Chapter Two
Bloody hell, I’m completely knackered.
Mr. Gregory Hamilton briefly closed his eyes and rubbed them with his gloved fingers. The sound of the gentle rain on the carriage roof soothed his frazzled spirit, and because of that, he couldn’t wait to arrive home.
He couldn’t remember when a case had rendered him so exhausted.
Surely, not in recent months. However, today had been the culmination of several months of preparation and research, of writing out his arguments and responses for when opposing counsel would defend.
Yes, it had been a long day where he’d dealt with the courts and seemingly mountains of paperwork, but his closing arguments had been laid to rest. At the end, a mere two hours ago actually, the judge made a ruling in Gregory’s client’s favor.
It would prove a feather in his proverbial cap, for his client was a titled lord accused of murdering a jeweler.
The chap had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but complicating the matter had been his intense inebriation, so the details for him were fuzzy.
However, there had been a witness and enough circumstantial evidence to piece together the puzzle of what actually happened.
Thankfully, Gregory was a skilled barrister and he’d been able to orate that story to the courts.
Compensation would be forthcoming from the plaintiff, and a percentage of that would keep him solvent for a good three months.
A chuckle escaped him. Now he understood why men wished to hold the title of barrister. Hadn’t he worked his way through the ranks of solicitors in a record three years to land this position? Hadn’t he spent copious amounts of time cultivating highflyers as clients?
I deserve this win.
Not that he could convince his parents his ability to work for a living was an honorable one.
Being the second son of Viscount Montcress, with no chance, thank the Lord, of ever holding his father’s title, didn’t come with many aspirations, but he’d wanted to make more of himself than being a scoundrel about Town.
And he enjoyed the challenges the position represented.
Now, all he wanted was his dinner, a bottle of full-bodied red wine, the evening paper, and then his bed with a favorite book. One of the most satisfying aspects following a win was leaving his robe and wig in his office then coming home.
As he slumped back against the bench and enjoyed the squabbing, prepared to drift into a nap on the way through Mayfair, his conveyance slowed. With a huff, he rapped on the ceiling. “Is there a problem, Peter?”
“Nothing more than traffic, Mr. Hamilton.” The deep tone of his driver’s voice reverberated through the carriage’s interior. “Must be a rout or ball nearby.”
“Do the best you can.” Shaking his head at the delay, Gregory pulled open the black velvet curtain across the window and peered out at the street beyond.
Light rain gave everything a pleasant blur, softening the edges of the picture as it were, and the golden illumination from the gas lamps lent the world a slightly romantic air.
And made him sleepy as hell.
As his eyelids drooped, he glanced out the window once more, and what he saw sent him bolt upright.
“What the deuce?” A young woman was being accosted by an individual dressed in black.
When the attacker slapped her across the cheek, a wave of white-hot rage rose in Gregory’s chest. “Stop the carriage, Peter!” Then every thought flew out of his head, for he flung open the door, clambered over the folded steps, and then leapt from the vehicle. “You there! Stop that this instant!”
Of course, the miscreant didn’t answer, and neither did he unhand the woman.
“You’ve made your decision, then.” When Gregory wasn’t toiling at his barrister duties, he took refuge in training in fisticuffs.
It helped to reduce the pressures of his position and reduced lingering anger for the fickleness of the courts, as well as kept him fit where others in his field let themselves go to flab and fat.
In short order, he wrenched the attacker off the woman.
Oddly enough, there were no guests in the immediate area, no doubt due to the rain, but he couldn’t think about that now.
While she collapsed onto her knees on the pavement, he landed the man a facer.
The satisfying crunch of cartilage reached Gregory’s ears.
“This doesn’t concern you, knob. Go about your business.” The man in black returned a jab that caught him in his belly.
Moderate pain radiated through his insides, but he ignored it.
Because he had an affinity for boxing, he knew how to remain light on his feet while leveling a few punches at the other man.
For a few moments, they exchanged jabs. Then Gregory tagged his opponent on the left shoulder with enough force to spin him about.
