Twilight with the Infamous Earl (3 page)

Perhaps he should view the missed appointment as a blessing in disguise. There were more pleasurable ways to enjoy the afternoon.

As he passed what barely counted as a street, a woman’s cry of pain caused him to turn his head. Halfway down the street, a fight was brewing. Spectators were already forming a circle around what seemed to be a disagreement between several women and a man. He was too far away to distinguish their words, but the woman in blue was angry.

Not your concern, gent.

Fights broke out daily on the London streets. Jealous rivals engaging in fisticuffs, merchants bumping chests over what was perceived as a competitive advantage, whores shouting after customers who had cheated them out of a proper payment—Frost had witnessed it all.

He did not need to involve himself in their affairs.

Then the man grabbed one of the women. As he attempted to drag her away from the crowd, the other female attacked him with her unopened parasol. The man knocked his attacker aside as he wrestled with the first woman.

Frost despised bullies.

He headed for the trio, slightly annoyed that no one could bring themselves to help these women. As he drew closer, he quickly noted the differences between the two women. The female being dragged off was the younger of the pair. She was wearing a dress that was too large and should have been tossed in the rag bin years ago. The man’s rough handling had torn one of the sleeves, and there were dirt smudges on her skirt. The second female did not belong in this rough borough—although she did not appear to be worried about getting her hands dirty. Her white gloves, the lace and workmanship of her blue dress and bonnet, and her prim educated voice as she berated the beefy bruiser all marked her as a lady of quality.

She was also a redhead, Frost observed, as several crisp curls had slipped free during her struggles.

He had a fondness for redheads.

“Let her go,” the woman said, her chilly cultured tones warming Frost’s heart. “If you leave now, with luck on your side, you might avoid being dragged before the magistrate.”

“If anyone is going to jail, it’s you,” the man jeered, unimpressed with the woman’s threat. “This wench is my property. You have no right, stealing her from me.”

“Me?” The redhead’s slender body vibrated with outrage. “That child is no man’s property, you worm! Furthermore—”

“Perhaps I might be of service?” Frost smoothly interjected, his polite query causing the two women and man to stop and gape at him. On closer inspection, he had to reevaluate his opinion of the female in the dirty dress. She was more child than woman. If she was older than sixteen, he would eat his boots. If she had worn a bonnet, she had lost it while struggling with her captor. Her dirty brown hair was unbound and her thin, pinched face spoke eloquently of the poverty she endured. Her brown eyes were bloodshot from crying, and there was a wild, desperate look in them that angered him. The girl was frightened.

“None of this is your business,” the man was saying to him. “Nor is it yours, witch!”

The redhead did not take kindly to being called a witch. “Oh, so I have the look of a witch, do I?” she asked in mocking tones. “What gives me away? My red hair or my green eyes?”

She took an intimidating step toward him, and the man had the good sense to retreat. “I’ll share a little secret with you. If I was a witch, I would turn you into a fat rat and then give your skull a solid thumping with my broom!”

Several spectators chuckled, which only enraged the man.

His face reddened as he mopped the sweat on his brow with his free hand. “See here, you—”

“Before you finish your threat, I suggest you release the girl and step away from the lady,” Frost said, sensing the man was foolish enough to strike a woman in front of witnesses.

Without warning, he found himself the focus of the lady’s ire. Her eyes were indeed a fascinating hazel color, an olive green trimmed with rings of gold. There was an inner fire in those clear, intelligent depths that, at the moment, conveyed her fury at his interference.

“Are you a constable?” she asked, her eyes narrowing with disdain.

The absurd question rendered him speechless. How had he become the villain? Finding his tongue, he replied with a question of his own. “Am I dressed like one? No. I am—”

“I do not care who you are, sir,” she said, dismissing his attempt at an introduction with a wave of her hand. “What I care about is to remove this child from that blackguard.”

Satisfied that she had put Frost in his place, she turned to address the man who had truly earned her wrath. “Release her, and allow us to leave unmolested, and I shall not report you to the proper authorities.”

