Chapter Six
Graham’s vision turnedred as her eyes, wide with fright, locked with his as she gripped her bodice.
Graham pushed himself through the crowd, stepping on those louts as they wiggled like worms on the floor, laughing like fools. He reached for Lady Amelia, scooped her up in his arms, her cloak forgotten in the melee, and lifted her away from the scene. She tucked her face into his neck as patrons parted, and he climbed the carpeted stairs away from the chaos. He kept his gaze averted as she readjusted her bodice, giving her the privacy and dignity she deserved while his mind seethed, and imagined the pain he’d inflict on those wastrels. He couldn’t wait. It took all his control not to set her down and turn around, but he wouldn’t leave her until he knew she was safe and out of sight of prying eyes. He set her down just outside the curtain of the private box where their seats were, ensuring the other guests waiting on the other side of it couldn’t see them yet.
She was still flushed, but not with the glowing blush of before. Now she was an angry red.
“Those mongrels—I should have you go back down there and pummel them.”
“Are you all right?” Graham asked.
She nodded. “I didn’t expose myself, but everyone saw you carry me away, saw those men pawing at me like—” She shook her head and swallowed.
“Have a seat, and I’ll be right back.”
She nodded and slipped past the curtain. Graham marched back down the stairs, everyone still dodging him and averting their gazes from his. He reached the lobby, where the buffoons still loitered, laughing and leaning on each other while sharing a flask. He walked up to where one sleepy-eyed fellow held Amelia’s cloak and sniffed it.
“Mm,” he moaned, “still freshly perfumed.”
Graham grabbed his collar and dragged him outside. A chorus of gasps followed him as Graham dragged the spindly-legged young man around the corner, his friends following him in protest.
“Unhand me,” he squealed.
Graham dropped him in a damp alley beside the theater, where broken set pieces and furniture were left, and out of sight of the crowd. He man didn’t have his footing under him and sank to his knees, cursing the state of his expensive buckskin breeches.
“Get up,” Graham ordered.
He got to his feet, scowling petulantly at Graham as his four friends joined him in the alley and started removing their jackets. Smirking at Graham, he made a show of removing his own jacket, but the fashionably tight fit ruined the intimidating effect. He struggled to get it over his narrow shoulders, and a friend came to his aid, giving the jacket a firm tug that nearly toppled him again.
Graham huffed out a laugh and removed his, placing his jacket carefully over a broken standing mirror and beginning to roll up his sleeves. The young wastrels smirked at him, throwing taunts at him. Graham grinned back.
“Do you know who I am?” the lad Graham had dragged outside said. He was their leader, apparently, though he couldn’t have been more than twenty.
“I don’t care,” Graham answered. He should have felt a sense of remorse for what he was about to do, but his only concern was Amelia and how upset she had been, humiliated by these fools tonight. He was older, heavier, and stronger by the looks of these whelps. Five against one made it even.
“You think you can take on all of us?” one pallid-looking young man jeered.
“I know I can.”
“Who are you?” the leader asked.
“Does it matter? By morning, you won’t remember how you got your black eye.”
They all scoffed, and one by one they came at him.
The first went down easy; he could barely walk straight. One tap to his chin, and he sank like a rock. The second and third had some skill in fisticuffs but not strength. Graham took two hits to his stomach before he could shove one into the other, and they collapsed in a pile of refuse. One fellow, likely the intelligent one among their little band of rich sons with no sense, fled the scene. The last one—the leader—squared up, but then he sized Graham up and seemed to second-guess his plans. Graham waited for a moment, letting the lad make the right choice, but in the end he still swung, leaving his face unguarded, and just like he’d said, Graham landed a solid hit to his right eye, which would certainly result in a deep-purple bruise by morning.
The young man stumbled back, holding his eye.
“Take your friends and go,” Graham said.
“We were just having a bit of fun,” he muttered.
“Do you want more fun?” With a threatening grin, Graham picked up Amelia’s cloak and shook it out.
The lad shook his head and grabbed one of his accomplices in stupidity, while the other two helped each other up and slunk away.
Graham pulled on his jacket and returned to the theater, reaching their box just as the house lights dimmed and the curtains rose.
