Dominic’s only thought was to protect Faith, and he could see the others trying to usher the ladies to safety as well.
Before they could reach the edge, someone grabbed him by his collar and tried to pull him backwards. Every instinct in Dominic wanted to turn around and fight back, but he held tight to Faith, having to wrap his arms around her to ensure she did not get pulled away from him.
Every effort to forward progress was halted by bodies fighting. Dominic could only hope and pray that the other men were able to protect the sisters, but he could no more see or look around him for fending off the wild mob intent on fighting.
When someone pulled him by his hair looking for a partner to brawl with, he was obliged to partially release Faith in order to land a right hook and a kick to the groin in order to be released. This was no leisurely bout at Jackson’s boxing parlour. This was street fighting with no honour.
When he turned, he registered her battle cry as someone made a grab for her.
“Keep your back against mine!” he called as he continued to fight strangers off, even while he felt her kicking and shoving behind him.
Dominic knew they had to get out of there. These brawls became notoriously nasty and would progress from a drunken mill into more dangerous fighting with weapons.
He saw an opening and pulled her up against him.
“Towards the boat!” he yelled at Rotham, hoping his friend had heard him.
Pulling Faith along behind, he shoved, hopped over bodies, and barrelled his way through the mob, holding her arm and trusting her to keep up. They ran until they reached safety, where they stopped, breathing hard.
“Are you harmed?” he asked, searching her up and down. Her dress was torn and her hair was tumbling down her back. She shook her head.
“No…are you?” she asked, as he noticed his own dishevelment. His neckcloth was unravelled, he tasted blood on his lip, and he felt the tell-tale ache of bruises forming all over his body.
Gently, she took a handkerchief and reached up to blot his lip.
She was so close he could feel her breaths that were coming shorter and shorter as she traded the rush of fear for that of desire. How he wanted to lean slightly forward and taste her, but he dared not. Once he let his control snap, he was not sure if he could find it again. His hands still grasped her arms and they stood far too close for his sanity.
Desperate to control himself from further intimacy, yet not ready to pull himself away, he made an attempt at humour.
“See? Nothing happened…with Sir Julian.”
Faith burst into nervous laughter. It was always unsettling to be in a situation like that, and the terror mixed with euphoria afterwards wanted release. Most likely she had never witnessed anything like it before and didn’t understand what she was feeling. Dominic felt it all too well and the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless was alarming.
Becoming aware that they were in a public place where anyone might recognize them, and before he did something unforgivable, he slowly separated himself from her and took stock of his surroundings. It looked as though the sisters and gentlemen were making their way towards them, though looking as dishevelled as they.
“Whatever did you do to start the brawl, Rotham?” Montford asked.
Rotham glared icily at him. “I? The other fellow knocked into me.”
“Come, let us get away from here. If we stay, it could only grow more violent,” Dominic interrupted the pointless banter.
“But we will miss the fireworks!” Dominic did not know which sister protested.
“You may watch them from the barge,” he answered as he began to move them along. He sent one of his men back for Lady Westwood, then waited while the sisters exclaimed at the fireworks.
CHAPTER17
The next morning, Faith and Joy were to travel to Taywards. Faith had mixed emotions about leaving her sisters in London, but for now, she could only leave and hope that the trouble with Sir Julian would go away in her absence. How ironic that the threat at Vauxhall had not been from him!
In actuality, she was looking forward to visiting the estate again. But she wished there was not so much at stake, and that Taywards did not belong to Westwood.
The truth was, last evening had awoken the undeniable certainty that she wanted him. It had felt natural to be by his side in danger, and he had protected her—would have protected her with his life had it been necessary. Unfortunately, though she knew he might desire her—she could have sworn he’d thought about kissing her—there was little doubt he was interested in nothing more.
With that melancholy thought, she finished dressing. Then her maid finished packing her trunks while she went downstairs.
There, she found Lord Westwood drinking coffee and reading a paper. He stood at her entrance, and she noticed a bruise near his lip and one near his eye.
Instinctively, she stepped forward and reached out her hand. She barely stopped herself before she touched him. “Do they hurt?”