“Katie is my daughter,” he shouted at her. “She stays with me. Leave now, or I’ll report you for kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping?” The redhead glanced at the girl. “Does he speak the truth? Is he your father?”

The girl quivered like a frightened rabbit. She cast a wary glance at the lady and then at the man who gripped her arm. “He is—was married to my mum.”

“I raised the girl as if she were my own,” the man said.

The woman ignored him. “And your mum?”

“Dead. Almost a fortnight,” the girl said, her eyes filling with tears. “We couldn’t afford the medicine she needed.”

The redhead shook her head. “Say no more. You have my sympathies.” She inhaled deeply as if to fortify her courage. “Do you want to stay with this man?”

“And what choice does she have, I ask you?” he asked, tugging on the girl’s arm. “I’m her da, and the only family she has left.”

Frost silently concurred. Whatever circumstances transpired before his arrival, the girl belonged with the man who raised her. It was not his concern. Nor the well-meaning lady’s.

His fingers lightly grazed the redhead’s arm, and she stiffened at his touch. “It is best to stay out of family squabbles.”

She glared at him from over her shoulder. “Is that what you think this is? A family squabble? That man has been selling his daughter’s … er, favors to every gentleman within earshot.”

He was not surprised by the lady’s outrage. Her sheltered upbringing had not prepared her for the harsh realities poverty had to offer. “May I speak to you privately?”

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion at his request. “Surely, you jest. We are standing in the middle of the street and are surrounded by onlookers.”

Frost unceremoniously seized the redhead by the arm and dragged her away from the man and his stepdaughter. He scowled at the man, and stabbed his walking stick in the man’s direction. “Do not attempt to flee with the girl. You will not enjoy the consequences.” He glanced down at the woman, who was trying to shake off his grip. “Come along, my dear. Let’s have our private chat.”

*   *   *

Emily struggled to free herself, but it was an act of futility. The gentleman held her as effectively as an iron manacle. If she could have moved her arm, she would have brought the top of her parasol down on his boot. “You have no right to touch me!” she said through clenched teeth as she seethed.

They had only stepped a few yards away from the girl and her beastly stepfather. She glared impotently at him. He was whispering something to poor Katie; most likely, he was threatening her with a beating if she did not stand with him.

“Are you listening to me?”

Emily reluctantly glanced up at her captor. It was the first time she had bothered to truly look at him. He was a gentleman. She had deduced as much with just a passing glance. His manner of speech, clothing, and arrogance marked him as part of the aristocracy.

What stunned her into silence was the beauty of him. If angels walked the earth, they would possess such compelling perfection. His face looked like the work of a sculptor. Unblemished skin, a strong jaw, full lips and brow that age had improved upon. He looked about thirty years old. Despite the hint of tan darkening his skin, his face was unlined. Oh, and his eyes—an intense turquoise-blue that seemed to peer into her very soul. She felt the impact of his stare and wondered if she would see those eyes in her dreams this evening.

“He is going to run off with her,” she fretted.

The man gave her an exasperated look. “For all practical purposes, the man is her father. He has every right to run off with her.”

“You don’t understand,” she began, sensing she had been pulled aside for a lecture.

“No, my lovely lady, you do not seem to comprehend the situation,” he said sternly, his fingers biting into her arm. He kept his voice low for her ears alone. “If a constable wandered by, he is likely to haul you off to the magistrate for trying to kidnap the girl from the only family she has left. What are you hoping to accomplish? That she is abandoned and placed in a workhouse?”

“A workhouse is better than living with that filthy beast,” she whispered back. “Are you aware what he was doing before you came along? Do you even care?”

“I wager more than you do, little innocent,” he shot back, frustration and impatience threading his voice. “Hungry bellies need to be filled, and there are unpalatable ways to fill them. Just because you do not like how these people go about—”

Had she mentally described him as an angel? Mayhap a fallen one. “I am not blind to the harshness of the world, sir! I understand that some people are willing to sell their bodies to survive.”

“Not willing,” he countered. “Willingness has nothing to do with it, when one’s choices are made out of desperation. And you have no right to condemn them.”

