He had barely seen her since, which was just as well, but he did need to stop thinking about her. With a groan, he sank down onto a convenient bench. This had to stop. He had also diverted far too much of his attention on thinking about not thinking about her, which was a ridiculous way for a grown man to behave. He was thirty years old, for goodness’ sake, so he really should not be mooning about as a result of one silly kiss with a woman he had no reason to be kissing. Fortunately, their paths had rarely crossed these last few days and that was exactly how he liked it.
Unfortunately, at that moment Miss Mansfield scurried across the path in front of him, completely oblivious of his presence. If he had not memorised the exact shape of her beguiling figure, he might have mistaken her for a beggar or a gypsy, so scruffily was she dressed. The dull grey frock was clearly very old and had been patched in places with mismatched fabric. The heavy black shawl had definitely seen better days and the straw bonnet was an abomination. Its only adornment was one wilted, sorry-looking orange flower that dangled listlessly to one side. If her outfit was odd, her behaviour was odder. There was a furtiveness about her movements that made Bennett suspicious. She kept glancing back at the house and then towards the stable as if she was up to no good.
He pressed himself back against the bench and out of her eyeline so that he could watch her. Only when she practically sprinted past the stables did he realise that she was heading out towards the mews, which meant that she was once again ignoring his express instruction that she should not leave his house unaccompanied.
Did the woman have no regard for her own safety?
The London streets were no place for a young lady, especially such a diminutive one. He might well want to avoid her, but he could hardly allow her to come to harm just because looking at her gave his body unwelcome ideas. Not to mention the fact that he was suddenly curious about exactly where she was heading, dressed like a vagabond. Wherever it was, she clearly wanted to keep it a secret.
Or perhaps it was not where she was going that she wanted to keep quiet, but who she was off to meet? She had told him that she had grown up in Cheapside—and she was an uncommonly pretty thing—it was not out of the realms of possibility that she was having a clandestine assignation with some unworthy young buck who did not have to behave like a gentleman. She had certainly not appeared to be a novice at kissing. No wonder she did not want to be constrained by a footman if she was off to meet another man! And no wonder she had not been interested in his clumsy attempt at a kiss! The surge of jealousy galvanised him and, before he could think better of it, he was trailing hopelessly after her, making sure that he kept far enough back that she would not be alerted to his presence.
It would have been impossible to keep track of her on the crowded streets had it not been for the abominable bonnet. The orange flower was like a beacon which he followed relentlessly like a hound after a fox, irrationally jealous and angry at his irrationality. In no time they were out of Mayfair and heading east on Piccadilly and then onto Shaftesbury Avenue. The further up that road they went, the shoddier the surroundings became and the less Bennett recognised until he was hopelessly lost. Genteel society gave way to the slums and his irrational anger was replaced by a growing sense of unease. These were not streets that any sane person would venture into without the protection of a carriage. He could think of no earthly reason why an educated young woman would willingly bring herself here, yet ahead of him Miss Mansfield was still marching with some purpose into it all undaunted, her ultimate destination still a complete mystery.
Of course, in her ragged clothes nobody gave her a passing look. She blended in perfectly. He, on the other hand, stuck out like a sore thumb. The inhabitants regarded him warily as they stepped out of his way and he became increasingly grateful that it was broad daylight. He doubted he would have been given such clear passage through these narrow, filthy streets in the dark. What had started out as morbid curiosity was now no longer funny, and Bennett decided that enough was enough. He quickened his pace to catch up with his quarry. He would fetch Miss Mansfield smartly and drag her, if necessary, out of this dreadful place where who knew what was waiting for her. Or him.
‘Oi! You ain’t paid me!’
Two dishevelled street urchins barged past him. Hot on their heels a shopkeeper gave chase and Bennett’s attention momentarily shifted to the spectacle. By the time he flicked his gaze back towards Miss Mansfield, she had disappeared.
