There was a red anger that settled on Ripley at the sight. It was a memory as much as a reality, and one that had made him want to fight from the time he was a child.
“Oy, get off her,” he barked as he started across the alleyway toward the couple.
The man hardly glanced at him. “Stay out of it, you. She owes me more than she gave and I’ll take it one way or another and get me money back for my troubles.”
The woman struggled, still gasping for breath as her green eyes found Ripley’s in wild terror. “No, no.”
“She said no,” Ripley growled, and caught the man’s arm to pull it away from the lightskirt.
The bastard turned and made the entirely foolish decision to take a lazy swing. Ripley caught it easily, shoved the man back and then threw his famous right hook at full strength. It hit with precision and unconsciousness was the immediate effect. The fool hit the dirty alley ground in a heap.
The woman had already started to wobble away, but she was slow in her fear and potential injury. She staggered and hit the alley wall, making little sounds of terror and pain that were likely from some far deeper place than mere physical injury.
Ripley could have left her. Or simply called her a hack and sent her somewhere else. But the look of her, tangled and dirty and trying not to sob made him think of another woman. Another life. He couldn’t abandon this woman if only because he’d always wished someone would come to the rescue of the other.
“Miss,” he murmured, approaching her.
“No,” she whispered, and raised her hands, swatting at him.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he promised, and reached for her.
To his surprise she darted out a fist and caught him on the jaw. The punch wasn’t perfect or practiced, but it had heat behind it. His jaw stung and that was something.
Her eyes went wide and she lifted her hands to cover her face, as if she feared he’d hit her back. Not the worst assumption considering what she’d already been through. Instead, he caught one of her hands and lowered it.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeated, as calmly and firmly as he could. “But you’re in no state to get home. Let me help you. I’ve a rig just up the way. Where can I take you?”
She looked him up and down, uncertain and trying to determine his character with little clues. She glanced back toward the man in the alleyway. He was starting to stir now. Swear a little. She shivered.
“I’ll go with you,” she whispered. “But I don’t want you to?—”
“I won’t,” he said. “My promise won’t mean anything until I keep it. Come on.”
He had a phaeton, which he only ever took to places like the one he was at now when he might need a way to escort someone back to his home above his club. Tonight he was glad to have it for a far different purpose. When they reached it, the lady allowed him to help her up and she settled herself as far away from where he would sit as she could.
“I’m Campbell Ripley,” he said as he grabbed the reins and knickered at the horses to move. She relaxed a little when he needed both hands to drive the vehicle.
“I know that name.”
“I was a fighter,” he explained.
She nodded. “Yes. A—a champion.”
“I was,” he said. “But now I’m just a man who’ll need to know how to get you someplace safe. Will you tell me where you live?” She hesitated and he turned his attention fully to road ahead so she wouldn’t feel ogled. “Or the home of a friend if you prefer me not to know where you stay.”
She was silent for a long moment and then gave him an address. He didn’t speak as he drove her along, and though he still felt her tension and her fear and her pain, she seemed a little more comfortable.
As they neared the place she had told him, she glanced at him. “My name is…” she hesitated again. “Esme. I’m Esme.”
“Esme,” he repeated gently, and looked at her from the corner of his eye. “How badly are you hurt?”
She touched her face. The eye the bastard had punched would bruise. He had the impression that had never happened to this woman before. Perhaps she was new to the game. Though she certainly knew how to throw a punch by nature, at least.
“I can’t answer that question,” she said on a shaky breath. She waved toward a small building. “That’s the one.”
He pulled the rig to a halt and got down. She was already trying to climb down herself, but as she did so she lost her balance and slipped. He caught her with both hands and supported her as she tried to recover herself. Before she could, the door to the home where they’d stopped flew open and a woman raced down.
“Esme?” she called out.