Aghast, she would have staggered backward if she could have stepped away from him. “Is that what you think I am doing? Judging them?” A wave of heat suffused her face. “That girl is not a whore. Her stepfather was selling her virginity to anyone who would meet his price.”

The gentleman hesitated. “And you know this for a fact?”

“The man approached my brother. When I saw the girl’s face—” She swallowed, and shook her head. Why was she trying to justify her actions? He had no right to judge
her
.

The fear and desperation she had glimpsed in young Katie’s eyes had been Emily’s undoing. It would have been simpler if she had looked away and continued up the street with her brother. At least she would not be arguing with
him
.

Something akin to pity softened his harsh expression. “You can’t save everyone,” he said quietly.

“I wasn’t trying to save everyone,” she said, her eyes stinging with the threat of tears as her sister’s face flashed in her mind. “I was trying to save her. What was I supposed to do? Pretend that I didn’t see her?”

“Most people would have,” he replied, his gaze never leaving her face. “It would have been the simple thing to do.”

“Perhaps for you,” she said, feeling her temper rise at the thought that her companion would have walked away from the girl or, worse, might have purchased her for an amusement. “I could not turn away when she asked for my help.”

“Christ!” he muttered irreverently. “You are one of those kinds of ladies.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He waved a dismissive hand in the air. “You’re one of those drawing room reformers who dream of ridding the world of its social ills. Allow me to spare you years of lost time and grief. You will not succeed. Evil thrives alongside good. It has from the beginning.”

His words cut her to the quick. “You know nothing about me or my intentions.” Emily glanced up to check on the man and his stepdaughter, only to note with dismay that they were no longer standing across from them. “Good grief! Release me, he is getting away!”

She kicked him in the shin and gained her freedom. Cursing, the gentleman was at her heels when she spotted the man and girl at the edge of the crowd—but he reached them before her, since her pace was hindered by her skirt and petticoat. The gentleman seized the other man by the coat, leaving Emily to appreciate his agility and strength as she attempted to catch her breath.

While the man blustered on about his innocence, she walked over to the cowering girl and put her arm around her waist. “He will not cause you any more trouble. Are you ready to leave?”

“He will kill me if I defy him,” the girl whispered, not taking her eyes off her stepfather.

“You already have,” Emily said, silently applauding as the gentleman lifted the man off his feet. An impressive feat of strength, indeed, since the man was clearly heavier. The gentleman allowed his opponent to dangle helplessly for a minute before he released him. The girl’s stepfather landed on his backside on the street.

Furious that the nobleman had gotten the better of him, he lashed out with his foot. The stranger nimbly avoided the clumsy attack. Espying the girl standing beside Emily, he pointed his finger at them.

“You there, all of this is your fault, you haughty bitch,” he raged at Emily as he climbed to his feet. “If you had kept your nose out of my business, me and my girl would have made a tidy profit by now. I should—”

The gentleman slapped the side of his walking stick against the man’s chest, preventing him from taking another step toward her. “Are you threatening the lady? Quite unwise with all of these witnesses about.”

His eyes mere slits, he gave the nobleman a dismissive glance. “And what is it to you, or anyone here? Are you planning to take on the responsibility of my Katie? Feed her? Put clothes on her back?” When the gentleman remained silent, the man snorted. “Or maybe you hope the little wench will be so grateful, she will let you plow her for free.”

“You are a horrid man!” Emily shouted, earning an angry glance from both men.

Bursting from the crowd, her brother rushed forward. “Emily!”

She was enveloped in her younger brother’s arms, and quickly released. “Did you find a constable?”

“One is coming, Em, I swear,” he said, sounding breathless and excited. “He told me to run ahead and look after you.” He cast a nervous glance at the girl. “And her.”

A woman shrieked in fright as the man tried to punch the gentleman. Emily turned in time to see the gentleman avoid the other man’s fist while driving his own into his opponent’s soft belly.

“Bastard,” the injured man wheezed, before he lunged at his attacker and a full brawl broke out that included some of the spectators.