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When the match was over though, her man had come out on top and she stood gleefully counting up the money as Lord Northrive did his own, both of them commenting on the athleticism of their fighter.
“Well, I have to say you were right, my lord,” Violette said as they walked through the crowd, heading toward the door. “That was much more entertaining than I thought it would be. The skill involved!”
“I thought you might like it,” Lord Northrive said as he pocketed his money. “You talk so much of the horse races and sailing, I figured it would be up your street.”
“You know me well already,” she said chuckling, before she collided with something. She stepped back to realise that it was not something, but someone. She had walked straight into a great hulking man who spun round, his eyes so wide and white that she felt pinned to the spot by them.
“Ye not looking where ye going?” The man drawled in an accent she couldn’t recognise.
“I am sorry,” she said hurriedly. “I did not mean to—” She didn’t get any further though, for the man veered forward toward her. “Woah!” she exclaimed, jumping backwards, just as Lord Northrive took her arm and pulled her out of the way. She didn’t have time to think of that touch, for the fear of what was happening before her took over.
“He is in his cups, drunk as a wheelbarrow,” Lord Northrive said with panic.
She could see he was right. The stranger was swaying on his feet, his hands curled up into fists and his pupils dilated heavily.
“Ye looking for a mill, son?” the man said, still moving toward Violette.
“What does that mean?” she asked, to which Lord Northrive pulled her even further back.
“It means a fight!” he said, dragging her away, yet the stranger did not let up and followed the two of them. Violette felt Lord Northrive push her in front of him, eagerly shoving her toward the door and the exit of the warehouse. “That is enough, friend,” he said, calling back to the stranger. “Just because you are booksy, does not mean we want any trouble.”
“Trouble?” the man said with drawling laughter. “That man walked into me.”
“By accident!” Violette exclaimed before clearing her throat, realising how high pitched she had become and earning a quick frown from Lord Northrive as they pushed through the crowd.
“Go quicker.” He urged her through the last of the people and out of the door, yet the drunkard had followed them.
“What is wrong with him?”
“He wants a fight, that is all. Looking for an excuse after watching the boxing.” Lord Northrive tried to push her down the street, but the drunkard caught up to them and took hold of her arm.
“Let go of me,” she cried, trying to keep her voice deep. She could see through the darkness a fist coming toward her. She panicked, and only just managed to dodge the blow, bending down as the drunkard struck above her.
“Ooh!” There were pained and surprised sounds from nearby, as though they had an audience.
As Violette reared up again, barely managing to snatch her arm out of the drunkard’s hold, she saw him coming toward her another time. Only, he did not get far. A figure moved between them. It took a strike to the drunkard’s face and a crack of bone for Violette to realise what had happened. Lord Northrive had stepped between them and struck the drunkard. There was a little clap from the small audience they had garnered as Violette and Lord Northrive stared down at the drunkard. He was on his knees, nursing his wounded nose.
“That was impressive,” Violette said with an amazed sigh.
“Thank you. We had best get going, though,” Lord Northrive said.
“Why?”
“Because I think I made him angry!” he said with laughter and ran down the street. Violette ran after him, laughing too as she looked back, but the drunkard was far too out of it to now follow them.
They ran for two streets before they came to a stop outside of an alehouse, both laughing.
“Well, it is the first time I have ever had a boxing meet end in that way,” Lord Northrive said, shaking his head.
“What was his problem?” Violette asked, frowning.
“He just wanted a fight. Drunk. Speaking of which, drink?” Lord Northrive asked, gesturing toward the alehouse behind them.
“Definitely,” Violette said, unwilling to let the evening end so soon, “but…there is one thing I would like you to show me first.”
“What is that?” Lord Northrive asked with a small smile.
She bit her lip, uncertain how to ask her next question. She and Victor had always been athletic, sailing, racing their horses and more, but she had never once been in a fight with him. The incident where Sherborne had saved her and now Lord Northrive’s protection, were proving to her how useful knowing such things could be.
