Over the past two Seasons, he’d heard tales from several men sporting bruises. One was chastised enough to pay back monies owed to an impoverished widow. Another was forced to confess a gambling problem to a father and was therefore no longer eligible as a prospective bridegroom. And most salacious of all, one man had admitted to having lost in a pugilistic match against the Scotswoman and was therefore forced to recover a pawned jewelry item that was owned by his sister.
That any woman had even attempted such a thing astounded him. That this Scotswoman had done all three left him in awe. Until he remembered that wild women usually came to a bitter end eventually.
He would be sad to see her final downfall, but such was the way of unrestrained souls, men or women alike. They endedup wretched. No woman, much less a Scottish debutante, could court disaster and not find it. He’d warned her guardian, her sponsor, and herself.
Obviously, she’d ignored him because she was once again punching peers with no thought to the consequences. And what a punch! She’d rung his bell, for sure, and appeared ready to strike him again.
“I allowed that first hit,” he said, “because I deserved it. But I’ll not tolerate another.”
The woman froze with her fists ready, but then pulled back. “Thank you for your assistance,” she bit out. “I believe it’s time for me to leave.”
Surprise, surprise, she did have some restraint.
“I agree,” he said congenially, as he held out his arm. “May I escort you inside?”
“No.” And when he stiffened at the insult, she quickly explained. “I made a big show of feeling ill and allowing Georgianna to escort me home. I cannot return to the ball now.”
Deception. Of course. “Then how were you to get home?”
“I am not a useless English miss,” she said. “I intend to walk.”
Alone at night? “It’s not safe. There are footpads everywhere.”
She rolled her eyes. “I did not ask for your help, nor do I want it—”
“And yet you shall have it because I cannot leave you to perish from your own willfulness.”
“I—”
He did not let her continue. “It was the height of folly to confront Lord Liddican alone.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Those girls weren’t of any help, and you know it,” he said.
He waited to hear her sputter of outrage, but it didn’t come. She swallowed what she wanted to say and shrugged.
“I didn’t ask for them to come. I’ve tried hard tonotembroil anyone else.” Her expression softened, and her voice took on an attractive Scottish lilt. “But it was brave of them. They’re not used to taking risks.”
“Brave of all of you,” he conceded.
She looked out the garden toward the dark street. “I would likely be fine on my way home, but if you intend to escort me—”
“I do.”
“Then I thank you.”
She could be sensible. Good. He could be courtly. He smiled and held out his arm, but she didn’t appear to notice. Her attention was on the unconscious Eddie.
“I also thank you for your help with him.” She stepped closer to the man. For a moment, he thought she would kick him. But she did not—kicking a man while he was down did not seem to be in her nature. “He’s still breathing,” she said. “I suppose that’s to the good.”
“You cannot be associated with another murder.”
“That’s true.” She dropped her hands on her hips. “When is this vote of yours? He must never see his wife and child again.”
Ah yes, that. “Is he so bad?”
She turned to look him in the eye. “You have seen depravity, yes? Viciousness and—”
