“As should we all.” Hugo’s grin widened. “Speaking of mouths and their many uses, Lady Fothergill is hosting a private gathering this evening. Very private. Very intimate. She specifically requested your attendance.”
Edward wrapped the cloth around his knuckles and began pulling on his shirt. “No.”
“You haven’t even heard what she’s offering.”
“I can imagine.”
“A hot bath.” Hugo ticked off on his fingers. “Fine champagne. Excellent company. And the lady herself has expressed a keen interest in helping you,” he paused, his eyes glittering with mischief, “relax.”
“I am not in the mood for socializing.” Edward shrugged into his coat, wincing as the movement pulled at bruised muscles.
Hugo threw up his hands. “It is not socializing. It is the precise opposite of socializing. There will be no conversation. No pleasantries. Simply two consenting adults engaged in?—”
“Goodnight, Hugo.”
“You are impossible.” Hugo fell into step beside him as Edward moved toward the tavern’s back door. “I cannot fathom how you prefer getting pummeled in a cellar to spending an evening in the arms of a beautiful woman.”
“I was not the one getting pummeled.”
“That is not the point.” Hugo sighed. “There are far more pleasurable forms of exertion available to a man of your position. Activities that do not result in bloodstains and broken noses.”
Edward pushed open the door. Cold night air rushed in, carrying the smell of rain and coal smoke. “Your concern for my well-being is touching.”
“Someone must look after you, since you refuse to look after yourself.” Hugo clapped him on the shoulder. “Very well. Go home to your empty house and your empty bed. I shall console Lady Fothergill on your behalf.”
“I am certain you will manage.”
Hugo’s laughter followed him into the darkness.
Edward walked through the quiet streets, his boots splashing through puddles left by the evening’s rain. The cold air helped clear his head. Helped quiet the restless energy that still hummed beneath his skin. The fight had not been enough. It never was.
He thought of Briggs’s words. His mother. Leonard. The past clung to him like a shadow, no matter how far he walked or how hard he fought.
A sound reached his ears. Voices. Male. Rough with drink and something darker.
Edward slowed. Ahead, in the mouth of an alley, shadows moved. Five men, perhaps six, circled around a smaller figure in a dark cloak. The figure stood with her back against the wall, her hood pulled low.
“Step away from the lady.”
The men turned. One of them, a broad fellow with rotting teeth, sneered at Edward. “This ain’t your concern, toff. Move along.”
Edward stepped closer. “I said step away.”
The thugs exchanged glances. A wiry one with a blade on his belt laughed. “Look at this one. He thinks he’s a hero.”
“Let’s teach him otherwise.” The largest of them, a man with fists like anvils, lunged forward.
Edward sidestepped the wild swing, caught the man’s wrist, and twisted. The thug yelped as his arm bent at an unnatural angle. Edward drove his elbow into the man’s temple. He crumpled.
The wiry one drew his blade and slashed. Edward ducked under the arc, stepped inside the man’s guard, and delivered a sharp jab to his throat. The thug dropped his knife and staggered back, gasping.
Edward turned to face the remaining men. His breathing had not changed. His hands hung loose at his sides, ready.
The thugs looked at their fallen companions. They looked at Edward. They looked at each other.
“Leave.” Edward’s voice cut through the night like a blade. “Now.”
They scattered, dragging their groaning companions behind them. Within moments, the alley stood empty save for Edward and the cloaked figure.