Chapter Twelve
When making social calls, a young lady must be selective in who she visits. The wrong sort of acquaintance will reflect badly on you...
To save some time Amelia cut through an alleyway that would bring her out just shy of the soup kitchen, and instantly regretted her decision when she realised that she had been followed. She knew better than to trust deserted streets like this one. Even in the middle of the day there could be danger lurking around any corner.
‘Ain’t you a pretty thing?’ The first man was stocky and his toothless grin was not the least bit friendly.
‘Them look like a nice pair of boots,’ his younger accomplice drawled, eyeing her feet and then slowly trailing his eyes back up her body. ‘I think you should give them to me.’
Amelia whipped around to run, but another larger man was now lounging against the wall behind her, effectively blocking her escape while he innocently cleaned his fingernails with the small blade of a penknife. Experience had taught her that screaming would be pointless. No one would come to her aid here. She also knew that they would want more than her boots if they heard her true accent.
‘And I think you can get lost,’ she replied brazenly, parroting their cockney. ‘Go rob some toff and leave me be.’
The older man laughed and shook his greasy head slowly. ‘Mayhap we will just have to take them, then, and perhaps we might just take you too. Pretty young girls are always worth something in Drury Lane.’
Amelia tried not to look terrified. Drury Lane was the home of the worst of the bawdy houses and it was well-known that some of those girls had been sold into prostitution rather than going willingly. Her only hope was bravado. And speed. ‘Oh, get out of my way, you fools.’
The large man behind her scowled as Amelia smartly darted past him. Unfortunately, he was far quicker than his size suggested and he caught her roughly by the arm. ‘Not so fast, darling. We ain’t done with you yet.’
‘Yes, you are.’
The Duke’s deep voice brooked no argument, making Amelia momentarily slump with relief. She had absolutely no idea what he was doing here, but she had never been so glad to see another person in her life. The big man dropped her arm as her three would-be assailants immediately stalked towards him, and her relief turned to fear again instantly. He was just one pompous duke who was clearly out of his depth, and they were three ruffians used to violence. At least one of them had a knife. He did not stand a chance.
‘Look what we have here, gentlemen,’ the older man said sarcastically. ‘This must be her knight in shining armour. Come to rescue the damsel, have you, sir?’ The three men laughed, circling him and forgetting Amelia existed now that there were richer pickings to be had. And the Duke certainly looked rich. Even in the grey daylight his diamond stickpin shimmered on his pristine white cravat. Nothing stayed white very long in the slums.
To his credit, he did not look even slightly frightened and his voice exuded aristocratic confidence. ‘As a matter of fact, I am here to rescue her, so I would ask you all to stand aside and let us be on our way.’
The men acknowledged this with amusement. ‘And what will you do if we don’t stand aside, sir?’ The older criminal offered a goading toothless smile. ‘After all, we are three against one and we are not in Mayfair now.’
Amelia elbowed her way into the circle and stood in front of the Duke. ‘Your business was with me, not him. Leave him be.’
&nb
sp; No sooner had the words escaped her lips than the Duke grabbed her and pushed her behind him. ‘Go, Miss Mansfield! Let me deal with this.’ He pointed to the exit with his finger, but his eyes never left the men.
‘Ooh—it’s Miss Mansfield, is it?’ The older man doffed his cap to her, to much sniggering from his friends. ‘I suggest you heed this fine gentleman’s advice and go, missy. Our business is no longer with you.’
Although the most sensible course of action was probably to run and fetch help, Amelia could hardly leave him. These men were not the sort to just rob a member of the aristocracy. They would know that the full weight of the law would come raining down on their heads if they did. They would have to make sure that there was no possible chance that he could identify them in the future. For his own good she had to intervene.
Amelia stepped in front of him again. If she made more noise and a complete nuisance of herself, then it might attract enough attention to scare off the attackers. ‘Help!’ she screeched at the top of her voice. ‘Murder! Murder!’ At least that was one word that was guaranteed to rouse some interest from the local inhabitants. They might tolerate all manner of evildoings in Seven Dials, but they drew the line at that.
