Then he turned to her, all the rage gone from his expression. His gaze passed quickly over her form and returned to her eyes. “God, Ellie. Are you all right?”

  “I am. Thank you.” She hated that her voice was shaking. She knew he was talented in the ring, but the way he had dispatched the baron was not something she could easily forget.

  “Where is his wife?” Hugh asked, his voice gentle.

  A lie sprang to her lips, but she knew it was no use. Not after he’d bloodied the baron’s nose and tossed him out. Plus, according to Hugh, she had a “tell.”

  Ellie took a deep breath, then lowered her voice. “She is in the boxing room.”

  “Come.” He took her hand. There was heat and urgency and relief in his touch. She’d taken off her gloves when she’d worked on the ledgers, and she was glad not to have them now. His grasp was comforting, a solid presence beside her. She’d worry about these feelings later, after the shock of the baron’s visit had passed, and after they dealt with his wife who was still in the club. He led her to the back of the casino and the boxing room, where they found Lady Willoughby in hysterics.

  The woman was pacing the room, clenching her fingers together until her knuckles were pure white. “He knows! He’ll find me. I shall not survive this.”

  Ellie attempted to calm her. “It’s all right. Baron Willoughby never saw you, and I denied your presence here tonight. He was deep in his cups.”

  Lady Willoughby continued to shake her head and weep. A glint of candlelight from the cracked door illuminated her face, and Hugh hissed at the sight of her bruises. “He did this to you?”

  Lady Willoughby didn’t answer, but fresh tears started anew. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters now.”

  Hugh reached into his coat, withdrew a handkerchief, and handed it to her. “Here. Let me see. I’m a pugilist. I know bruises.” He pulled up a wooden stool and motioned for the lady to sit.

  To Ellie’s surprise, Lady Willoughby didn’t protest but sat on the stool and allowed Hugh to squat before her and study her injuries.

  “There, now. Blow your nose. I will not think you unladylike,” he said.

  Lady Willoughby obliged and wiped her eyes, then loudly blew her nose.

  Ellie watched as Hugh calmed the woman and examined her bruises with gentleness. “If it is any consolation, he will have blackened eyes himself tomorrow.”

  A small smile turned the corners of the lady’s lips. “This may sound shocking, but I’ve often wondered how he would feel if he was the one bloodied and bruised.”

  Ellie stared, fascinated, as Hugh cared for the lady like a bird with a broken wing. Never had she dreamed he could be this way. This was the Hugh of her youth, only better.

  In control, yet caring. Fiercely protective, yet gentle.

  Her heart pounded an erratic rhythm.

  “Excuse me a moment, my lady.” He stood and took Ellie’s arm and led her away. She followed him to a corner, far away from where Lady Willoughby sat perched upon the stool.

  “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” Hugh looked down at her, and his green eyes seemed to glow in the dim lighting.

  She knew he’d have questions. She’d hidden a beaten wife in the boxing room, then unsuccessfully confronted the woman’s furious husband at the door to the Raven Club. Once again, the thought of lying crossed her mind, then fled. Dishonesty seemed wrong now.

  “No,” she said. “I’ve never had to deal with an angry, drunken spouse in the past.”

  He glared at her like he wanted to throttle her. “Not that. You help these women. That’s what the hidden room is for, the bed?”

  Silence. Her thoughts scampered like leaves in a strong wind, and she struggled with what to say.

  “Isn’t it?” he demanded.

  “Yes,” she blurted out.

  He hesitated, then his gaze changed to something she was hard-pressed to identify. “I admire you.”

  Admire? She’d expected many responses from Hugh, but not that.

  “You seek to give them a few hours of refuge,” he said.

  She sought to do much more, but she held her tongue. She still couldn’t trust him completely. If he knew of their plans—to fake the woman’s death and squirrel her away in the country—there was a good chance he would disapprove. She couldn’t take the risk. Too much was at stake, including Lady Willoughby’s life. She was grateful for his assistance with the baron, but she could not afford to lose focus of her goals. They were too important.

