First a near-drowning, and now a violent brawl. He shuddered to think what she had planned for next week. Highway robbery?
“What thedevilis she doing here?”
“Who?” Vale turned to follow Ciaran’s gaze. “I don’t see…” His voice trailed off, and he lapsed into a stunned silence. Ciaran glanced at Vale to find his friend shaking his head as if to clear it. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered, staring at the redhead.
“But…” Try as he might, Ciaran couldn’t force his brain to supply a reasonable explanation as to why she should be at Brighton Racetrack, alone, once again risking her reputation and her safety. This was a bloody prizefight, for God’s sake, not a tea party.
“I don’t—what thedevilis she doing here?” He sounded like a fool, repeating himself like this, but damn it,what the devil was she doing here?No other question made sense.
“She’s, ah…it looks as if she’s…well, confound it, Ramsey, that’s a foolish question. The answer is as plain as day. She’s watching the bout.”
An incredulous laugh escaped Ciaran’s lips. “Damned if she isn’t.”
This ladylike little chit, with her delicate face and cloud of red curls, was as riveted by the grisly spectacle unfolding in the center ring as any one of the dirty, screeching villains in their midst.
The crowd let out a roar just then, and Ciaran turned back to the ring in time to see the Scot slam a fist into Belcher’s face. There was another crack of breaking bone. Blood burst in a fountain from Belcher’s broken nose and splattered onto his bare chest.
Ciaran swung his gaze back toward the redhead, his muscles tensed to run for her in case she swooned. She pressed a hand to her mouth, but otherwise she didn’t flinch. Not a wrinkle marred that smooth brow, not even when the Scot seized his advantage with a half-dozen lightning-quick blows to Belcher’s torso, which landed with the sickening thud of fists against flesh.
“She’s steady, that one,” Vale said, impressed. “Strong stomach.”
The crowd wasn’t as steady as she was, however. They let out an infuriated roar as Belcher crumpled like a rag doll tossed aside by a careless child.
“Here comes your brawl.” Vale pointed at a throng of angry men rushing toward the ring, fists flying.
Ciaran’s gaze snapped back to the redheaded lady, who was still clinging to her perch, her two dainty feet balanced on the hub of the carriage wheel. “Damn it. Devil of a time to play hero, but we can’t just leave her there.”
The thickest part of the crowd was a good distance from her. She still had time to get away, but this sort of violence would spread from one man to the next like a contagion. “What’s wrong with the chit? Why doesn’t shego?”
“She doesn’t see it, Ramsey. It’s doubtful she’s ever been in a crowd like this before.”
“She shouldn’t bloody be herenow—”
“Thief! Thief!” Ciaran jerked his head away from her just in time to see one man grab another by the throat and throw him to the ground. “Bloody thief! Check yer pockets, lads!”
The man’s outraged howl split the air, and a small knot of men broke free from the squirming mass of bodies near the ring and leapt on top of the two men grappling on the ground. Within seconds they were engaged in a vicious exchange of blows, shoving and pushing each other closer to the lady’s carriage.
Ciaran’s breath froze in his lungs as the horses lurched in their traces to escape the mob, and the carriage pitched beneath her. She made a quick grab for the edge of the wheel and managed to steady herself, but she might not be so lucky next time. The frenzied brawlers continued to push toward her, their shouts and curses growing louder with every second. It was only a matter of time before the horses took fright and bolted again.
“Jesus, Ramsey.” Vale’s face had gone white. “She’ll be dragged down into the swarm and trampled under their boot heels before she even has a chance to scream.”
“Go. Hurry, Vale. Fetch my carriage. I’ll get her, then I’ll find you.”
Ciaran didn’t wait for an answer. Vale’s shout faded behind him as he plunged into the brawl. A man smashed his fist into Ciaran’s mouth, then seized his coat and tried to throw him to the ground. No doubt he was intent on snatching Ciaran’s blunt, but Ciaran slammed an elbow hard into the scoundrel’s stomach, and the man dropped to the ground with a grunt.
Ciaran didn’t pause, but shoved his way through the pack of villains. His mouth was rusty with the taste of blood, his gaze fixed on the place where he’d last seen a headful of red curls, and a dark gray cloak lined with green satin.
Chapter Four
A startled cry left Lucy’s lips as the carriage jolted beneath her.
She gasped as one of her feet slipped and she tottered on her perch, but she managed to grab the wheel in time to keep herself from tumbling to the ground.
Oh, dear. It looked as if her adventure was coming to an abrupt end.
The crowd had gotten closer and become more frenzied. The noise had startled Lord-whoever-he-might-be’s horses, and the shouts and curses were growing more deafening by the moment.
If the horses should take fright again, and she should fall…
