The tall man pushed the drunkard away while nodding at the orange-haired one.
The newcomer returned the nod. “Thank ye, Luc,” he said. Then he swung to look at the burly fighter. “And ye’ve about reached the end of yer chances, Thorn. One more and ye’re gone too. Ye ken?”
The burly one nodded tensely. “Real sorry, Colin,” he said, still breathing heavily.
Colin nodded, sending orange hair into his eyes, then turned on the gathered crowd. “Back inside, you lot,” he said with a strong, authoritative voice. “This is a pugilist club, not a menagerie.”
As the crowd filed back into the building and the drunkard staggered away muttering, the tall man walked toward Lydia. Something in his step was hesitant, contrasting the power and strength he’d shown moments before. “You are well?” he asked, his gaze running down her person.
Lydia nodded. She could not clearly make out his features in the darkening street, but he had a strong jaw and, she thought, light-colored hair. His elevated way of delivering only those few words seemed at odds with his rough clothing and the soot smudging his face.Luc, the orange-haired man had called him.
Hayes cleared his throat from his protective spot in front of her. “Miss?”
Lydia met his eye.
He looked back at the still-open door of the carriage. “Please, would you...”
Lydia huffed in frustration, but she was well aware that were she to ignore the coachman, he would be in a great deal of trouble when Lord Tarrington showed up to collect her. The servants of her guardian had been her dearest friends growing up. She’d not put any one of them in harm’s way now.
“Yes, yes, I am coming.” She glanced over her shoulder at the mysterious man only to find that he’d left. Her gaze swept the area, but there was no evidence of him or the fight that had taken place less than a minute ago. Before stepping into the equipage, she took in the facade of the buildings, committing them to memory. If Lord Tarrington’s townhome proved as dismal as his country estate, at least she might find some excitement here.
Hayes’s grandfatherly face watched her until she nodded, then he closed the door. She thought she heard him sigh with relief when at last she was tucked away.
The inside of the carriage was dark and still. Her heart thumped out an uneven rhythm that clouded her ears before it slowed to a steadier pace. She savored the feeling of excitement, unsure if it would be her last. Was there excitement to be had in finding a husband? Perhaps. But likely there was not much excitement to be had in being passed off to whichever husband her guardian chose for her.
Her chest constricted. It had nothing to do with the fight and everything to do with the unknown ahead of her. Any amount of control she’d scraped together in the country would be gone the moment she entered Lord Tarrington’s London home, and that knowledge was stifling.
Somehow, like the man who’d so easily subdued the men attacking each other, she needed to wrest some control over her situation.
Chapter 2
Lucas Berkeley, heir to theCheltenham Marquessate, sat in his best friend’s drawing room with back stiff and eyes lingering on the exit.
His other close friend, Henry, leaned close, his relaxed demeanor the usual contrast to Lucas’s just as much as his shorter, trim figure was to Lucas’s tall and broad one. “You’re wishing to leave already, aren’t you?”
Lucas quirked a brow at him.
Henry raised his glass in salute and downed the contents. “No need to say it outright. Your wish to escape is evident even without your confirmation.” He set his glass on a low table and sat back into the comfortable couch.
Lucas shook his head. “I am simply . . .”
“Yes, yes, wishing to leave. I thought we’d already established that.”
Despite himself, Lucas chuckled.
Henry grinned. “If you need a distraction, I can provide one.” He glanced around, the cogs in his brain obviously turning. “With your height and my superior brainpower—”
“Superior?” Lucas cut in dryly.
Henry wore a smug smile as he patted Lucas on the knee consolingly. “As I said. Do not worry; you will always have your stoic sort of charm to attract women.”
“Not my title?” The three matchmaking mamas in his mother’s sitting room that morning had not seemed to care much for his stoicism. They also had not cared for his early departure from their—uh, pleasant company.
“Oh, that will help too. Now, my plan to aid your escape.”
Lucas shrugged off thoughts of matchmaking and crossed his arms. The action pulled at a sore spot on his shoulder. “I am notsure I want any part in whatever scheme you can concoct just now.”
“Just now?” Henry cocked his head. “What do you mean by that?”