  The women were too important.

  She needed to lie now, to look him square in the face and suppress the twitch of her lips that he seemed to identify as no one else had.

  “Yes,” she said. “A few hours of respite. Lady Willoughby never made it that far.”

  Hugh took Ellie’s arm, and together they returned to Lady Willoughby’s side. The lady wrung Hugh’s handkerchief in her fists. The cotton square would surely be ruined.

  “What Lady Ellie has said is true,” Hugh said. “The baron was drunk. He is also nursing a broken nose tonight. He will not recall everything that has occurred.”

  “Then will you take me home?” Lady Willoughby asked, her voice laced with desperation. “Time is of the essence. If the baron finds me in my bedchamber, then he will assume he was wrong and that I was not here tonight.”

  Ellie didn’t want the lady to return home, but she hadn’t yet heard from Violet Lasher. Until they had a solid plan to arrange for her escape from London, they had little choice. She looked to Hugh for confirmation, then nodded.

  “We will see you safely home,” Hugh said.

  Minutes later, they were traveling at a swift pace in Hugh’s carriage. As soon as they reached Lady Willoughby’s Mayfair home, she flew up the front steps and disappeared inside.

  “I fear for her,” Ellie said.

  “Not tonight. The baron will be dealing with his own injuries.”

  “What about tomorrow? When he is sober, hurting, and dangerously mad?”

  “I plan to pay him a visit tomorrow, to have a stern talk, and to ensure he doesn’t harm a hair on his wife’s head.”

  She raised her lashes. She understood what he meant when he said he would speak with the baron. Hugh was going to threaten the man to keep his fists away from his wife. She stared, complete surprise on her face. He was an ever-changing mystery. A man who had sworn to defeat her, then went out of his way to aid a woman in need. A man who’d called her admirable. “You would do that?”

  “Why do you look so surprised?”

  “It’s just that…I didn’t expect you to be concerned with the welfare of a lady you just met.”

  “I detest anyone preying on those physically unable to defend themselves.”

  So did she. Not for the first time, she wondered about his military years and how he had treated the men in his command. Without a doubt, she knew he would have put his men’s welfare above his own. The Marquess of Deveril protected the downtrodden.

  Hugh hadn’t judged her for aiding the baroness but had helped her. She could never have handled the drunken baron, brought his wife home so quickly, and she could never pay a visit and convince the man to leave his wife alone. Maybe they didn’t have to arrange for Lady Willoughby’s false demise after all.

  She leaned forward and placed a hand on Hugh’s sleeve. “I’m grateful for your assistance tonight.”

  “I meant what I said. I admire your efforts, but I don’t want you to put yourself in danger.”

  “It’s never happened before.”

  She felt the muscles in his forearm tense. “But it can occur again. What if I wasn’t there tonight? The thought of anything happening to you makes me ill.” He held out his hands, and to her shock he was shaking.

  The notion of such a big, strong man shaking because he feared for her made her senses spin. She’d seen him fight Bear in the boxing ring. He hadn’t shown fear. His fists had been solid and sure.

  But now they trembled.

  For her.

  He fisted his fingers, his callused knuckles stark. Nicks and cuts marred the tanned skin. The hands of a pugilist, not a marquess.

  “Ellie,” he said simply.

  She reached out and took his hands. They were double the size of hers. She ran her thumb back and forth across his bruised knuckles. He hissed in a breath and wove his fingers through hers.

  “You asked me if I thought of our kiss, and I told you I hadn’t. I lied,” she whispered.

  He was still beside her. Only his green eyes were intense and fierce. “How much have you thought of it?”

  “A lot.”

  The green irises darkened, drawing her in. “Good. Because I want to kiss you again. May I?”

