Wicked Earl Seeks Proper Heiress (The Husband Hunters Club 5)

Beth had said that to her the other day, her small face etched with creases as she worried about her charge. If Beth knew where she was right now . . . But thankfully Beth was tucked up in bed and did not even realize that Averil had left the house. She had become adept at telling lies and creeping about, and although she didn’t enjoy deceiving Beth she knew she could not abandon her sister.

“Got a penny, lady?”

Startled, she looked down at the dirty elfin face peering up at her. A moment later more children appeared. Jackson yelled out. They began to run around her, circling her tighter and tighter, and laughing as she tried to escape them. They tugged at her shawl and her skirts, probably searching for a purse. Where was Jackson? Averil looked about her wildly, and saw the back of him as he hurried away. “Jackson!” she called out, just as she lost her balance, falling down onto the hard cobbles, scraping her knees and knocking all of the air out of her lungs.

For a moment she lay dazed, hearing the children running off into the deeper shadows. She lifted her head, and her eyes darted around the gloomy courtyard. What she saw did not give her much confidence in her own safety. There were people standing and sitting, a couple of them lying down, intoxicated or sleeping or both, but none of them were Jackson. Realizing that it was not safe to show weakness in this place, she began to struggle to her feet. Her skirts were torn, and her knees stung, and when she put her gloved hand down to support herself as she stood, it sank into something wet and horrible.

A strong hand slipped under her arm and another about her waist, hoisting her upright so quickly her head spun.

“Are you injured, madam?”

His voice was deep and soft, but she could hear by his accent that this was no local inhabitant of the East End. He was a gentleman.

Averil looked up.

For a moment she could not believe her own eyes. She blinked and looked again.

It was him. The man she dreamed of in the night. The man she’d so foolishly told her friends at Miss Debenham’s she was going to marry.

“Lady Averil Martindale,” the earl of Southbrook said, fixing her with his dark, hooded gaze. “This is turning into a most unexpected evening.”

Averil knew she was staring. She couldn’t help it. She felt quite giddy. “What . . . what are you doing here?” she blurted out. And then, realizing he must be here to visit the establishment behind her—he was a man with a reputation after all—she flushed hotly with embarrassment.

He seemed amused. Those same hooded, dark eyes surveyed her with interest.

“What are you doing here, Lady Averil?”

He was wearing a plain coat over his clothing but it was impeccably cut, and she caught a glimpse of an emerald-green waistcoat. His unfashionably long dark hair brushed his broad shoulders but it suited him. Gave him a certain air that women must find fascinating. As well as his scar, of course.

Despite herself, Averil’s gaze went to it. That curving scar that puckered the skin of his left cheek, drawing down the corner of his eye before vanishing into his hairline. One could only imagine what such an injury must have looked like before it healed, and how close it had come to blinding him.

Apart from the scar his face was handsome enough if a little severe. With his thin aristocratic nose, lips in a firm line, and that dark, secretive gaze, he could easily be any gentleman of wealth and breeding. But with the scar he became something else entirely.

Now that he had helped her to her feet he should have released her, but he was still holding her, his arm about her, the warm press of his palm against the small of her back, while his other hand gripped her elbow to steady her. He was so close he stole the air from her lungs, which was a rather dramatic thought for Averil, but she tended to have dramatic thoughts around the earl. Carefully, she stepped back and he dropped the grip he had upon her.

“Are you hurt?” he said curiously.

He was much taller than her five foot two inches, and she found she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.

“No. I am not hurt. I . . . Jackson is here somewhere. He will take me home.”

“Jackson?” The eyebrows rose.

Of course, thought Averil, he would think the worst! Her gray eyes flashed. “He’s my . . .” Averil wondered how she could explain Jackson to the earl. “He’s a detective. Of sorts. I am trying to find someone who is missing, and he is helping me.”

The earl considered. “This isn’t a safe place, Lady Averil.”

“I am perfectly safe and I know what I’m doing,” she said sharply. “Why should it be any more dangerous for me than for you, my lord? And yet here you are wandering the streets.”

His brows came down into a frown. “I am used to ‘wandering the streets,’ as you call it. And if you think you are perfectly safe then you are either a fool or extremely naïve.”

“I am neither. Now, if you will excuse me . . .”

Averil tried to take a step away from him but a pain shot through her knee. It was so severe that it made her cry out and stumble, almost falling again.

“Come here.” Through a wave of dizziness she heard the earl, and felt his arms catch her up again. But this time he didn’t stop at steadying her, he actually lifted her, cradling her in his arms as if she were a feather.

Averil tried to see his expression, but they were walking away from the courtyard and he was just a silhouette against the street lamp. The ache in her knee was beginning to subside, and she was able to consider that this might not be a very good idea. The earl had a reputation, and although Averil wasn’t entirely sure what that reputation consisted of, she knew he was rarely invited into society. Something he had done had made him very much persona non grata.