The girl scurried to Tynan’s side. “I am indebted to you, sir. I hadn’t noticed them. I’m glad you did.”
Her voice was soft and lilting.
He caught the scent of roses on her skin, with a subtle hint of lemon and summer sunshine mixed in.
She was prettier than he’d expected, but he dared not take his gaze off the blackguards, not while they were obviously mulling how best to overpower him and grab the girl. “Get inside,” he ordered her. “You’ll be safe with me. I give you my word of honor.”
She hesitated.
“I have no wish to spill blood, but these gentlemen are determined to have you. I’ll be forced to shoot them if you continue to stand here and provide temptation.”
“Oh, I see.” She stepped into the club.
He backed in after her, his gaze and pistols trained on the men who were not at all pleased that their little rabbit had just gotten away. He shoved the door closed and called for two passing footmen to stand guard. “Keep weapons at hand. We might have trouble from those drunken fools tonight.”
They both nodded. “Aye, m’lord.”
“Has Lord Coventry arrived yet? Or Sussex or Wainthorpe?”
“No, m’lord,” the older footman said. “Nor any of the other earls.”
“When they do arrive, warn them to remain alert.” He waited for these trusted retainers to take their positions by the door, and then turned scowling toward the girl. “Are you attics to let? Where is your driver? More important, why have you been standing across the street, scouting this building for the past three nights?”
When she did not deign to respond, he tucked the smaller pistol into its holster in his boot, grabbed her hand, and attempted to haul her upstairs to his quarters. She stood her ground and fought back, determined to shove away from him. “Unhand me!”
“Not until I have my answers.” Having no patience for her resistance, he lifted her over his shoulder.
She gasped and pounded on his back. “You gave me your word of honor! Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere we can continue this discussion in private.” He did not particularly care who saw her, but the lords and ladies who frequented the Wicked Earls’ Club expected discretion and could not afford to be seen by her... whoever she was.
He marched into his chamber and shut the door behind them, ignoring her startled cry as the latch fell into place. He set her down in the center of the room and moved away, for she was obvio
usly scared of him and he needed to calm her down. “What is your business here?”
“You wretch!”
He growled when she unexpectedly kicked his shin and tried to dodge around him to reach the door.
He grabbed her by the waist and drew her up against him, his intention merely to prevent her escape. To his surprise, she felt soft and wonderful. He released her, but made certain to stand between her and the door. “Why did you kick me?”
Instead of replying, she fumbled through her reticule and withdrew her own pistol. With a small, trembling hand, she pointed it at him. “You assured me that I would be safe with you.”
“Put that thing down before you hurt yourself.” He moved toward his desk and set his own pistol down on it. “You are safe with me. I have no interest in making you my next bed partner.” Although he’d just gotten a good look at the girl and - holy hell - she was beautiful. Auburn hair that was lush and silky, and hinting of curls that were too unruly to ever properly behave. Big amber-brown eyes that were the vibrant color of expensive brandy. And a body that had his heart pounding so hard, it almost dropped him to his knees.
He doubted that she trusted him, and in this moment, he wasn’t certain that he could be trusted with her.
Her lips were tantalizingly soft and pink. He’d been too busy staring at them to realize she’d lowered her weapon. “I may as well introduce myself. Tynan Brayden, Earl of Westcliff, at your service.”
Her lips puckered as he gave a mock bow. “An earl,” she said, placing emphasis on his title. “My goodness.”
He arched an eyebrow, relieved when she finally stuck the pistol back in her reticule. He noted that her hands were still trembling. “Your turn,” he said, purposely keeping his voice gentle. “Who are you?”
“No one of consequence, I assure you. Lady Abigail Croft. My brother is Peter Croft, Baron Whitpool. His is an old title, but that’s about all that can be said for the good. In truth, I feel it is more of a family curse.”
He could hear the heartbreak in her every word.
“I wasn’t here because of your club.” Her release of breath came out in a ragged and rather forlorn sigh. “I was trying to work up the courage to enter the house next door. It is where my brother goes nightly... for his... to forget about the demons that haunt him.”