  She swallowed, her nervousness rising, but something else sizzled just beneath the surface, something impossible to deny. A clawing need that had nothing to do with their competition, but a base desire deep inside her. Perhaps it was the near rescue, the need that arose when he’d stepped in to help her tonight, or even more tormenting, his plan to visit the baron tomorrow to ensure another’s safety. Whatever the reasons, she did not want to deny the most basic contact between them.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I’d like that.”

  Chapter Nine

  Ellie tugged on their entwined fingers and leaned toward him until their faces were only inches apart. Her heart pounded. She knew any type of intimacy with Hugh was wrong, very wrong, but she pushed her worries aside. Tonight was different. He was different.

  He’d called her admirable.

  The air rushed from her lungs as he met her halfway until their faces were only inches apart. The scent of his cologne and soap and something else…something she thought was dangerous male, teased her senses. Desire illuminated his forest-green eyes. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, the sensual curve of his full lips, and the tantalizing divot in his chin. She had an irresistible urge to lick the masculine mark.

  A lock of dark hair rested on his forehead and gave him a roguish appearance. Without thought, she reached out and smoothed it in place.

  He let out a breath. “Careful, Ellie. I might take you at your word about that kiss.”

  She tilted her head to the side and studied him. “You asked and I said yes.”

  She took a breath of confidence, then before she lost her nerve, leaned even closer until only a wisp of air separated them. He held still as if he expected her to pull back and flee like a madwoman from the carriage at any moment. Perhaps she was mad. This insane urge to kiss him grew stronger with every passing second.

  Instead of resisting, her eyes fluttered and she met his lips, desperate for the taste of him. He was gentle at first, his lips firm but closed. It wasn’t enough. Thoughts of their shared kiss had invaded her dreams, and she wanted more.

  Her tongue darted out to outline his lips. He expelled a breath, and his hand reached up to pull her head closer as he opened his mouth to her tongue. She delved inside to explore his mouth and was rewarded when he met her tongue with his. Her hands slid up his arms around his shoulders, her fingers finding the muscles in the nape of his neck and his dark hair. She tilted her head to the side, eager for more.

  He groaned and pulled her onto his lap. Even through the layers of her gown and his trousers, she was aware of his heat. And his hardness. It should frighten her, make her shove him away. Instead, she was lost, adrift in a sea of emotion. She struggled to find purchase, to keep a deep part of her hidden and sheltered from the overpowering male pressed against her. With every stroke of his tongue, he battered against her defenses.

  No. She couldn’t travel down that path of heartache again. She wasn’t that foolish, was she?

  But he had learned of her plans, and he hadn’t lectured or berated her, or heaven forbid, run straight to Ian. He’d aided her when she’d needed it most.

  And his kisses felt heavenly. His lips traveled a path down to her ear and he suckled her sensitive lobe. Her knees felt weak. If she weren’t already sprawled across his lap, she would have fallen. A rush of heat flooded between her legs. His mouth continued its torturous path to her neck, down to the swell of her breasts above her bodice. Her nipples tightened beneath the fabric. He kissed her there, his mouth hovering above the satin.

  She wished there was no silk between them. If his kisses were wonderful on her lips, her nape, the skin above her bodice, then what would they feel like on her naked breast?

  She wanted his mouth there, wanted his lips to caress her aching flesh.

  “Your skin is so soft.” He caressed her cheek.

  “And here.” His hands moved to her throat.

  “And most definitely here.” He slipped a finger inside her bodice and stroked her nipple. She was gasping for more.

  “God, how I want you. I’ve wanted you forever.”

  Truly? She knew better than to trust the seductively dangerous words from his mouth.

  “But I’ll not take you in a carriage. We’re back at the club, love.”

  She didn’t know what was more shocking. That they had arrived or that he called her love.

  Her eyes widened, and she slipped off his lap and back onto her bench. She smoothed her skirts, her hair, then dared to look at him.

  His mouth curved in an arrogantly male smile. “Are you going to deny liking that kiss?”

  “A true gentleman would not ask.”

  “After tonight, I believe we are beyond propriety.”

