owen was clearly the last thing he had wanted.
"This is between me and the Ferrers now."
"It is a disappointment over a dance," Alaric said, "and you are turning it into a quarrel in the middle of the Princess’s ball."
"I’m not leaving it."
Owen saw William before he heard him. He had been talking with Dorian a short way off, and now he was making his way over, his eyes going from face to face.
"Owen," he said, coming to stand at his shoulder. "Everything all right?"
"There’s been a disagreement," Owen said. "We’re trying to settle it."
William looked at Lucien, then at Alaric. He didn’t say anything else. He simply stayed where he was.
Lucien noticed. His eyes went from William to Owen, and his expression hardened.
"You’re very brave with words," he said, "standing among your friends."
"Asking you to respect a lady’s refusal isn’t a challenge," Owen said.
Lucien made a short, dismissive sound. "I wonder how brave you’d be if the two of us were standing across from each other in a real contest."
Alaric caught it at once.
"Lucien." His voice had gone flat. "That’s enough."
Lucien didn’t even look at him.
Owen studied him for a moment.
Until now, he had been trying to let this end without becoming something larger. But Lucien had been given every chance to walk away. He had refused all of them, insulted House Ashcombe to their faces, and now he was trying to turn a refused dance into a contest between their houses. Owen didn’t think anything he said was going to change his mind.
He wasn’t afraid of fighting Lucien. That had nothing to do with it. But his ribs had ached through a single dance, and this was Princess Adelaide’s ballroom. He had no intention of giving Lucien the scene he wanted.
He also had no intention of letting Lucien call his restraint fear.
"Then let’s settle it properly," Lucien said. "A sparring match. You and me. We’ll see whether your confidence is worth anything."
The conversations nearest them died away. More heads turned.
Everyone around them knew what it meant for a son of House de Clare to challenge a son of House Ferrers. But everyone who had been standing there had also watched how it started.
"This doesn’t call for a fight," Alaric said sharply. "We are guests in the Princess’s house."
Lucien didn’t withdraw it. He kept his eyes on Owen and waited.
Owen didn’t answer straight away. He looked at Clara and Elise.
Clara looked stricken that something so small had become this. Elise stood close beside her sister, her face cold as she watched Lucien.
"None of this is your doing," Owen told them quietly. "Either of you."
Then he turned back.
"I won’t fight in the imperial ballroom," he said. "And I won’t insult Princess Adelaide’s hospitality. But if you insist on settling this with a contest, I’ll face you. In a properly arranged, supervised sparring match."
Something like satisfaction crossed Lucien’s face. He looked like a man who had just been handed exactly what he wanted.
"Then we’re agreed."
Alaric looked at his brother for a long moment. Owen could see him understand that Lucien had just walked straight into the confrontation he had been told twice to avoid.
"We’re leaving," Alaric said. "Now."
He turned to Clara and Elise and bowed. "Lady Clara. Lady Elise. A declined dance should never have come to this. I apologize for my brother."
Lucien said nothing. He followed his brother, stiff-backed, without looking back. Even walking away, he carried himself like someone who had won.
The music hadn’t stopped once.
Little by little, the guests around them drifted back to their conversations, though more than a few of them kept glancing toward Owen.
Clara let out a breath. "All I did was say no."
"You didn’t do anything wrong," Owen said. "You turned down a dance. People do it every night."
"He could have walked away after the first answer," Elise said. "None of this had to happen."
William stayed at Owen’s side. He didn’t say anything, but Owen could tell from his face that he understood exactly what Owen had just agreed to, and with whom.
Owen was irritated by the whole thing, and he didn’t try to pretend otherwise. He had come here expecting an enjoyable evening, and for most of it, that was exactly what he had had.
But he didn’t regret standing beside Clara.
He looked across the hall to where the de Clare brothers had disappeared into the crowd.
Lucien had chosen this.
When they finally meet on a training ground, Owen intend to make very sure that the younger de Clare son understood exactly whom he had challenged.