Page 4 of Charity

A sickening grunt signaled someone had landed a good blow, and Agatha cringed as a low moan of pain rang out.

“What I don’t understand,” the speaker continued, “is how you can bear the knowledge that you’re good for nothing but the beating I’m giving you. When you hit the ground, I suggest you stay down. I truly don’t need much more of an excuse to thrash you senseless.”

Another blow sounded, and then two more. After each punch, the groans grew in volume. She covered her ears. There was one more sickening thump, and then the fighting sounds stopped.

She stayed where she was, barely daring to breathe lest attention turn in her direction. Someone large moved around in the fog, but she couldn’t tell who. She tightened her grip on the stick. A muffled groan and scuffling some distance away hinted that her attackers had quite given up in the face of this unknown brawler’s intimidating presence.

“I’d slink away too, you worthless excuse for men,” the deep voice muttered from close by. Agatha jumped as the sound grated along her nerves. She’d never heard such masculine aggression before.

“Accosting women? Come into this square again and be prepared for more than bruises. You know, maybe you should come back. I’m still of a mind to beat better manners into you.”

The distant sounds quieted, but the stranger moved around in the dark park, his boots shuffling across the earth. Agatha shivered, more wary of this one man than the two villains combined. There was something strangely familiar about the way he talked while trouncing her two attackers. It wasn’t so much the words he spoke, but the way he said them sent shivers racing across her skin.

“Now, where did you go? You had better come out before they come back. Devil take it! Where did I drop my cane? It should have been right here. Have you picked it up?”

Agatha bit her lip to stop herself from answering. She had a cane in her hands. That explained the smooth wood. She inched her fingers along the shaft until she found a solid, cold metal head. That was good. That could hurt. She adjusted her grip so she could use it if necessary.

“Are you still not going to speak to me?” The stranger blew out a loud breath. “I had hoped we could get around this little problem, but not even risking life and limb will please you now, will it? You have the cane, don’t you? And you’re planning on clobbering me with it? I suppose I do deserve a good beating from you, but do you think we could do it somewhere more private?”

How did he know she had the cane? She was all alone in the dark with a strange man who could read her mind. Even the fact she had a weapon in her hands did not make her feel very confident. The attack had completely turned her around.

And there was Nell to worry about. She needed to find out what had become of her maid. Had she managed to escape and return home for help?

Silence stretched between them.

“Did they hurt you?”

The concern in the stranger’s voice surprised her. She started to stand, hopeful that her pale gown was still hidden beneath her darker cloak, keeping her invisible to the stranger. When she was upright again, she took a tentative step backward.

Gravel crunched beneath her boot. She froze.

“So, you’re not hurt. You just don’t want to talk to me.” The stranger groaned as Agatha took another step back. “You do know you’re going the wrong way, don’t you? Your house is to your left. And another thing, what the devil are you doing out here alone? A foggy evening is not a safe place for you. Actually, when I think of it, nowhere is particularly safe for you, especially alone. What were you doing walking home without a proper escort? Your grandfather will be livid when he finds out.”

Agatha froze as she tried to place the bitter voice. It was familiar, but she’d never been introduced to someone as cheerless as this. She had to get away.

“Agatha, stop, or you will hit the—”

“Ow!” Pain sliced through her head as she encountered something hard. She clutched her head with one hand and the tree with the other, letting the cane slip through her fingers.

“Tree,” he finished. “Are you still upright?”

“Yes,” Agatha supplied angrily, appalled by her clumsiness.

“She speaks! I think I need to sit down, but perhaps not in the middle of Berkeley Square. Your friends might come back at any moment, and they may bring reinforcements.” Gravel crunched as the speaker drew closer. “While defending your person is my greatest delight, my knuckles already sting quite a bit. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to apply my boxing skills. Although, I must say, they were not very sporting about it. I don’t believe they know the rules of proper behavior. Two against one is hardly fair. At least my arrival at your side improved the odds, but I should have caught up to you sooner. Forgive me.”

The regret in the stranger’s voice startled her. Whoever he was, he sounded as if he believed he had a responsibility to protect her. Well, that was certainly untrue. She didn’t need a man in her life. Not anymore.

“I hate to rush you, but we really should get you home,” he said. “We don’t want anyone to hear of this escapade, do we, precious?”

Precious.

Only one man had ever called her that.

This time, Agatha trembled for an entirely different reason. She did know this rambling gentleman. She just hadn’t heard him speak recently. And he’d changed; his voice was now so devoid of its usual warmth that she hadn’t recognized him at all. Where had the gentleman hailed as the most charming lord of London gone?

Agatha slumped against the tree, mostly to keep from flinging herself into the deceptively safe haven of his arms. He could lie for a living and still be seen as a charming innocent. “Oscar! You cannot be here. You promised to stay away.”

His footsteps drew closer. “I never did promise. How could you think I’d let any harm come to you?”