A Kiss In The Dark (17 page)

Well, he might be dressed as a servant, but he was damned if he would wait here like some tame little lapdog. He could understand Deirdre’s logic, could even admit it made sense for him to stay out of sight as much as possible, but he had to do something or he would go out of his mind.

Besides, he reasoned, as he eyed a group of rough, seafaring men who had just exited the establishment, pushing and jostling each other boisterously, Cullen most likely could use all the help he could get in guarding the headstrong Lady Rotherby, regardless of what she said. Especially in a place like this.

His mind made up, he started toward the building.

The moment Deirdre entered the crowded, dimly lit club, she found herself wondering if she hadn’t just made a colossal error in judgment.

The stench of unwashed male bodies immediately assaulted her nostrils, and the noise from the throng gathered around the boxing floor was deafening. There was barely space to breathe, let alone maneuver in the close-packed confines of the room.

And apparently her timing was off, as well. She had hoped to arrive after the match was over, when things would be calmer and Dan would be alone in his chambers, but it seemed instead she’d managed to walk right into the thick of things.

Above the heads of the raucous spectators, she could just make out the two figures circling each other in the middle of the room. The sound of a fist striking flesh had her grimacing, and as another roar went up from the onlookers, she glanced at Cullen. His expression grim, he hovered over her, his eyes darting here and there as he searched out any potential threats to her safety.

Perhaps she should have relented and allowed Tristan to accompany them, she thought, biting her lip. The men who frequented Dan’s club could be disreputable at the best of times, but in the midst of a match they could be truly dangerous. She doubted even Cullen, as large as he was, would be enough to dissuade someone who was determined to start trouble.

Well, it was too late to second-guess herself now. She would simply have to maintain a low profile until the fight was over and she could approach Dan.

Going up on her toes, she strained to see over the shifting mass of people around her. On the far side of the room was an alcove with a bar area and several tables and chairs grouped for drinking and playing cards. She felt gratified to notice that it appeared to be deserted right now, as most of the patrons were involved in watching the fight and placing their bets. Perhaps she could manage to wait there unobtrusively until it was all over.

Pulling the hood of her cloak up to cover the gleam of her upswept red curls, she gestured to Cullen and began to weave her way through the crowd, being careful not to jostle anyone or call undue attention to herself.

Another rousing and especially loud cheer filled the club just as she reached her destination. Taking up a position in the shadows, she watched as the mob stirred and began to move away from the arena. It seemed the bout had come to an end.

“Should ’ave known better than to bet against any man of Dodger’s,” she heard one fellow grumble to another as they passed close by. “’E’s a real scrapper, that one.”

Good. Dan’s boxer had won. That would be sure to put him in a better mood and perhaps make him more amenable to her request.

At that moment, a heavy hand fell on her shoulder.

“Well, what ’ave we ’ere?”

With a gasp, she whirled and found herself face-to-face with a rather squat, beefy fellow with a bulldoggish face and lank blond hair. He was quite obviously drunk, his beady eyes narrowed and bloodshot above puffy, red rims. He was also accompanied by two companions who were twice as big and just as inebriated as he was. As Cullen started forward, his face fixed in a menacing scowl, one of them stepped in front of him, barring his way.

Her assailant’s fingers gripped her arm painfully, and he reached up with his other hand to drag the hood of her cloak down. A slow, approving smile spread over his flushed features before he glanced back at his friends. “You’re right, Morris. It
is
a woman. A pretty one.”

Deirdre gazed down at the hand on her arm, determined not to let him see her apprehension. She had grown up around men like this one, and she was well aware that any sign of fear on her part would be like waving a red flag in front of a bull. When she spoke, she was proud to note that her voice held not the slightest quaver. “Kindly unhand me, sir.”

The man gave a loud guffaw. “Did ye ’ear that, blokes? ‘Kindly un’and me,’ she says. It seems we got a right little lady ’ere.”

