Tugging off a glove, Monty bent and ran his hand over the dog’s back, feeling the welts. Anger that anyone could treat an animal to such a beating had him stroking its head.
“Stay,” he then whispered.
Getting out, he shut the carriage door.
“I shall be but a moment, Lenny.”
“Need my assistance, my lord?” As a loud sucking followed this, Monty guessed Lenny was enjoying his taffy.
“No. I have it all under control.”
Walking around the carriage to the opposite side, he found the man standing there. One hand was on his hip, and his head was swiveling from side to side, searching.
“Can I assist you, good sir?” Monty used his haughtiest tone.
The man spun on a heel and glared at him. Taking in Monty’s clothes, he then bowed. When he rose, his expression was still a scowl.
“I’ve lost me dog.”
“May I inquire what type of dog, as I could have seen it?”
“A greyhound.”
“Color?” Monty asked with a raised brow.
“Can you see dozens of greyhounds about the place?” The man’s scowl was fierce now. Monty, having faced down more dangerous foes, was not perturbed.
“I asked you a question. Kindly answer it.”
“Brindle,” the man snapped. “Bleeding thing ran off. Useless, it is. Raced two nights ago and came at the rear! I was teaching it a lesson.” As his beefy fingers were clenched around a whip, Monty guessed the direction that lesson was taking.
“What is your name?”
“Cyril Curtis.”
“Well, Mr. Curtis, is your lesson to beat your animals?” Monty said with an edge to his voice.
“It’s my dog. I train ’em how I see fit!” the man roared at him. “I’m the best, and to be the best, you need to make the dogs understand who is in control.”
“Where is it you have come from, sir?”
The man pointed the whip down the road to a set of buildings.
“Just to clarify. You train your dogs to race for you by beating them?” Monty asked calmly.
The man had flappy jowls and bloodshot eyes. Monty wasn’t close, but he was close enough to smell the stench emanating from him. He smelled like he’d rolled in a pigsty.
“I’m one of the best trainers in London,” he said again, punching a fist into his chest.
“I’m sure you are, but as I have no one to compare you with, I am loath to take your word, considering you are holding a whip,” Monty said coolly. “Mistreating animals is not something I will ever condone, so I’d better not catch you doing so.”
The man made a loud scoffing sound as he took in Monty’s hair and scarlet jacket.
“Like I care what a toff in a jacket like that says.” Cyril scoffed again.
The jab came with enough speed that no one, not even the recipient, saw it coming. Monty struck him in the jaw. He fell, and the back of Cyril’s head landed in a pile of horse manure.
“I say. This man just fell. Could anyone help him rise? My jacket, you understand, it is of the finest silk!” Monty cried. “I cannot abide any animal effluent touching my person.” He then bent to talk to the man.
