.
less desire to be discovered brawling in the park. No one would believe the disreputable son of the Earl of Dorton had happened upon this scene by chance. Rumours would fly, and before the rise of the next sun, the ton would have him cast back into the gaming hells and other sordid corners of London’s underworld from where he’d emerged.
He’d be damned if he’d let this ruffian spoil the progress he’d made. After all, he was becoming well nigh respectable. Astounding what a fortune could do.
The ruffian, dripping with sweat, did not seem to perceive the folly of continuing to attack Sloane in every way he could. Sloane had seen all the tricks before. If the man kept this up, it crossed Sloane’s mind that he would be late to dine with Lord and Lady Cowdlin and their very marriageable daughter, Lady Hannah, or that he might dishevel his perfectly tailored coat and snow-white neckcloth.
Sloane abandoned restraint. Snarling at the fellow, he kicked him in the stomach. Deuce. He’d been aiming lower.
‘Go to the devil!’ yelled the man, coming at him again.
Miss Hart charged up behind the man, the wooden sheath of her rescuer’s sword in her hands. The deuced idiot! She’d get herself hurt yet. She swept the stick hard at the ruffian’s feet, so hard it flew out of her hands.
The man tripped and fell forward. With a loud crack, his head struck a rock in the ground. He bounced once, then lay still, legs and arms splayed.
Well done, thought Sloane.
‘Oh, dear! Have I killed him?’ Staring at the prone figure, she picked up the wooden walking stick.
The girl in the red dress gaped open-mouthed and the maid, still hanging on the other girl’s arm, turned her head away.
Sloane strolled over. Pointing his sword at the man’s neck, he nudged the man’s ribs with the toe of his boot. The man did not move. Sloane squatted down and felt the neck for a pulse. ‘He’s alive.’ He stood again. ‘But I’ll wager he’ll have the very devil of a headache when he wakes up.’
‘Good.’ She handed Sloane his walking stick and he sheathed the sword.
He raised his eyes from the unconscious figure to look directly into her face. A smudge of dirt on her cheek marred a fair complexion, flushed becomingly pink. Her dark brown hair draped her shoulders like a silken veil. She returned his stare. Her eyes were not blue, but, in the waning light of the evening, he could not tell for certain what colour they might be.
He raised one eyebrow. ‘Miss Hart?’
There was a maturity about her that did not fit her youthful clear eyes and smooth, unlined face. He could not even ascertain her station in life by her attire and certainly not by her manner. She was not much like any other woman he’d ever met.
‘Are you injured, ma’am?’ he asked.
She shook her head and the veil of hair moved like waves on the sea. ‘Nothing to signify.’ She extended her hand. ‘Thank you, sir, for coming to our assistance.’
He accepted the surprisingly firm handshake, giving her an ironic smile. ‘I fear it is I who must thank you. You vanquished the fellow.’ His gaze reluctantly left her to glance at the other two women. ‘May I know what goes on here?’
‘You have rescued this young woman from ruin.’ Miss Hart swept her arm towards where the other two were still clustered.
Back to the melodrama, Sloane thought.
She referred to the young woman in the red dress. ‘He would surely have snatched her away.’
‘He did not snatch me, miss,’ the girl protested. ‘I made a bargain with him.’
Miss Hart turned to her, her voice incredulous. ‘You could not have wished to go with such a horrible man.’
The girl rubbed her arms. ‘But I did.’
‘No, it is nonsensical,’ piped up the maid. ‘You have respectable work, Lucy.’
The girl simply lowered her head.
‘Did he give you that horrid dress, Lucy?’ the maid went on. ‘You look like a harlot!’
This, Sloane thought, was probably just what she was… or intended to be.
Lucy merely responded with a mutinous look.
With a glance at Sloane, Miss Hart broke in, ‘We will discuss this later.’ She turned to Lucy. ‘And we will find some other resolution than… than going with that creature. Promise you will have patience.’
The girl glowered at her, but finally nodded.
Sloane cleared his throat. ‘I am delighted that is settled. Now, may I suggest we leave the park before the creature in question rouses? I suspect he will be none too happy when he does.’ Sloane picked up the man’s knife and tossed it into the thick undergrowth. ‘I will escort you ladies safely to your destination, then I must be on my way.’
Miss Hart gave a dignified toss of her head. ‘We must not trouble you further, sir. We have not far to go.’
Sloane frowned. ‘I will escort you all the same. I have no wish to repeat this performance with some other fellow lurking in the bushes. The park is no place for women alone, you know.’
‘Very well.’ As efficient as a governess and clearly the leader of the incongruous group, she gathered the other two like wayward chicks.
Sloane followed the trio back to the path. They made their way quickly out of the park, returning to the quiet Mayfair neighbourhood where he’d been strolling a short time ago.
She turned back to him. ‘There is no need for you to see us further.’
She did not wish him to know her direction. Perhaps he did not look as respectable as he thought. No matter. Something told him he was better off having as little as possible to do with this motley group.
All the same, a faint measure of disappointment teased at him. This ladylike virago, who scrapped as readily as the toughest rookery orphan, intrigued him.
‘I do thank you again for your chivalry.’ She extended her hand once more, and as he grasped it he looked into her eyes, the colour escaping him still.
He hesitated before releasing her hand. ‘Goodnight, Miss Hart.’
‘Goodnight,’ she said softly then turned back to the other two and herded them quickly away.
Morgana Hart hurried her two charges past the sedate town houses on Culross Street, so close to the most fashionable residences of Grosvenor Square.
‘We will discuss what to do in the morning, Lucy,’ she said as they walked at a quick clip. ‘When we reach home you must take a rest.’ In Lucy’s present mood, it made no sense to try to reason with her.
‘You did not have to come after me.’ The girl’s voice was petulant, but she avoided looking at Morgana.
Morgana’s maid stepped in front of her and brought them all to a halt. She leaned right into her sister’s face. ‘What would have happened to you if Miss Hart had not come after you? You ought to be grateful to her. I cannot understand you.’
Lucy folded her arms across the low bodice of her gaudy dress.
Morgana gave them each a push. ‘Let us be on our way.’
She ushered them into the house through the servants’ door. Tears stained Lucy’s cheeks and Morgana wrapped her arm around the girl and brushed the hair from her eyes. ‘Why don’t you take some time to get cleaned up? Then, if you like, you can come to my room while your sister helps me dress.’
As Lucy ran up the back stairs, the door from the hall opened. Cripps, the butler, with nose lifted, gazed first at Lucy’s retreating figure, then at Morgana.
Morgana stared back, but spoke to her maid. ‘Amy, please go to