Derek turned to him then, not hiding his surprise. "Anything concerning me concerns you. You run the estates. You own half of Peregrine--"
"Lydia's looking for you."
Derek set down his mug. Damn it, Grant had wanted to tell him over coffee, not spring it on him amid the commotion of this tap house.
"What'd she want?"
"She--" Just then a man went flying over a neighboring table. Ale sloshed high and splatted, barely missing Grant. "That's it." He rose, grabbed Derek's arm, and pulled. "We'll talk about this on the way home."
Derek yanked his arm away. "I'm not leaving."
"Why the hell not? You haven't tried enough to kill yourself tonight?"
"I'm looking for a...woman."
Grant made a sound of disgust. "As much as it pains me to say this"--his gaze swept the room--"couldn't you have found one among the, if not clean, at least the varied assortment here?"
"No, she's not here yet."
Grant sat back down. "Who is she?"
"Redhead. Beautiful."
"Or so says the liquor." Grant flicked an empty, overturned bottle and sent it spinning on the table.
Derek shook his head. "I was sober."
"I wasn't aware you still did sobriety." At Derek's scowl, Grant said, "Well, you're not now. What do you think you could do if you found this girl again? Drink her under the table?"
Derek almost chuckled. "I'm fine."
"Then stand up."
"I will not--"
"Humor me." Grant rarely brought up the fact that he managed all of Derek's estates and investments. But all that was about to change, and Derek would find out soon enough. Grant pinned his brother with a look. "It's the least you could do."
Derek cursed and stood. And swayed.
Grant exhaled loudly. Men as big as Derek presented a hazard when drunk. Without asking, Grant grabbed Derek's shoulder and half-tossed, half-supported him out of the tavern and into a hackney.
"I left with you," Derek began as the horses' hooves clacked along the street, "now tell me what Lydia wanted."
"Money."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why does that not surprise me?"
Grant wanted--needed--to tell Derek about his recent decision. He needed to tell him that he was tired of being chained to Derek's estates. While Grant was making certain Derek didn't lose everything, he himself had lost four years.
Grant was done.
But Derek looked exhausted, beaten, worse than Grant had ever seen him. Christ, he hated to see his brother like this. It wasn't in his nature to kick someone when he was down. Yet when wasn't Derek down?
When they arrived at the town house, Grant helped Derek, still insisting he was "not bloody drunk," to his room. Grant stood in the doorway, alternately amused and cringing as Derek wrestled off his boots. When Derek finally lay on the counterpane, Grant found a blanket and tossed it to him. "Good night, Derek. We'll figure this out in the morning."
As Grant shut the door, he heard Derek mumble, "Thanks. For the help."
Grant opened his mouth to answer "Anytime," but knew that was no longer true.
Derek woke sometime during the night. His head pounded, seeming to throb in unison with the ticking wall clock. He squinted at it. Three in the morning. Hung over, and it wasn't even dawn.
He rose in stages and lurched to the washstand. Splashing cool water on his face didn't help his head. Derek knew of only one thing that would. He started toward his study to find a bottle there, but hesitated. He didn't want Grant to wake up and see that he couldn't make it through the night without a drink. Especially not after Grant had had to peel him out of the Mermaid.
But he didn't want to stay here. He told himself it was just because he didn't sleep well off the ship. But the truth was, he didn't sleep well there either. Except for last night. His eyes opened a touch wider. He'd return to the ship to sleep, but on the way there he'd stop at the Mermaid, take one last look for the girl, and a drink for the road. Hell, he'd pay the girl simply to sleep on his ship again.
His plan set, he orchestrated dressing so that he didn't have to move quickly or lean over too far. As he walked out the front door, the thought of how much he'd enjoyed the night before made his steps brisk.
But in the back of his mind, he felt foolish for going back out. For using the girl as an excuse to go get a drink, or for using the drink as an excuse to go g
et the girl.
A sense of foreboding settled over him. Yet he continued, ignoring his conviction that the night would most likely not improve.
The bloody night did not improve.
Derek's only warning that he was about to be rushed was Jason Lassiter bellowing, "I'm going to kill you, Sutherland!" He whirled around and stumbled, effectively ducking under Lassiter's meaty fist.
The bastard had blindsided him!
Lassiter roared and swung again, narrowly missing Derek's averted chin.
When Lassiter yanked off his coat, the crowd in the Mermaid retreated evenly. "What were you thinking when you kept her for the night?"
So this was about the girl.
"You must've known I'd kill you for it!"
Not that they needed an excuse to fight.
Lassiter lunged for Derek, who barely sidestepped him. If the bastard wanted a dirty fight, he'd oblige. He drew back and kidney-punched Lassiter before he could turn.
His hands clenched at the thought of Lassiter obviously being more than a little involved with the girl. From the look of him, you'd think he really cared about her. The thought filled him with rage. Of all the men in the world she could choose as a bloody protector, why Lassiter? He decided then that he wanted to provoke the older man, wanted to fight him.
When Lassiter whirled around, Derek said, "I'm sure whoever she is, she isn't worth the trip down here."
Lassiter's face twisted in fury. "I'm going to tear you apart!"
"Looking forward to your attempt."
When Lassiter launched another swing, Derek ducked and jabbed, landing a pounding blow to Lassiter's chest.
The man's hands flew to his chest and he wheezed frantically, but Derek knew he'd only bought time with a man that big.
This shouldn't even be a contest. But he'd never fought an opponent so livid. Although it didn't overly concern Derek, that rage could give Lassiter added strength and deaden his pain. It would be a good fight. He welcomed it.
And it was due.
Lassiter shook his head forcefully, as if to shake the hit away, then raised his fists once more.
Derek ignored the circle of screaming patrons crowding around them in a frenzy and focused on dodging Lassiter's colossal swings. He succeeded twice. The third smashed into his face. Derek fingered the trickle of blood trailing down his cheek.