Dash it. She’d have to go at once. It was her first prizefight, likely her last, and she’d be obliged to abandon it before it concluded. It was vexing, but there was no help for it. If she were to be injured in a fall from Lord something-or-other’s carriage at a bare-knuckle prizefight, all the laudanum in England wouldn’t be enough to sooth her Aunt Jarvis’s frazzled nerves.
She reached behind her, bracing her palms against the top of the carriage wheel. She twisted her body around toward the door and stuck her head through the open window. Ah, good. Just as she’d thought. There wasn’t a scoundrel in sight on the far side of the line of carriages. All she had to do was squirm close enough to reach the door handle, open the door and scramble out the other side of the carriage. Just a bit closer, and she’d have it—
“What the devil do you think you’re doing? Can’t you see you aren’t safe here? Come down from there at once!”
Lucy whirled around with a gasp as two enormous hands closed around her waist. Dear God, a villain with blood dripping from his mouth was trying to tear her down from the carriage! “Unhand me at once, sir!” Lucy kicked out at him, and her foot connected with his chest.
He grunted and staggered back a little from the blow. “Another kick, lass? That’s twice in one week. I’m beginning to think you don’t like me.”
Another kick? What did he mean, another—
Oh, no. Lucy’s eyes went wide. He wasn’t justanybleeding villain. He washerbleeding villain. That is, not hers exactly, but he was the same very large, very Scottish, excessively heroic gentleman from the beach!
“Can’t say I enjoy being kicked in the chest, but I’d rather that than my nose again. It still hasn’t recovered from the last time you kicked me.”
Lucy cringed as she recalled the heel of her boot slamming into his chest. Whatever else might happen, she had to make a vow to stop assaulting the gentlemen of Brighton.
Not that the kick had done the least bit of good. The blasted man was still holding onto her. “Sir! If you’d be so kind as to let me go, I could—”
“Don’t be a fool, lass.” He glanced over his shoulder at the frenzied crowd, then turned back to her. “Come down now, and I’ll get you safely away before it’s too late.”
“I’m perfectly able to get myself safely away!” Lucy stuck her head through the carriage window again. The opposite side of the carriage was still clear. There wasn’t a thing to be seen but wide, open fields, and just beyond it, the empty road leading back toward the villa. It was by far the safest escape route for them both—far safer than him having to drag her through that crowd of wailing villains.If her misguided hero would only release her she could scramble through the near door and out the other side. She’d disappear down the road, and it would be as if she’d never been here at all.
She turned to her captor and spoke in the most reasonable voice she could muster. “I assure you, sir, you needn’t worry about me. I don’t need rescuing. If you’d be so good as to release me, you can be on your way.”
He didn’t reply, but looked up at her without speaking, his dark eyebrows arched over those blue, blue eyes. A long moment of silence passed as they stared at each other, neither of them moving. Then, without warning, his brows lowered, and his lips turned down in a stubborn frown.
The hair on Lucy’s neck rose in alarm. “Don’t!”
She thrust out a foot to stop him, though to stop him from what, she wasn’t quite sure. Something in the shifting expression on his face told her he’d made up his mind to rescue her. Not just from the crowd of shrieking miscreants, but also from herself.
“Enough.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and tugged.
Her foot slipped off the wheel, but before he could drag her away like some wounded animal, Lucy instinctively snatched hold of the wheel in both her hands. She wrapped her fingers around the spokes and held on like a barnacle attached to a wet rock. “For pity’s sake! If you’d only listen for a moment, I’d be happy to explain myself.”
My goodness, how calm she sounded! Perhaps she was growing accustomed to being dragged about by giant Scottish gentlemen. A handy skill, really. Even so, it was humiliating to be clinging to a carriage wheel with a large man attached to her waist. It occurred to her perhaps Eloisa and her aunt were right about her hoydenish ways. She didn’t like them to be right, but wrestling with a bleeding man at a prizefight wasn’t precisely ladylike—
“Keep arguing, lass, and you’ll get us both killed.” He leaned over her, pressed his chest against her back and hissed in her ear. “Look behind us.” He kept an arm around her waist and jerked them both around. Her feet met the ground, and he gripped her chin in hard fingers and turned her head toward the crowd. “See that? That brawl is about to become a riot, and in another moment you’re going to be trapped in the middle of it.”
Lucy’s mouth fell open. Dear God, what a swarm of scoundrels! While she’d been arguing with the Scot, the crowd had gotten closer. Fists flew as they rained blows down upon each other. Not four paces away from her a man was hunched over, his hands on his knees, spitting blood onto the ground.
Lucy shuddered, but before she could look away another man caught her eye and gave her a grisly leer. Then he slammed his fist into the side of the hunched man’s head and sent him sprawling face-first into the dirt.
“Now then, lass. I’ll ask you again.” The Scot tightened his grip on her chin and turned her face back to his. “Do you want to get yourself killed?”
Lucy swallowed. “No, I’d, ah…I’d just as soon not.” At least half a dozen savages now stood between her and her escape route. She could either succumb to another round of excessive heroics, or die a violent death.
“There’s a clever lass.” Without another word he jerked her roughly into his arms and began to shove his way through the crowd. Lucy sputtered in protest at this high-handed treatment, and he glared down at her in warning. “If you squirm, I’ll have to toss you over my shoulder.”
Lucy stilled, considering this. She’d come out this afternoon in search of adventures, and dangling head over heels across a gentleman’s broad shoulder certainly qualified as one. Still, as thrilling as it might be to be thrown over his shoulder, this situation hardly called for more excitement. “Very well. Where are you taking me?”
His long-legged strides ate up the ground. “To my carriage.”
His carriage? That didn’t sound quite proper either, but she supposed she’d lost the right to quibble over propriety when she’d come to a bout and gotten caught in the midst of a brawl. “What then?”
“Once we’re free of the crowd I’ll take you back to your lodgings, and hope to God you’re canny enough to keep away from deserted beaches and bare-knuckle bouts in the future.”
My, he was determined to save her, wasn’t he? For a brief second Lucy wondered whether sheneededsaving, but then dismissed the idea. She wasn’t some hazy-eyed debutante, but a grown woman. She was a trifle naïve, yes, but that was what had led her out this afternoon in the first place.