“Give up, friend, else I’ll put you down permanently.”
The other man snarled. “The chit isn’t worth this. There are other, easier targets.” After a quick punch that glanced off Gregory’s chin, the man ran away, darted into an alley, and was gone all in the span of a few seconds.
“Damn, that was enjoyable.” Winded but exhilarated and aching in a few places, Gregory looked about the immediate area for the young woman who’d been assaulted by the blackguard.
When he met her gaze, he closed the distance between them.
“Are you hurt?” As he spoke, he assisted her into a standing position.
He frowned, for her gown was disheveled with the bodice yanked so low that a scandalous amount of bosom was on display.
A few locks of her dark brown hair had escaped its pins to tumble about her left shoulder.
In the golden illumination from the windows of the townhouse, he saw a faint red mark marred one of her cheeks.
“I… Not overly much, I think.”
“He hit you.” It wasn’t a question, for he’d seen it from the window of his carriage.
“Yes.” In the rain, she shivered, for her arms were bare, and her wrap had just slipped to the ground. Her breath came in disjointed pants, and there was a distinct sound of tears in her voice. “He came out of nowhere…” She swayed a bit and seemed likely to collapse into a heap.
“Steady, miss.” Not knowing what else to do, he tugged her into his arms, not only to keep her upright, but to give her comfort and support.
“You are no doubt suffering from reaction. Just take a moment to calm yourself.” The warmth of her was most appreciated, but as he became aware of guests arriving to that townhouse, the impropriety of him holding her sank into his brain.
Pulling away, he asked, “Where are you supposed to be just now?”
“Oh.” She sniffled then bent to retrieve her wrap. “I’m attending a rout here.” With a weak gesture to the townhouse, she threw the length of ivory silk haphazardly about her shoulders, though it was twisted in the back. “My cousin and her husband are already inside.”
“Ah, good. At least someone is expecting you.” Slipping a hand to the small of her back, he urged her toward the short walkway that led to the front door. “Let me escort you inside.”
The woman shook her head. “I look a mess, and my skirt is torn.”
Though he hadn’t noticed a tear in the skirt, she did, indeed, look a fright.
Bits of debris from the bushes clung to the fabric, which had snagged in a few places.
“If I were you, I’d cover my bodice with the wrap.
As soon as you are inside, you can seek out the ladies’ retiring room and put yourself to rights. ”
“Oh, dear, and this is a borrowed gown.” Distress rang in her tone.
“I’m sure whomever gave it to you will understand.
” A frown tugged at the corners of Gregory’s mouth, for other guests arrived, and as they moved onto the short walkway, the people around them stared.
. At the door, when an older man he assumed was a butler eyed the woman askance, he leaned close and put his lips to the shell of her ear.
“I honestly have no idea why everyone is staring. To me, you don’t look so horrid. ”
“You know how society is,” she responded in a whisper. “And guests probably saw the fight from their carriages as they waited to alight. Of course they don’t know the whole story.”
At least her voice was stronger than it had been outside.
And in the candlelight, he was able to discern tiny gold flecks in the rich brown irises of her eyes.
They were the one interesting thing in her otherwise plain face.
“I have a feeling there will soon be gossip.” As he urged her through the lavishly decorated entry hall toward the main staircase, the buzz of whispers increased, as did the stares.
Fans came out and hid lips, but the eyes didn’t lie.
“Perhaps they talk about how I rescued you from the attacker.”
“…he’s not dressed for a society event…”
She snorted as she caught his gaze. Clearly, she’d heard that. “I rather think not. Though it was stunning, and I’m grateful.”
“Think nothing of it. Anyone would have done the same.”
“Except anyone didn’t. They probably watched from the windows as you fought off that man.”
Did he enjoy playing the part of a hero?
A bit. It was as satisfying as landing his fists into the attacker.
Did he crave the gratitude or attention garnered after doing a good deed?
Perhaps, but generally, he believed in doing the right thing.
Then he frowned, for the whispers continued to grow. “What the hell is wrong with everyone?”