Chapter 1
1814, Outskirts of London
Ladies remained in their carriageswhen traveling.
Ladies sat sedately within, pretending not to be shaken about to their very bones, with only a book in their lap and the view out their window to preoccupy them when they were about to expire from boredom.
In essence, ladies lived a horribly tedious experience.
It was lucky, then, that Lydia Faraday was no lady.
After at least three long minutes in the now-stationary carriage, faced with only the dimming light of dusk filtering through the curtains to entertain her, Lydia gave in. She pushed the door of her guardian’s traveling carriage wide open, stepped out into the waning light of day, and pursed her lips at the view before her.
“I ’pologize, Miss Faraday. Seems we’ve broken a hub,” the coachman said from his spot bent over the wheel. His graying hair stuck out from beneath his hat, evidence of the windy ride they’d had thus far, and the crevice between his brows was deeper than usual. “I sent Tommy ahead to Lord Tarrington’s. They’ll have you straightened out in a jiff.”
Muffled shouts and cheers came from within the building beside them.
Lydia glanced in that direction then stepped fully onto the street, rolling back her shoulders. “If you point me in the right direction, I could simply walk.” It would be a welcome bit of freedom after all those hours in the carriage.
The coachman looked up in alarm. “’Pologies, miss, but Lord Tarrington would not like that.” He came to his feet, brushing his hands on his trousers.
Of course her guardian would dislike it. If she were endangered or, worse,seenwalking around London’s streets unchaperoned, it might hurt his scheme to marry her off.Even more reason to go about it.
But the coachman, though deferential to her status, looked resolute. His hands had even spread a bit to the sides as if to physically block her from fleeing.
The sight brought a smile to her face. She was not so bad as all that.
“Well then, at least show me what you are doing. A hub you say?” She stepped closer, and the coachman’s hands lifted even more.
“You’ve no need to be out here, miss.”
“Come now, Hayes. Just last week you allowed me to help you hitch the carriage.” Lydia crossed her arms and cocked her head. If moving to London meant being bowed to and called “miss” at every turn, she was even more unhappy to be here.
The man looked a little panicked. “Yes, but... but, Miss Faraday, it isn’t the same anymore. Ye’re a lady now. This part of town is no place for ladies.”
As if to punctuate his point, the door to the building behind them suddenly burst open. Shouting grew louder, and the tangled shapes of two men became apparent, one burly and one apparently very drunk.
Lydia’s back met her carriage’s door as she stepped back—in surprise but not fear. Finally, some entertainment.
The drunk man threw a somewhat unsteady punch, catching the other in the stomach and sending him to the ground. But he landed with a roll backward then jumped to his feet. It was enthralling.
A small crowd was forming in the street now, the noise growing and the smell of sweat quickly mingling with the scent of burning coal and dirt. The group surged as the burly fighteradvanced on the drunk one, shouts in favor and disagreement of the display echoing in the mostly silent evening. The burly man grabbed the other about the neck with a hook of his arm and threw a shockingly swift fist into the man’s gut. Lydia gasped with the group.
The cold of the carriage at her back was seeping through her traveling dress and sending a light chill up her neck, but her focus remained riveted on the crowd. She’d never seen a fight before. Nothing beyond a minor tussle between boys, at least. And that had not been so... lively. Nor so evidently high risk. Despite the diversion, a hint of concern for the outcome crept over her.
A tall, broad-shouldered man appeared at the door, easily pushing the crowd aside with a furrowed brow gracing the only part of his face not in shadow. He grabbed the burly one’s shirt, pulling it taut. The man struggled, twisting back, but after a quick knee to the side, he complied. He was no match for the height and brawn of the new arrival.
The drunk fighter remained unrestrained however. He barreled toward the tall intruder, but the man sidestepped him fluidly, sending him careening past.
Lydia jumped to the side as the drunkard caught a loose stone in the road and tumbled to the ground at her feet. The stench of body odor and alcohol assailed her.
“Hey now!” Hayes cried, launching himself in front of Lydia.
Lydia stuck her head around Hayes’s shoulder, holding on to him to steady herself. The drunkard struggled to his feet and spat at Hayes. The spittle landed beside Lydia’s slippers, and she danced her feet out of the way as the tall man who’d broken up the fight threw his captive to the side and strode to the drunkard, grasping him by the collar and pulling him away from her and Hayes. The drunk man yelled a handful of obscenities, but a jab to his back silenced him.
As quickly as it had started, the fight fizzled out, both fighters breathing heavily and glaring at each other. The clouds above shifted as the tall man caught Lydia’s gaze. Moonlight illuminated his soot-stained face, and something in his look—full of intense, raw energy—held her fascinated. Perhaps London was to be more entertaining than she’d anticipated.
An orange-haired man pushed his way through the crowd, pointing at the drunkard. “Ye’re nay welcome here no more, Sprackett. Tha’s the second unsanctioned fight this week. Go on, git.”
