Meanwhile, the drunken gentleman landed a fist in the gut of the third man, who rolled away, gasping for breath and holding his stomach, while the gentleman was able to pull away and stagger to his feet. He reached down and jerked the man up by the front of his shirt, punching him in the stomach and finishing it with a quick right to the jaw. The man crumpled and went down. The gentleman turned toward the first assailant, as did the coachman. The ruffian, seeing the two of them coming toward him, quickly jumped up and ran off.
The gentleman grinned at the other mans flight. He dusted off his clothes as he turned to the carriage driver. My thanks, sir. His voice was deep and well-modulated, only a slight slurring indicating his inebriation.
He turned past the coachman to face Miranda and stopped, his expression one of comical surprise. A lady!
Quickly recovering, he swept her an elegant bow. My deepest gratitude, madam, for coming to my rescue. You saved my life.
She had not seen his face clearly before, and now Miranda stared at him, stunned by the jolt of feeling that ran all through her. She was at once breathless, tingling all over, and so giddy she wanted to giggle. The man was undeniably handsome. His thick black hair, tousled from the fight, dangled down over his forehead; that, coupled with the twinkle in his eyes, gave him an undeniably rakish look. His face was strong, with a firm chin and square jaw, and cheekbones that looked sharp enough to cut paper. The almost fierce lines of his face were softened, however, by a full, sensual mouth, curved now into a grin, and by the thick black lashes that framed his eyes. He was tall and leanly muscled, his shoulders inside the black evening suit impressively wide. A red mark blazed on his cheek where one of the men had hit him, and blood trickled down from a split lip, but even those marks could not detract from his appeal.
However, it was not just the fact that he was handsome that made her feel as if she had been hit by a bolt of lightning. She had seen good-looking men before. But never before had she felt that sizzle of excitement, that elemental pull of lustor the strange, deep connection, as if somehow she knew him. Crazily, the thought that had come into her mind was that this was the man she wanted to marry.
That, of course, was absurd, she knew. It was just a strange quirk of thought. However, he was certainly intriguing. He was unlike any aristocrat she had met so far in Europe or England. He was as handy with his fists as any man she had met among the trappers in the backwoods, and there was an impish humor that gleamed in his eyes. He was dressed fashionably but with none of the extremes of a dandy, and the admirable set of his clothes on his body owed more to the firmness of his muscles than to the padding of shoulders and legs that she had seen on other gentlemen. Obviously surprised to find that he had been rescued by a woman, he had managed not to spoil his thanks with any remark about the impropriety of her doing so.
You seemed handy enough with your fists, she replied, glad to find that her voice came out more casually than she felt.
They caught me unaware, however, and, I confess, not at my best. Again the charming smile lit his face, encouraging her to smile back. I am fortunate that you were gallant enough to stop.
I could scarcely drive by when there were three of them to your one, Miranda pointed out. Hardly fair.
Indeed. I think that was the idea.
Did you know them, sir? the coachman asked, going over to one of the unconscious men and peering down into his face. Aright vicious-lookin one, this un.
No, Ive never seen them before. The man shrugged. No doubt they were simply thieves hiding in wait for the first person to happen by.
Not usually an area for thieves, the coachman remarked, glancing around at the expensive houses on both sides of the street.
No, the man agreed without much interest. They must be growing bolder.
He dusted off his coat again, without much success. I am afraid my valet will be quite perturbed to see what I have done to his careful work.
You are bleeding, Miranda observed, fishing her lace-trimmed handkerchief out of her pocket and stepping forward to wipe away the blood that trickled down from his mouth.
It was unnerving to stand this close to him. She could feel the heat of his body, smell the liquor on his breath. Miranda looked up into his face. She could not see the color of his eyes in this dim light, but they were warm and compellingand, at the moment, somewhat unfocused. He swayed a little, and Miranda grabbed his arm to steady him.
Sir? Are you all right? Beldon she called to the coachman, and he came up to close his large hand around the mans other arm.
Yes. Yes, Im fine. Just a moments dizziness, thats all.
Perhaps you ought to let us take you home, Miranda suggested. My carriage is right there.
Miss the driver said warningly.
Yes, yes, I know, Miranda said impatiently. It wouldnt be the thing for me to give a stranger a ride. But I dont think he is going to harm me. I mean, really
You are a woman of warmth and courage, the gentleman said, but you need not worry. I can make it without help. I am only going another block or so, to my mothers. He looked in the direction from which Miranda had come, then frowned and said, Well, perhaps not. I am a trifle late. I fear I stayed too long with my friends. And in this conditionBut it isnt far back to my house, either. I shall be fine.
I insist on driving you. You have received some blows to the head, I warrant, and even with a hard head, that is bound to affect you.
He smiled faintly at her jest. Perhaps you are right. I must admit, it is beginning to poundthough Im not entirely sure if that is due to fists or to too much brandy.
He went with them to the carriage, but, agreeing with the driver that it would not be seemly for the lady to ride with a stranger, he opted to climb up beside the coachman. They drove the few blocks to the address he gave them, and as she rode in the carriage, Miranda considered the situation. He had said he was going to his mothers and had pointed in the direction of Lady Ravenscars house. Could the man she had rescued be the man she had been supposed to meet tonight? Was it possible that this handsome, rather charming man who was good with his fists was the Earl of Ravenscar? It made sense. And his state of inebriation would certainly explain his tardiness, as well as match what she had heard of him. And Elizabeth had said he was charming and handsomethough mere words could not convey the intensity of his roguish appeal. There had been a strange moment when her entire being had thrilled to him, when she had thought that she belonged with himThis was the sort of man who could make a woman forget all else.
They came to a stop in front of his house: a small, graceful abode in the fashionable district, just the sort of house a bachelor of means and name might live in. The gentleman climbed down with the coachmans help, and Miranda opened the door of the carriage and leaned out.
Good night, sir. She was reluctant to let him go, she found, another odd sensation for her. If only she knew if he was the Earl of Ravenscar But she did not want to introduce herself to him. If he was Ravenscar, she did not want him to know that she was the heiress he had spent the evening drinking to avoid.
Madam. He bowed again, but she noticed that he was rather more unsteady now. You are an angel from heaven.