April 1817
"Unhand her this instant!"
The woman's shrill voice carried easily in the evening
air, reaching Cyprian Sloane's ears as he strolled down
one of the paths through Hyde Park. He stopped in his
tracks and groaned. Why had he not caught a hack on Bond
Street instead of yielding to the temptation of a fine
spring evening's walk?
"Release her." Cultured and emphatic, the voice reminded
Sloane of a scolding governess. Whoever she was, she was a
fool for being in the park at this late hour.
"Go to the devil!" a man responded fiercely.
Sloane blew out a breath and pressed his fingers to his
temple. No choice but to investigate. Gripping his silver-
tipped walking stick, he automatically adopted the cat-
like stealth of his former clandestine life.
He edged over to the bushes that hid the speakers from
view, using the leaves and branches to obscure his own
presence, on the slim chance he could walk on and not
become involved. He peered through a gap in the leaves.
A man in an ill-fitting brown coat held the arm of a
young, pretty blonde-haired woman who wore the bright red
dress of a doxy. Her other arm was clutched by another
young woman, the owner of the governess's voice. She was
taller than the doxy, pleasantly slender, and respectably
attired in a plain lavender dress. That her bonnet hung by
its ribbons on her back and her brown hair had come partly
loose of its pins attested to the intensity of her
struggle with this ruffian. The man and the 'governess'
played tug-of-war with the woman in the red dress, while
another female — this one could be nothing but a maid,
still in her apron and cap — bawled a few feet away.
"Miss Hart, do not let him take her!" the maid wailed. It
was like a scene in a bad play, and, God knew, Sloane had
seen plenty of bad plays at Drury Lane Theatre this
Season. At least this time he could do something to halt
the melodrama.
He stepped into view. "What goes on here?"
The characters all looked at him in surprise.
The man spoke first. "This need not be your concern, sir.
You may proceed on your way."
Sloane's brows rose. He disliked being told what to do by
anyone, but more so by an obvious scoundrel.
The 'governess', who was apparently the Miss Hart to whom
the maid referred, took advantage of the man's momentary
distraction and pulled hard, causing him to lose his grip
on the doxy's arm. She quickly tugged the red-dressed girl
behind her, making a shield with her body. "Do not heed
him," Miss Hart pleaded. "Help us. He would take this girl
away!"
"She's my sister!" wailed the maid. "Bugger you." The man
lunged at Miss Hart and tried to push her out of the way.
She stumbled, falling to her knees, while the red-dressed
doxy ran to hide behind her sister. "Enough!" shouted
Sloane, moving quickly. He crossed the short distance and
grabbed the man by the collar of his coat, lifted him in
the air and tossed him into the bushes.
Sloane extended his hand to help the woman rise. "Are you
injured?"
She shook her head as he pulled her to her feet, but her
eyes flashed with alarm. "Take heed!"
Sloane spun around, swinging his stick as he did so. The
man rushed at him, but Sloane's stick struck him across
the abdomen, and he staggered backwards. Putting a hand in
his coat, the ruffian pulled out a knife.
The maid screamed.
Crouching, the man waved the knife, its long blade
catching the last rays of the sun. "You leave her to me,
now," he growled. "I'll take her and be on my way."
"No!" cried Miss Hart.
Out of the corner of his eye Sloane saw her start forward
and held her back with one hand. Not taking his eyes off
the knife, he turned his head slightly towards the girl in
the red dress. "Do you wish to go with him, miss?"
"I...I..." she stammered. "Oh, say you do not, Lucy," her
sister cried.
Her words rushed out. "I do not wish to go with him." The
man glared at Sloane, but he too addressed the girl. "You
will come with me, missy. We had a bargain."
Sloane let a cynical smile turn up one corner of his
mouth. "It appears the young lady has changed her mind."
He twirled his stick, then held it in two hands in front
of him.
The man came closer, slashing the air with his knife,
circling Sloane, who merely moved to evade him. The man
scowled and spat out expletives. His performance was
indeed worthy of Drury Lane. Sloane laughed at him.
Miss Hart still hovered too close. Sloane longed to shout
at her to stay out of the way, but he did not want to
alert the man to her close proximity. The last thing
Sloane wanted was for the man to slash his knife at her.
But the ruffian's attention was riveted on Sloane. The man
inched in closer. Sloane twisted the handle of his walking
stick, ready for him.
The man swiped his blade again. Coming up behind him, Miss
Hart jumped on the man's back. He flailed at her, trying
to shake her off, the blade of his knife coming perilously
close to her skin.
Foolish girl! Sloane quickly released the sword hidden
inside his walking stick, its deceptively innocent wooden
sheath falling to the ground. "Leave him to me, woman!
Stay out of the way!"
She let go, falling backwards on to the ground and rolling
out of range. The man charged Sloane in earnest, but
Sloane checked the knife's blade with the steel of his
sword. His opponent was undaunted and his blade flashed to
and fro as Sloane's sword rang loud when it connected with
the blade.
The maid screamed, but there was little to fear. This man
might grunt and slash, but Sloane had been in fights much
worse than this one. This one had even odds, at least.
Miss Hart jumped to her feet again and still she did not
move out of range. Her presence merely distracted Sloane
and this was not a time for distractions. Sloane parried
the man's blows. Becoming bored, he bided his time until
the opportunity came to knock the weapon out of the man's
hand.
Their blades connected once again and the clash of steel
rang out like an alarm, loud enough for someone to hear
the commotion and to summon the watch. What ill luck that
would be. Sloane had no desire to be detained, and even
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.