“No,” Collin replied. “Unless this blackguard is the Earl of Penderdale, I think I have some unfinished business with him.”
“Earl of Penderdale?” the man asked. “You’re pissed about that? It’s just a name on the list—”
“Shut up, Ray,” Olsen cut him off.
Ray promptly obeyed.
“What list?” Collin asked.
“There’s no list, no tea, but there will be a missing person if you don’t release Ray,” Olsen threatened.
Collin pressed Ray further into the brick.
“Frank, Daniel,” Olsen called out, and two other men stepped into the street, each quickly assessing the situation.
Properly outnumbered, Collin slowly released Ray, watching as Michael took a few steps farther back.
The moment Ray was free, he turned and swung a fist at Collin. Collin blocked the blow and sent Ray reeling with a facer. But before he could reposition his fists, Olsen was on the defensive, sending a right hook directly to Collin’s eye.
Stars erupted in Collin’s vision as he staggeredback from the impact. Michael’s hands steadied his shoulders as he scrambled for his footing. Blinking, he barely had time to dodge the next swing. He landed a few good jabs into Olsen’s stomach, doubling the man over, but it wasn’t enough. Michael was tugging on his shoulder to retreat, the movement shifting him at the same moment Olsen swung at his jaw, and the blow glanced off the bone rather than hit it fully. Collin stepped back, his eye swelling shut and the salty taste of blood in his mouth. He retreated, watching the men assist Ray and disappear into the building. Olsen watched them until Michael pulled him around the corner.
His face hurt like the devil. That facer had sent him reeling. Not an easy thing, that. He was proud of the fact he could hold his own in a fight, but when his opponent was a good three stone larger, the odds were somewhat less in his favor.
“Did you hear all that?” Collin asked as Michael helped him.
“Aye, and you lost the fight, in case you didn’t notice.” Michael gave a dry, humorless laugh. “At least we got away.”
“Nevertheless, I’ve got this.” Collin held out a rumpled sheet of parchment he’d taken when he spun the man toward the brick wall. “I’m not sure it’s important, but usually men put their most protected items in their inner coat pocket, so when the opportunity came, I pickpocketed him.”
“And got a right hook in return. But from his friend, so I suppose that’s not the same thing,” Michael grumbled, but he took the parchment and unfolded it. His expression registered surprise as he read through it. “Well, this may have been worth ruining your pretty face for.”
He held out the paper. Squinting, Collin used his good eye and read a list of names, including his own. “I know these people…” Collin frowned. They were all peers of the realm, all men and some women, who were usually in some ballroom in London or rusticating in the country in the off-season.
“It’s a criminal conspiracy, using the names of peers. But why?” Michael asked. “What good does it do? Use any different name, and it would have the same effect, don’t you think?”
Collin’s head throbbed and he could feel his eye swelling further. “I genuinely can’t think very clearly right now.”
Michael regarded him. “Understood. Let’s get you back and cleaned up.”
Collin dusted off his coat and followed his friend down the dark street. Every step ached, the movement sending a dull throb to his head. He’d not been hit like that since he had taken up boxing four years ago and missed a block. He’d blacked out with that one, and his sister had had some choice words when she found out. He could only imagine what she’d say if she could see him now.
It was certainly for the best that she was far away in London.
They rounded the corner and Collin spat out some lingering blood, wiping his face with an already bloody handkerchief. He must appear a mess, and suddenly it made sense why Michael was leading him through several back alleys to get to his house, as if trying to avoid as many people as possible. Collin ducked his head, keeping as much of his face from view as he could.
“Wait here,” Michael said before turning the final corner, likely making sure the street was at least mostly clear of people. After a minute, he waved Collin forward. “Come.”
Collin hustled from the street and into Michael’s house, his head pounding at the same pace as his heartbeat.
“Good Lord.” Patricia’s voice brought his attention up from the floor, but it was Elizabeth’s face that caught his attention. He was surprised to see her. Hadn’t she said that her plans didn’t include visiting the Finches? What had changed her mind? Questions pelted him, and a low burn of jealousy distracted him from the pain in his eye. Was she visiting to see Michael? Accept his suit? He studied her with his good eye. Surprise, concern, and then anger flashed across her features in rapid succession.
“Tell me the other fellow is worse off!” she exclaimed, her hands holding tightly to her skirts.
“Fellows, plural,” Collin stated, opening and closing his jaw to stretch the tense muscle.
“And they don’t look worse,” Michael added as he walked into the room. “Pat, would you get some water and rags for Lord Penderdale?”
Patricia nodded once but didn’t move. Collin noted the way her attention first locked on Elizabeth and then shifted to him.
