Regency Seduction. Lucy Ashford
an emotion Alec recognised all too easily. The hunger for a fight. Damn it.
The bigger one, a beefy wretch with some missing teeth, went for Alec with his fist, clearly intending a blow straight to the gut. But Alec caught the man a swinging punch to the jaw that made his victim stagger and fall with his hand to his mouth. More of his teeth gone, hopefully. In virtually the same moment Alec whipped back his elbow into the stomach of the other brute, driving the wind from his lungs so that he bent double and had to gasp for air.
If they wanted a mill, they’d got it. But Alec knew this would be Stephen’s doing. And now—hell, now was going to be difficult, because three more of Dr Barnard’s henchmen were coming from the other direction, speeding up as they saw their two felled comrades struggling to their feet …
Not playing fair, Stephen. But then, you never did. With a bit of luck Alec knew he could fling a couple of his opponents down the nearby staircase. But even so, the odds were not good. They were coming for him purposefully, with evil leers on their faces.
‘Oh, my brave, brave boys,’ said Alec Stewart gently, ‘five against one—but even so I’d bet money on me. Do you know why? Because you’re a bunch of thick-skulled bastards who would just turn and run at the prospect of any real fighting …’
They charged him like enraged bulls, which was Alec’s intention. Anger slowed both brains and fists, especially when Alec, moving with light ease, tripped two of them up as they blundered forwards, then sliced another across the throat with the edge of his hand and brought his fist up beneath the fourth one’s jaw so the ruffian bit on his own tongue and let out a bloody cry of pain. But Alec knew the odds were against him; it was only a matter of time before he went down.
Suddenly he glimpsed someone else sidling down those damned stairs. A girl looking as if she didn’t want to be seen, glancing behind her all the time as if fearing pursuit. But on hearing the noise of the fight, she turned to look down and Alec saw her gasp with shock.
Hell. He flung another punch as one of the brutes ventured too close. It was Athena, in her diaphanous gown. Another enemy. Would the blonde-haired whore stand and gloat at his plight? Or actually join in? The latter at present seemed most likely, because as more of the brutes closed in on him she hurried down the last few steps to the landing where the action was and picked up a small pedestal table that stood in a corner.
Dear God, thought Alec a little faintly, I’m in for it now. There was an expression on her face of utter and relentless determination. Alec mentally prepared himself for a final, nasty blow from that small but heavy table.
Shifting her grip to hold it by its base, she swung the table hard against the thighs of his biggest opponent. The man let out a howl of outrage and toppled to his knees. Another man reached out to grab her with an oath—’Come here, you blasted—’—but she dropped the table, slipped neatly from his grasp and kneed him in the groin.
Alec blinked. Ouch. Dirty tactics. But he could hear more footsteps, running up the stairs this time; then a familiar voice accosted his ears.
‘Captain! What ho, Captain Stewart, is that you?’
Not more of Dr Barnard’s men, but curly-haired Lord Harry Nugent. Swiftly Harry took in the scene, then gestured his friends forwards with a whoop of delight. ‘Come on, lads!’ Harry cried. ‘Don’t like the odds here, against a hero of Waterloo! Let’s show ‘em a bit of the homebrewed!’ Instantly the crowd of young men launched themselves at the footmen, cheering.
The footmen, aghast, tried to flee up the stairs, to the room where the dancing was. But Harry’s friends followed and within seconds, Dr Barnard’s Inner Temple was more like a rowdy backstreet tavern than a gentlemen’s club. As more footmen joined the battle, Harry fought at Alec’s side; Alec watched with widening eyes as each of Harry’s vigorous punches found its mark—perhaps Harry should take up boxing rather than the foil.
But then Alec began to realise that the girl had disappeared.
Harry caught his eye as the number of assailants dwindled. ‘A more exciting night than you thought, Captain!’ he called. ‘Did you see me draw the stout one’s cork?’
Alec shrugged his wide shoulders, laughing. ‘Indeed. I underestimated the Temple of Beauty. But do you know what happened to the girl who was here a few moments ago, Harry? The blonde girl who played Athena?’
‘She ran past us, on her way down the stairs.’ Harry paused to enthusiastically thump a footman who was trying to sneak away. ‘Apparently she’s in trouble with Dr Barnard’s men, too.’
‘Is she, by God?’ breathed Alec Stewart. ‘Is she, now? Look out behind you, Harry!’
Wham. Harry planted a first-class facer. Alec grinned, then turned his back on the battle. He was off, to find Athena.
Chapter Five
Rosalie’s heart was sinking fast. Where was she in this labyrinth of passages and stairs? How on earth was she going to find her way to Dr Barnard’s office? She needed to see his precious private register, now. Because after tonight, returning to the Temple of Beauty just wasn’t an option.
Coming to the aid of the Captain had been so stupid! She should have just quietly slipped past all those brawling men while she had the chance! But seeing him there, fighting all those ruffians by himself, had struck her as so unfair …
You fool. He believes you to be a whore. And you’re out of your mind to waste precious moments even thinking about him, when Dr Barnard knows you write for The Scribbler, and has sent his men to scour the place for you!
She stole along yet another dimly lit corridor. The sounds of fighting reverberated round the entire building. What an evening. What a place. And she wasn’t out of it yet, because someone else was coming towards her. Someone who reached her before she’d even had a chance to run.
‘So here you are, Athena,’ said the Captain softly. ‘I’ve a few questions for you.’
Damn. She whipped round and went tearing back the way she’d come, but she heard him striding after her. Swinging past a corner, she pushed at a half-open door into a shadowy room where only a single candle spluttered in a sconce. Charging inside, she flattened herself against the wall, closed her eyes and uttered a fervent prayer that he’d go straight past.
He didn’t. He came in. Rosalie dived past him for the still-open door, but he caught her easily by the wrist; when she opened her mouth to utter a scream, she found his other hand clamped firmly across it. She struggled. Yet at the touch of his palm, strong and warm against her lips, a strange tingling sensation started up in all her nerve endings.
‘Keep still,’ he hissed, kicking the door shut with one booted foot.
She tried to bite his hand. He cursed. Then she froze. More heavy footsteps were coming down the corridor outside. Her chest was so tight she could scarcely breathe. Were they after the Captain? Or—her?
The footsteps went past. She sagged, tension leaving her weak.
The Captain was no longer holding her. But there was no chance of escape, because his broad-shouldered figure completely barred the way.
Something else was just starting to dawn on her. This room was one of those rooms that gentlemen paid for. Heavy curtains shrouded the windows and a rather large and obvious velvet couch draped with a shabby silk counterpane filled one corner. The mingled odours of patchouli and tobacco filled the air, and the paintings on the walls—oh, Lord, those paintings …
‘I understand, Athena,’ he said softly, ‘that you’re in trouble.’
‘Trouble?’ Rosalie tried to laugh. ‘What nonsense. I simply work here, as you’ve seen …’
He