Page 74 of The Dangerous Lord

“Hmm?” she grumbled as a soft tapping sounded on the door.

That was followed by a muffled voice he recognized as the housekeeper’s. “Miss Taylor, are you in there?” The doorknob rattled, and he thanked his good fortune that he’d thought to lock the door earlier.

“Miss Taylor!” the voice said more loudly. There was no mistaking the urgency behind the three sharp raps that followed.

Felicity shot up on top of him, her expression hard to read in the darkness. First she glanced down at him sprawled beneath her, then at the door, then back at him. Though he couldn’t really see her face, he could imagine what she was thinking, especially when she jerked a sheet up to cover herself. She started to speak to him, but he gave her a quick shake of his head.

“Come on now, luv,” the voice outside the door pleaded. “I know you’re in there. Wake up. It’s important!” There was the sound of keys clinking, and he groaned.

Felicity nearly vaulted out of the bed. “I’m coming, Mrs. Box!” She motioned for him to stay put, then scooped up her chemise and jerked it on over her head. “What is it? What’s wrong? Is it one of the boys?”

“It’s that nasty Mr. Hodges again,” Mrs. Box said through the door. “He’s drunk. Says he met up with your father’s trustee in a tavern and found out the truth about⁠—”

“Wait, I’m coming out,” Felicity said, cutting Mrs. Box off. In a flash, she’d yanked on a voluminous dressing gown and tied it around her waist, then was sliding out into the hall, taking care not to let Mrs. Box see into the room.

“What’s this about the butcher?” he heard her say before the door shut behind her, muffling the voices.

Quickly he climbed out of bed and lit a candle. While donning his shirt and trousers, he strained to hear the conversation that trailed off as the women apparently descended the stairs. Cursing, he searched for his Hessians until he found them lying half under the bed. As soon as he had the boots on, he eased out into the hall without bothering to put on his frock coat or waistcoat.

Voices wafted up from downstairs. The first was a man’s, querulous and slurred, with the accents of a lower tradesman. “Now lookie here, Miss Taylor ... I gots to have me money ...”

“Keep your voice down,” Felicity urged. “Do you want to wake the entire household?”

“If that’s wot it takes to get me money, I will. I don’t care ‘bout wakin’ them brothers of yours no how ... a lot of devils, them boys ...”

Ian strode to the stairs and looked over the banister. The man named Hodges, a scrawny creature in disheveled frock coat and breeches, swayed unsteadily in the midst of the ill-lit foyer below. Mrs. Box stood between Hodges and the stairs with her back to Ian, plump hands planted on plumper hips.

A few paces away, Felicity, looking distinctly agitated, clutched her dressing gown closed at the throat. “You’ll get your money as soon as Papa’s estate is settled.”

“Ha! Ain’t no settlement an’ you bloomin’ well know it! That fancy trustee of yers were in the tavern tonight, and I asked ‘im ‘bout it. Tole me the truth, ‘e did, ‘cause ‘e was drunk. The only thing yer papa left you were a pile o’ debts and them four boys to feed. An’ I’m plannin’ to get wot’s comin’ to me before everybody else finds out you ain’t got a penny to yer name.”

Ian had heard enough. With grim purpose, he started down the stairs.

“We can discuss this tomorrow at your shop, Mr. Hodges—” Felicity began, then squealed when the man lunged for her.

Ian vaulted down the stairs in a blind rage.

Below him, the tradesman caught hold of Felicity’s shoulders. “You c’n pay me in coin or you c’n pay me in pleasure,” the man was saying as Ian neared the bottom step, “but one way or t’other you’ll pay me tonight, little missy⁠—”

Before Ian even reached the bottom, however, Felicity brought her knee up in the man’s crotch, then shoved the bastard backward over the leg Mrs. Box held conveniently out behind the man’s knees. The man toppled over and dropped on the marble floor bent double, his hands clutching his groin.

Mrs. Box laughed as she hovered over the moaning creature. “That’s the only ‘pleasure’ you’ll be gettin’ tonight, you damned—” She broke off as Ian rounded her and jerked the tradesman up in both fists.

Ian held the small man dangling off the ground. “You want money?” He shook the groaning man furiously. “You want money, you miserable bastard?”

“No, Ian!” Felicity cried as she ran up to him.

Insensible of anything but the insult to her, Ian shook the man again, heedless of the eyes going wide with terror and the head flopping back and forth. “You’ll have your money, Hodges. But if you ever lay a hand on my fiancée again, I swear I’ll⁠—”

“Fiancée?” Mrs. Box said, having apparently recovered her tongue.

“Ian, put the man down, damn you!” Felicity ordered. “Now!”

Ian hesitated. Then he ground out, “Fine,” and released the wretch.

Hodges’s body thudded on the floor like a sack of barley, but he scrambled to his feet, half-sober and all outrage. “I dunno who you think you are, guv’nor, but⁠—”

“He’s the Viscount St. Clair, that’s who he is,” Mrs. Box put in with a haughty sniff. “Y’d best not cross him, you fool.”