“Ain’t no ladies in a place like this, Farley,” the man blocking Cullen snorted.

“Damned me if ye ain’t right.” Farley looked back at her, and she flinched away from the overpowering smell of alcohol that laced his breath. “Ain’t no ladies in a place like this, darlin’. So, why don’t you get rid of the ’igh and mighty attitude and tell me ’ow much blunt it’ll take for me to toss up them skirts of yours? I ain’t never ’ad me a red’ead before.”

Deirdre cast a warning glance in Cullen’s direction. From the look on his face, she knew her coachman was champing at the bit to come out swinging, but it would be best if they could handle this quietly, without calling any further attention to themselves.

“I can assure you, sir, that no amount of ‘blunt’ would be enough to convince me to lift my skirts or anything else for the likes of you. I am not a prostitute, so if that is the kind of sport you wish to indulge in, I suggest you find a woman who is willing.”

“And if I want you?”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, struggling for restraint. “Then I’m afraid you’re wasting your time. Now, I shall ask you once more to unhand me.”

Her frosty tone had Farley raising his brows in amusement. “And what will you do if I don’t?”

All right. So much for dealing with things without causing a scene. She had tried the civilized approach. Now, it was time to resort to street tactics.

With a nod to Cullen, she abruptly raised her knee, jamming it between Farley’s legs as hard as she could. The man moaned in agony and lurched backwards. At the same time, her coachman gave a growl, grabbed Morris by the collar of his shirt, and threw him aside. A table splintered under the fellow’s weight.

Farley’s other companion roared in outrage and charged Cullen. As if that were the signal for chaos to rein supreme, several others who had been observing the confrontation quickly joined the fray.

Intent on aiding her servant, Deirdre started forward, but before she’d taken more than a step, she was jerked to a halt by a hand twining itself in the thickness of her hair.

“No, you don’t.” It was Farley. His breathing shallow and his face red with fury, he clutched at himself with one hand while he held her with the other. “You’ll pay for that one, Miss ’igh and Mighty!”

Deirdre gave a cry of pain as his grip tightened on her curls, tugging ruthlessly at her scalp. With closed fists she pounded at his chest, but the blows were mostly ineffectual and served only to irritate him further. When one of them caught him on the end of his nose, his mouth curled in an angry snarl.

“Stop that, you little bitch, or I promise I’ll—”

He never finished his threat. Suddenly, his fingers relinquished their hold on her hair and she stumbled free, turning to discover him in the grasp of an avenging angel with blazing violet eyes.

Tristan!

“I don’t believe she wants your attention,” her champion gritted out from between clenched teeth. “Perhaps you could use a few lessons in how to treat a lady.”

“A lady? More like a whore—”

A powerful fist plowed into Farley’s face and he dropped like a stone, dead to the world.

Tristan glanced briefly in Deirdre’s direction. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. Dear heavens, she didn’t think she’d ever been so glad to see anyone in her entire life! “Yes, but Cullen—”

He didn’t wait for her to finish, simply stepped over Farley’s prone form and waded into the pack surrounding her coachman, his large frame easily cutting a swath through the mass of writhing humanity.

Leaning against the bar, Deirdre raked back the loosened curls falling into her eyes and watched in dazed wonder as he dispatched two of the men on the fringes by picking them up by the scruff of their necks and tossing them aside like so much flotsam. His muscles flexed with a smooth economy of movement, and one glance at his fierce expression was enough to remind her of the first time she’d seen him.

Here he was. The brave warrior, the knight in shining armor she’d dreamed of for so long. Only this time it was his attackers who didn’t stand a chance.

At that moment, a shot rang out.

Abruptly, there was dead silence. All eyes went to the man who stood at the edge of the crowd, surveying the scene with obvious displeasure. Lean and wiry, with bushy salt-and-pepper hair and a large beak of a nose that looked to have been broken a time or two, he was flanked by two behemoths, one of whom held a smoking pistol pointed at the ceiling.

