Rook’s gaze found hers directly. “I’m here for the lady.”
Her eyes flew wide. How beautifully crazy was this man?
Percival turned, frowning. “Did Barrowmere send you?”
“No, my lord.”
“Then what—”
A knife appeared in his hand, and Rook sliced the blade at the leg of the guard stationed at the door. “Run, my lady!”
Violet didn’t need to be told twice. She turned, drove her knee in Percival’s nether regions with every ounce of feeling she had accumulated since he struck Drake, and dashed off as quick as her legs allowed in her skirts.
*
A commotion hadbroken out above on the spitfire’s platform, but Drake didn’t dare glance in her direction. He couldn’t afford to get distracted here and now. He couldn’t let his fight last much longer either. He pushed himself onto his feet again with effort. The cry of his name on Violet’s lips had given him strength to fuel him for this next part.
Focus. Only this. Only now.
One look would ruin him.
If he faltered, if he’d caught even a single glimpse of her face, he would be finished. Any distraction at this point would be fatal. And he refused to give Sirius the pleasure. So Drakekept his gaze fixed ahead, jaw locked and allowed only her voice to seep into his bones. But he felt her above him, the burn of her eyes on him. And by Christ, did it not take everything he had not to reassure himself he wasn’t bloody dreaming. After this ordeal, he’d look at her day and night without pause. He would memorize her the way a man memorizes a battlefield. Every rise, every hollow, every place he would kill to hold and die defending.
None of that mattered if he went down again.
The fight was a bloody disaster. On the one hand, he wanted to preserve strength to snap that coward hiding behind this mountain’s bones. On the other hand, he needed to avoid being knocked out again.
Damn that cowardly dog.
The beast before him was built like an iron wall. He couldn’t win this fight cleanly. His head still rang and his body teetered treacherously close to another blackout. One more hard blow and he’d be down again.
“Where’s your bloody honor, heh?” Drake growled hoarsely. All things could be negotiated, no? “Fighting a beaten man.”
The arse snorted. “Honor?” He rolled his neck. “I fight for coin. That’s all.”
Well. Bloody hell.
Drake barked a short, humorless laugh. “Then you’re underpaid.” He shifted his stance to better avoid the next attack. “What if I give you ten times what they promised you?”
That got him a pause before he sneered, “You look like you have less than me.”
They circled each other. “You’re not from here, are you? I’m the richest man in Brighton.”
“You’re not noble. How can your purse be as fat? Do you take me for a fool?”
“No, I’m no noble,” Drake said. “Not the sort of riches my family deals in.”
“And what do they deal in?”
Drake smirked. “All the things the nobles do not.” For the most part. “Help me, and you have the vow of Furys to compensate you tenfold.”
The man’s eyes flicked, calculating. Greedy.
Drake held steady, trying hard to keep his gaze focused on his opponent, denying even the faintest flicker of panic. If he could be bought, there was hope. If there was hope, Violet might escape unscathed along with himself.
“You expect me to turn on my employer because you waggle promises?” the man said with open scorn.
The crowd was becoming impatient, shouting obscenities at them. “I expect you to recognize an opportunity,” Drake said evenly. “You walk away alive tonight, richer than you’ve ever been.”
