"I'll warrant it's your neck, lad." Stewart's eyes thinned as Gavin jammed on his boots. "You're not plannin' on going out there?"
"What bloody choice do I have? He's like as not to shoot a customer if this keeps up."
"I 'ave a better solution. I've a clear shot from behind the gate," his mentor said. "Won't aim to kill, just stop the fool from carryin' on."
He wished the solution was that easy. But Percy would not want her idiot brother shot or hurt at all. Gavin wrenched open the door. "No one's shooting anyone."
Grumbling, Stewart followed him out into the rear courtyard. Several of Gavin's men were already outside, armed and lining the gate that separated the property from the alleyway. Shadowed by tall buildings on both sides, the narrow thoroughfare had become a place for whores to do their business and a sobering place for customers too inebriated to find their way home.
One of his men shouted through the bars, "Go home, you jug-bitten fool!"
Well-bred yet slurred accents replied from beyond the gate. "Not goin' anywhere 'til I see Hunt. I've a debt to settle with him." The tones rang with rising rage. "Are you in there, you bloody coward? Seduce an innocent girl, will you, but can't face me like a man?"
As he approached the barrier, Gavin could see it was Percy's brother—there was no mistaking the classical Fines features, the glint of golden hair in the darkness. He had to give the man credit: downtrodden fool though he was, Fines stood amidst the filthy peaks of the night's refuse like some virtuous prince.
Out of habit, Gavin scanned the alleyway. He detected no activity in the dark, gravel-lined lane except for a couple of homeless wretches picking through the rubbish heaps and the flicker of an abandoned grate. Fines had probably scared the rest off with his blustering.
"Open the gate," Gavin said to his men.
"Think twice, lad," Stewart growled. "No sayin' what this sot is capable of."
"You don't mean any harm do you, Fines?" Gavin said evenly.
On the other side of the bars, Fines stepped forward, swaying a little. Several leagues beyond drunk. The moon caught the glint of the pistol in his hand. "I mean to kill you, you bastard," he said hoarsely.
Stewart's finger twitched on the trigger.
Gavin shook his head at his mentor. Addressing Percy's brother, he said in a calm voice, "Come now, Fines, you do not mean that. Let us talk this over like gentlemen." The gate opened, and he stepped out, with Stewart following behind. "If this is about your debt—"
"Damn the bloody debt! Do you think I give a donkey's arse about the company? My father and all he worked for can sink to the bottom of the Thames for all I care." Fines stumbled closer, his eyes wild. "But what you have done... to mysister..."
Gavin felt the hairs rise on his nape. Fines had found out about the wager? "What do you mean?" he said in neutral tones.
"Don't play the fool with me." Raising a shaking arm, Fines pointed his weapon at Gavin. "I know what you've done.I know."
Suddenly, a voice rang out from behind Gavin.
"For goodness' sake, Paul, put down that pistol at once!"
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Gavin's eyes twitched upward in their sockets.Hell's teeth, can she not follow instructions justonce?
Percy came dashing toward them, pushing her way through to the alley. Gavin glowered at the guard at the gate, who shrugged as if to say,How am I supposed to stop her?
"Are you alright?" she said when she reached him.
"I'm fine," Gavin said shortly. "I thought I told you to stay put."
"Percy?" Fines uttered.
"Yes, dear."
She started toward her brother; Gavin clamped a hand around her wrist. "He's drunk and holding a gun," he said in terse tones.
"It's perfectly alright," she assured him. "Paul would never hurt me."
"Of course I wouldn't," Fines said in tones of bewildered frustration. "Percy, what in blazes is going on? Why are you here with that blackguard?"
Percy tugged at her hand. Gritting his teeth, Gavin forced himself to release her. It took everything in him to watch on as she flew the remaining paces toward Fines. The sight of her in another man's arms—even if that man was her kin—made him want to punch something. The other man, for starters.