Dodger Dan.

Tristan immediately moved forward to place himself in front of Deirdre. Curiously warmed by his protective attitude, she clutched the back of his shirt and went up on tiptoe to peer over his shoulder.

“No one fights in me club but who I say,” Dan announced in a gravel-tinged voice, his piercing blue eyes narrowed on the offenders. He jerked his head at the guards. “Escort ’em outside and see ’em on their way. And make sure they don’t come back.”

He turned to walk away, but Deirdre pushed past Tristan, avoiding his restraining hand, and called out, “Dodger!”

As she moved forward, one of Dan’s guards blocked her path, but before the man could touch her, Tristan was at her side, his glare saying more than words could. “Touch her and you’ll lose that arm.”

Desperate to gain Dan’s attention before he could disappear from sight, Deirdre skirted around them and hurried after the former boxer’s departing figure. “Dan, wait!”

Somehow her voice must have reached him over the hum of activity in the club, for he stopped and looked back. As his gaze met hers, his forehead creased in momentary confusion before the light of recognition suddenly dawned.

“Why, if it isn’t little DeeDee.” A smile of greeting crept over his craggy face as he started toward her. “What are you doing ’ere, me dear?”

She reached out to grip his outstretched hands. “I must speak with you. It’s most urgent.”

“Of course, of course.” He glanced over her shoulder to where Tristan and Cullen still stood toe-to-toe with his guards. “Are the two large, un’appy-looking fellows wiv you?”

At her nod, he gestured to his men. “It’s all right, boys. You can let those two through. But get the rest of that riffraff out of ’ere.”

As the guards moved to obey, Tristan and Cullen joined Deirdre. Dan’s brow lowered as he studied Tristan speculatively for a moment, then he turned back to her. “This way, me dear.”

He started across the club, and as Deirdre followed, Tristan fell into step next to her and took her by the elbow.

“I knew your coming in here without me was a mistake,” he hissed at her under his breath. “You certainly know how to stir up trouble, don’t you?”

His tone roused her temper, and she glared up at him. “You needn’t have interfered. I’m sure Cullen and I would have had things well in hand before too long.” It was an out-and-out lie, but there was no reason why the insufferable prig needed to know that. And to think she’d just been getting ready to thank him for his intervention!

“Oh, of course. I’m certain Cullen getting beaten to a bloody pulp and your getting every strand of hair yanked from your head was all part of your cunning plot to lull them into a false sense of security before you really let them have it.”

Even Cullen’s badly battered mouth twitched with humor at that one.

“Oh, do shut up!” Fuming, Deirdre yanked her arm from his grasp and marched ahead. The nerve of the man! She’d never met anyone who could anger her as swiftly and easily as he could.

At the rear of the building, Dan led them down a short hallway to a large wooden door. Pushing it open, he stepped back and allowed them to enter his inner sanctum ahead of him.

Deirdre had never been in Dan’s private chambers. It was a stark contrast to the rest of the club. The walls were lined with a rich wood paneling, and an exotically patterned Persian rug covered the floor. The furniture was ornate and obviously expensive, including the rolltop desk in the far corner, and every table was occupied by decorative knickknacks that seemed to be of the finest quality.

Tristan gave a low whistle as he took in their surroundings. “I’d say your friend the Dodger does more than accept wagers on boxing matches,” he murmured in a soft aside to Deirdre.

She didn’t bother to reply. She was well aware that the club was far from Dan’s only means of support. He had a far more lucrative line of work. It was the reason they were here.

As Dan moved past them to seat himself behind the desk, he waved toward a pair of wingback chairs that sat in front of it. “Please, ’ave a seat.”

While Cullen took up a position by the door, Deirdre lowered herself into the chair the club owner had indicated. Instead of sitting himself, however, Tristan came to stand behind her, one hand resting on the sloped back of the chair. Despite her anger with him, she found herself grateful for the silent show of support.