  “Because of what just occurred in this carriage? I don’t believe—”

  “No. Because of what occurred in the club. The next time you plan to shield a beaten woman, I want to know about it.”

  “I hardly think your request is—”

  “I wasn’t asking.”

  She blinked in surprise. Gone was the gentle but consuming lover. The man who’d whispered huskily into her ear that he’d wanted her. His voice was hard as steel as he looked at her. His expression was that of an officer, a man in charge.

  “I cannot promise you that.”

  “You are beyond promising. Baron Willoughby is dangerous. You don’t know what you are getting into.”

  “And you have my interests in mind?”

  “Yes.”

  She glared at him.

  “Don’t cross me in this.” Then he pressed his lips to hers. Like flint striking steel, a fiery need licked at her. He pulled back, and the hunger in his gaze was unmistakable. Raw and primitive.

  Her weak body cried out for more.

  She was accustomed to shielding her heart, her soul. She’d had five years of practice since finding Hugh kissing another in the gardens of a ball. She’d feared having her heart crushed again by the broken promises of a selfish rogue.

  But this time was different.

  This time, she was afraid of herself.

  …

  “I heard there was trouble at the club last night,” Grace said.

  Ellie stood by her sister-in-law’s bedside. She’d come to visit and had brought a steaming cup of chocolate. She knew Grace preferred chocolate over coffee, and she’d hoped the drink and the company would cheer her.

  Grace had been bedridden for four days. She was an energetic person by nature and enjoyed walks and working on the club’s numerous ledgers in Ian’s upstairs office. She hadn’t been able to do much but rest and read since she’d experienced pain in her lower back. The family physician, as well as Ian, had been concerned.

  Yet somehow, Grace had learned of the problem at the club last night.

  “Brooks told you,” Ellie said.

  Grace looked her up and down and pushed a lock of dark hair from her face. She eased back on the mound of pillows supporting her in a sitting position, her legs crossing on the bed. “No. Brooks wasn’t there, and you know it.”

  “Then how?”

  “Simon sent word.”

  “Who?” As soon as the question was out of Ellie’s mouth, she knew the answer. Simon was the liveried guard at the door who had taken Brooks’s place. The man Baron Willoughby had tossed aside like a sack of grain.

  Grace continued to watch, a keen glimmer in her eye. “The Marquess of Deveril took care of Lord Willoughby.”

  Ellie took a deep breath. “Yes, he did.”

  Grace’s hands ran over her distended stomach in a circular motion, the movement smooth and comforting. “Perhaps you should give the marquess a second chance, Ellie.”

  “No,” she blurted out without hesitation. A kiss was not a sufficient reason to expose herself to heartache again. She was a mature woman who could make her own decisions, and sharing a heated moment during a carriage ride—no matter how wondrous—was not sufficient reason to alter the course of her life. She knew what she longed for, and financial independence was not something she was willing to sacrifice.

  “People change. It was years ago.” Grace’s hands ceased moving to rest at her sides. “I saw the way he looked at you.”

  “What way?”

  “The way Ian looked at me the first time. Like a man who knows what he wants. I didn’t understand it then, but now I do.”

  Her words burned, branding themselves into her mind. “No. You’re wrong. The Marquess of Deveril only wants one thing: the Raven Club.”

  “Hmm. He came to your aid last evening, didn’t he?”

  “Just because he used his brute strength to toss out a foolish, drunken lord does not mean he has changed his ways.”

  “Asinine lord.”

  “Pardon?”

  Grace waved a hand. “Baron Willoughby is asinine. I never liked him.”

  “Well, that makes two of us then.” Ellie disliked Baron Willoughby immensely, and she wondered if Grace knew how the man treated his young wife. She dismissed the thought. Samantha Willoughby hid her bruises well, and she would never speak of her troubles to others.

  Ellie was more convinced than before that she had to keep her plans to help Lady Willoughby secret. Grace was more accepting than Ellie’s brother, but if either learned of her association with Violet Lasher, all would be lost.

  Ian would go berserk.

 

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