Hand? What…oh. That’s what that blurry thing in front of him was. Cass grasped the hand Hayward offered and stumbled to his feet, gritting his teeth against the throbbing pain in his temple.
“Do you know what happens when youdon’trecall where you left your carriage, Windham?”
Cass glanced around, but the men who had attacked them were long gone, and with them the three hundred pounds that had been in his pocket. “No, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”
“You get set upon by blackguards, that’s what. We’re damn lucky we didn’t get our throats slit.” Hayward drew his fingers across his neck with a dramatic flourish.
Cass rolled his eyes. Hayward had a lecture for every occasion, each one of them as helpful as the next. Which was to say, not helpful at all.
“What an invaluable lesson, Hayward, if a bit after the fact.” Cass fumbled in his coat pocket for his handkerchief and handed it to his friend. “Here. Your nose is bleeding.”
“You made quick work of that one villain.” Hayward pressed the handkerchief to his nose, chortling with obvious relish. “I daresay he wasn’t expecting such a dirty fight from a proper earl like yourself.”
An earl, yes. Proper? Hardly.
“If you recall, Hayward, I spent a good part of my childhood in St. Giles. This wasn’t my first street brawl.” Thetonmight snicker about his low birth, but a childhood spent scrapping with ruffians did come in handy now and again.
“A good thing, too, or else those two would have carved us up like a pair of Christmas geese. Have you ever considered going into prizefighting, Windham? You could make money and scandalize thetonat the same time.”
The side of Cass’s face was on fire, his chest ached as if a horse had trod on it, and bits of his brain were likely oozing from his ear, but he couldn’t stifle the hoarse laugh that broke from his lips. “The last I remember, I was about to introduce thatblackguard to the business end of his blade, but something hit me.”
“It was your walking stick.” Hayward picked it up from where it lay on the cobbles. “If he hadn’t gotten ahold of it, you would have bested him, but a wee tap to the skull, and you toppled over like a sack of potatoes. They had the money by then, and fled into the night like the scoundrels they are, and thank goodness they did, or else we?—”
“Is this going to be a long lecture, Hayward? Because I’m rather busy, what with the bludgeoning and all. Shall we go and find Massey before another pair of scoundrels appears? I’ve had quite enough entertainment for one night.”
“Are you sure you can manage it?” Hayward ran a doubtful glance over him. “You’re a bit unsteady on your feet, and you look like you’ve been beaten with a stick.”
“Ihavebeen beaten with a stick.” Cass waved at the walking stick still clutched in Hayward’s fist. “Remember?”
“So, you have. Very well, then.” Hayward took his arm and led him toward Garrick Street, and there under the light of a gas lamp was his carriage, right where they’d left it, with Massey perched atop the box.
There wasn’t another servant in London—or quite possibly in all of England—who was more impassive than Massey. The man had been a witness to enough scandals during his tenure with Cass’s father that nothing shocked him anymore.
But even Massey raised an eyebrow when he got a look at Cass’s rapidly swelling eye, and the blood trickling from Hayward’s nose. “All right, my lords?”
“Never better, Massey.” But Cass let out a groan as he stumbled up the steps and collapsed against the squabs. What had that villain done to his ribs? His entire left side was throbbing as if it were on fire.
It was only a short distance from Covent Garden to his townhouse in Berkeley Square, but a lifetime seemed to pass as they made their way through the silent London streets. By the time they arrived his head was swimming again, and Hayward was obliged to help him alight from the carriage.
“Straighten my coat and tidy my hair, will you, Hayward?”
“Tidy your hair!” Hayward gaped at him as if he’d lost his wits. “Am I to be your lady’s maid now, Windham?”
“Come, Hayward, help make me more presentable. I don’t want to upset Mrs. Hughes.” His housekeeper was a tender-hearted soul, and all the blood and bruising might send her into a fit of hysterics.
“Presentable? I think that’s closing the barn door after the horse has fled, Windham.” But then he noticed Cass was cradling his right hand against his chest, and he let out a heavy sigh. “Did you twist it?”
“Yes, when that blackguard tackled me, I put out my hand to stop my fall.”
“Ah. Well, I suppose it could have been worse. That was a six-inch blade he had in his hand. We’re fortunate your head is still attached to your neck.”
Cass didn’t feel particularly fortunate, but he said nothing as Hayward made a few adjustments to his person, grumbling the entire time. “All right then, there you are. Pretty as a sunrise.”
Cass rolled his eyes as they trudged up the steps toward the front door, but it flew open before they could touch the knob, and there stood Mrs. Hughes. She’d clearly been awaiting their return, the dim light of the hallway sconces behind her lighting up her silver hair like a halo.
The light fell across Cass’s face, and she lifted her hand to her mouth with a gasp. “Lord Windham! And Lord Hayward, my goodness! What’s happened?”
“It’s all right, Mrs. Hughes,” Cass began, even as he knew his words would fall on deaf ears. As far as Mrs. Hughes was concerned, blood was never all right.
