Page 77 of Truly, Madly, Daring

“Bankrupt!” the duke bellowed, turning an interesting shade of purple. “I’m the Duke of Sefton!”

“Yes. Bankrupt, you miserable swine.”

Mama pushed past Emmeline at the sound of her husband’s voice coming from behind the bar.

“I wondered where he got to,” Mama whispered.

“Go to the devil!” the duke sneered at Papa. “I don’t need some jumped up Cit spreading unfounded rumours. I’ll take you to court!”

“No, you won’t,” Papa said in disgust. “Not when you haven’t paid your own staff in two months. I have, by the by. They work for me now.”

“What?” The duke was vibrating with rage at this point. “How dare you!”

“I suggest you four get lost,” Wolf instructed the ruffians. “Because if he’s not paid you upfront, you won’t see a penny.”

The men exchanged glances. Three of them shrugged and headed for the door.

“Come back!” the duke blustered, but the men kept moving. The remaining thug eyed the duke with a considering gaze. “Give me that stick pin, and I’ll stay,” he said, jerking his head to the large ruby glinting in the duke’s cravat.

“Fine,” the duke managed, through gritted teeth. “After you have Wrexham in the carriage.”

The man nodded and Emmeline gasped as he headed towards her husband. Wrexham stood, his chair screeching on the flagstones as every man in the pub moved forward.

“Humboldt,” Wrexham said, and Emmeline saw the man eyeing the thug approaching them. She thought he was holding his breath.

“Ten o’clock!” Humboldt yelled, startling everyone.

Wrexham’s right fist struck out, connecting hard with the man’s jaw and snapping his head back. The brute staggered back and then fell upon Wrexham, the two men crashing to the floor as a table overturned and glasses smashed, the powerful scent of beer filling the room. Emmeline screamed and pushed through the crowd gathered around two men, to discover her husband did not need to see his opponent, provided he could keep him in one place.

It was a short but comprehensive fight.

The duke’s hired thug curled in upon himself, moaning softly as Wrexham got to his feet.

“Wrexham!” Emmeline rushed over to discover him investigating his cut lip and wincing.

“Emmeline?” He held his arms out, and she ran into them, holding on tight.

“Are you hurt? Oh, what did that brute do?”

Wrexham snorted. “I laid him out cold, did you not see?”

“Of course I saw. You were marvellous, but your poor lip….”

“You can kiss it better if you like,” he said, sounding remarkably cheerful under the circumstances.

“We aren’t alone!” she hissed, suddenly very aware of all the interested faces watching them.

“Ah, his lordship ain’t changed none,” quipped one wag. “Give her a kiss, lad. Poor lady is all a-tremble.”

Much laughter ensued.

“I am not trembling,” Emmeline retorted indignantly. “And no one is kissing anyone!”

“Pity,” Wrexham murmured, which earned him another round of guffawing and ribald comments.

Emmeline shot him a look, which was pointless and only made her need to bite her tongue to stop from laughing, for the devil looked as if he was enjoying himself enormously. The duke, however, was making his escape unhindered and Emmeline wasn’t about to let him get away with it. She needed to know they were free of him, for good.

“Excuse me, my lord,” she said, leaving Wrexham and following his father. She made her way through the room, pausing as she noted Dr Boniface deep in conversation with Lord Cecil. He looked fascinated.