The older man lunged forward in an attempt to silence her and Amelia heard something whistle past her face. It was only when she heard the ominous crack of bone followed by an alarming spray of fresh blood that she realised that the sound had come from the Duke’s closed fist as it had connected with the criminal’s nose.
The man stumbled backwards and fell onto his bottom in agony while his two accomplices stared slack-jawed. After a beat of silence, they both launched themselves at exactly the same time. She watched in horror as the Duke was pushed to the ground and the smaller man punched him in the face. Fortunately, the fist glanced off his jaw, but the blow must have hurt nevertheless. Despite the threat of the small knife that was still clasped in his raised hand, Amelia did her best to block the largest man from joining in, knowing full well that the Duke would be well and truly done for if both men went for him together.
‘Leave him alone!’ Throwing her full weight at him, she looped her arms about the brute’s neck, pulling him backwards until he stumbled. Her teeth sank into the flesh of his wrist and the penknife fell to the floor. Scrambling after it, Amelia kicked it into the safety of the muck-filled gutter and watched with relief as it sank beneath the muddy water. Her relief was short-lived when the big man turned back towards the Duke on the ground with murder in his eyes.
The larger man’s boot was poised to kick Bennett in the head, so he braced himself for the impact. Miss Mansfield suddenly flew at him like a banshee and jumped onto his back screaming, her hands clawing at him. Her small fists made little impact as she pummelled them against the man’s ribs. In one swift motion, he lifted her off her feet and threw her unceremoniously to the ground. She yelped as he bent down and dragged her back to her feet, holding her by the hair while she continued her assault against him. The distraction was all Bennett needed to bring his left knee swiftly up into his own attacker’s groin. Instantly, the man howled and rolled sideways, clutching his jewels for all he was worth, allowing Bennett to jump to his feet. For good measure he kicked the fellow in the stomach and winded him, then he stalked towards the final assailant, ignoring the blood that had begun to pour from his own nose.
The last man standing still had Miss Mansfield by the hair, but even so she refused to be cowed. For a little thing she was much tougher than he had given her credit for, but she was no match for the blackguard who held her. Bennett could not remember a time when he had ever been so angry.
‘Let go of her now or I swear I will kill you!’
When the brute ignored him, Bennett took great pleasure in smashing his closed fist into the man’s face until he complied. The three injured men gathered together and quickly regrouped. As one, they glared murderously towards him and Bennett feared that the situation had spiralled dangerously out of his control. Like a tiny warrior, Miss Mansfield was still glued to his side, glaring at the men with a menacing gleam in her eye. As much as he appreciated her loyalty, her safety was paramount. ‘Go and fetch help,’ he muttered. ‘I can keep them here while you run.’
‘No.’
She did not even do him the courtesy of looking at him and made no further attempt to explain her preposterous decision to ignore a reasonable order.
‘Miss Mansfield—I must insist.’
Her eyes narrowed defiantly; however, further discussion was impossible. Their attackers were once again edging slowly towards them, each looking more furious than the next. Beside him, she stiffened, her small hands closed into angry fists, ready to strike whoever dared to come near them, so Bennett did the same. For several tense moments they all stared at each other, ready to do battle, until they heard a blood-curdling war cry from behind.
‘I’m coming, Your Grace!’
A familiar face shot past them, holding a large piece of wood aloft in his meaty hands. It was Terence, his burliest footman, and at that moment he did look utterly terrifying. The ruffians’ eyes widened in alarm before they hastily turned and ran in the opposite direction, disappearing down another alleyway and out of sight.
Once he was certain the threat had gone, the footman rushed back to them, breathing heavily. ‘I am so sorry, Your Grace!’ Terence took in the scene, including Bennett’s bloody nose, and the colour drained out of his face. ‘Mr Lovett assigned me to follow Miss Mansfield, but I lost her in the crowd a few streets back. This is all my fault.’
‘You are quite mistaken, Terence. There is only one person who I hold accountable for this sorry episode, and I can assure you that it is most definitely not you.’
Bennett grabbed Miss Mansfield by the elbow and unceremoniously dragged her out of the alleyway into the street. He wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled and demand that she explain what she was about, but such behaviour in public—even in the slums—would be unseemly. As soon as they were safely back home, he was going to tear her off a strip. And, hopefully, by then he would have wrested control of his boiling temper.
Chapter Thirteen
When selecting a bride, choose a biddable woman who defers to your superior opinion in all matters of importance...
The silence in the hastily procured hackney was deafening. Judging from his stony expression, tight jaw and white knuckles, the Duke was furious. Amelia supposed he had every right to be. His perfect nose was bleeding profusely and there was an angry red swelling just under his cheekbone that would probably turn into a nasty bruise before the day was out. His once pristine shirt was completely ruined and she doubted that there was much hope for his expensively tailored coat either.
But he had surprised her. Not only had he stood up to the gang without any sign of fear, he had held his own admirably and proved himself not to be the soft, pampered aristocrat that she had previously thought him. Although it was also plainly evident he had no idea how to deal with the bloody nose.
‘Tilt your head backwards,’ she offered helpfully as he swiped at it ineffectually with his ruined handkerchief, ‘and pinch the bridge like so.’ Amelia demonstrated the technique on her own face. His serious silver-blue eyes briefly locked on hers and the disgust in them was obvious, but he did as she suggested. Badly.
‘Not like that. You need to try to stop the bleeding.’ She moved over to the opposite bench to sit next to him and applied the necessary pressure. He stared stonily at the ceiling, clearly determined not to speak to her.
‘Thank you for saving me.’ It felt like such a lame expression of gratitude in view of the pasting he had just received on her behalf. ‘Where did you learn to fight like that?’
‘Surely a more pertinent question is what the hell were you doing in that awful place to begin with? Alone. Again.’ The blue eyes were icy-cold and his tone was not much better.
Under the circumstances there appeared to be little point in attempting to lie. If Terence had been following her since her arrival, Lovett would have no qualms about appraising his master of all of her comings and goings, and there had been quite a few.
‘I was going to a public meeting.’ Somehow she felt he might find this more palatable than telling him about her regular attendance at the soup kitchen.
‘Do not expect me to believe that rubbish. What sort of a public meeting takes place in that hotbed of criminality? The Rookery is notorious. Every thief, pickpocket and ne’er-do-well in London lives there!’
How typical that he would jump to such a conclusion. ‘The Rookery forms only a small part of Seven Dials. Good people live there too. Poverty does not make them all criminals. Saying such a thing is like blaming all of the French for the behaviour of Napoleon. Most of the residents have no choice but to live there. They cannot afford anything better.’
‘If you are so well informed about the capital’s vilest slum, Miss Mansfield, then why did you not have the good sense to stay out of that deserted alleyway? Or do you think that those ruffians were simply the unfortunate victims of poverty and did not actually mean to threaten you?’ He batted her hand away from his nose and glared at her, his breathing far too laboured for a man in full control of his anger. ‘Have you any idea how much danger you just put yourself in? You were about to be sold into a life of prostitution!’
Now he was simply being dramatic. She would have thought of something to get herself out of the predicament, just as she always had in the past. ‘Usually I am more careful—but today I was a little distracted.’ Amelia had been thinking about him, not that she would openly admit that, and more specifically she had been pondering her extreme reaction to his kiss.
‘Usually?’ His face was a mask of molten fury. ‘You make a habit of coming here?’
‘I admit that I made a grave mistake today but, in my defence, Seven Dials in an area I know well and I have never encountered such a problem before.’ That part was a lie. There had been numerous occasions when she had been in exactly that sort of danger, and worse, but not for a couple of years. It just proved that she had been foolish to become so complacent about her surroundings and she would not be so lax going forward.
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