A Most Unconventional Match. Julia Justiss
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her.
Even now, she chastised him if he called too infrequently, though his visits never seemed to give her much pleasure. Still, he supposed her continual efforts to ‘improve’ him and find him a suitable wife were her way of demonstrating affection, a misguided but genuine attempt to make his life better—according to her lights.
As Hal the boy had given up hoping for his mother’s love and companionship, Hal the man knew ’twas impossible he’d ever gain her understanding or earn her approval. He just wished she would leave off trying to remake him into the sort of son she wanted.
Still unsure how he was going to avoid Lady Cowper’s ball—but adamant that avoid it he would—Hal stopped at the first hackney stand he happened upon and instructed the driver to take him to Bow Street.
Chapter Five
Late that afternoon, Hal ducked to enter the low doorway of a ramshackle tavern deep in the district of Seven Dials. The unpalatable combination of hurt, humiliation, frustrated anger and lust that had simmered in him all afternoon settled to a slow, satisfying burn as he spied his quarry in the dim, smoky interior.
He crossed the dirty rush-strewn floor to seat himself at a rickety table against the back wall and signalled the innkeeper for a drink. Keeping his gaze carefully straight ahead, out of the corner of his eye he watched the swarthy man seated at the adjacent table.
Hal waited, every muscle tensed, but, after sliding him one quick glance, Smith returned his attention to his brew. Hal exiled a silent breath of relief. Apparently the man didn’t remember brushing past him in Elizabeth’s hallway during his little visit to Green Street. He’d be able to retain the advantage of surprise.
Of course, the other dozen occupants of the taproom were covertly watching Hal as well. Strangers seldom wandered into the heart of one of London’s worst rookeries. And although Hal eschewed ton fashion and was dressed simply in a plain coat and breeches, the quality of his garments and his well-polished leather boots marked him none the less as a man of means.
Which meant, in this neighbourhood, as a mark who at the least should exit lighter of his purse, if he exited the premises at all.
The avaricious gleam in the eyes of the tavern wench who sashayed over to bring him his glass of blue ruin announced that she intended to get her share before the others pounced him. ‘Tuppence for yer drink, guv’ner,’ she said, leaning low to give him the best view of her assets. ‘Fer another, I’ll satisfy all yer wants.’
Hal slipped a coin in her hand. ‘For drink.’ Adding two more, he said, ‘For not satisfying rest.’
After quickly thrusting the coins into her bodice, the barmaid shrugged. ‘Just tryin’ to be friendly.’ Leaning closer, she murmured, ‘Beings you be so generous, lemme advise ya to scarper outta here afor ol’ Smith there calls out his bully boys. Otherwise, be lucky to leave the Dials with yer skin, much less yer fancy duds.’
Hal slipped another coin into the girl’s hand. ‘Thanks. Kind of you.’
The girl smiled, revealing cracked, stained teeth. ‘Sure about them needs? Be a pleasure to handle a big…hearted gent like you.’
Hal patted her hand. ‘You leave. Might get rough.’
The girl raised an eyebrow before sauntering back to the far side of the bar with a flagrant display of swaying hips that for a few moments captured the attention of every male in the room. After tossing the innkeeper a coin, she looked back at him.
Hal sent her a brief smile for the respite she’d offered him in which to make his escape. But he had no intention of leaving until he’d accomplished the purpose that, acting on the information he’d obtained from his friend Mason at Bow Street, had led him here.
Grimacing as the raw bite of the liquor scalded his throat, he swallowed a sip of the blue ruin and waited.
Soon enough, his patience was rewarded. Obviously unable to resist what he considered easy prey, from the table beside him, Mr Smith leaned closer.
‘See you’re a stranger, mate,’ he said, spreading his gums in a semblance of a smile. ‘Looking for someone? Be happy to help—for a small fee, a’course.’
Swiftly Hal reached down to snare the hand that had snaked over to snatch his purse. ‘Robbery not very friendly,’ he replied, pulling Smith’s arm up on to the table and holding it trapped at a painful angle.
Smith’s snarl of anger was followed by a yelp of pain, then the sound of bone cracking bone as Hal countered the right hook the man threw at him with an uppercut to the chin. Smith’s eyes rolled back in his head before Hal dragged him up and pinned him into his chair.
‘Shouldn’t bother widows either. Understand?’
The mere idea of what this oily ruffian had no doubt threatened to do to Elizabeth Lowery made Hal’s fury blaze hotter. Though he’d given the man a way to capitulate, a ferocious desire to punish Smith for invading her home, frightening her and besmirching her with his lecherous gaze made Hal hope the tough wouldn’t avail himself of it.
Fortunately for Hal’s turbulent emotions, a man didn’t survive in Seven Dials by meekly conceding at the first setback. As Hal had expected, Smith snarled and jerked his head.
Four of the slouching inhabitants of the bar sprang up and approached them. Hal saw the flash of at least two blades before, with a roar of satisfied rage, he leapt to his feet, slammed Smith against the wall, then channelled all his strength and outrage into a swift right jab to Smith’s kidney followed by a left uppercut to his jaw.
He released Smith, who slid unconscious to the floor, and turned towards the next attacker, sliding a blade of his own from beneath his sleeve. His blood pumping, ferocious satisfaction stretching his lips into a mirthless smile, he poised on the balls of his feet, daring the man to attack.
Meanwhile, the reinforcements Mason had recruited for him jumped from their positions all around the room to head off Smith’s other three accomplices.
Men didn’t survive Seven Dials by being stupid either. With his leader inert on the floor and the blade-wielding Hal grinning at him like a demon, the tough facing Hal backed away, then broke and ran for the door. The other three, cut off from escape, slinked back to their chairs.
Hal strode to the bar and dropped several coins on it. ‘When Smith wakes up, tend him,’ he told the innkeeper. ‘Goes to Green Street again, finish him. Tell him that.’
Rapidly bobbing his head, the man gathered up the money. ‘Certainly, yer honour. I’ll surely tell him.’
‘Right pretty work,’ the barmaid murmured, brushing her full breasts against his sleeve. ‘If’n you ever git back here, remember me.’
Though his hand hurt and his knuckles were bleeding, Hal made her an elaborate bow. ‘Pleasure, ma’am.’
Feeling much more cheerful than when he’d entered, Hal strode out of the tavern, his confederates filing out after him. ‘Appreciate help,’ he told Mason’s assistants, who nodded before melting away down the alley.
Hal crossed the dim street to the corner where Mason awaited him, passing him a purse of coins under the guise of shaking his hand. ‘All my thanks.’
Surreptitiously pocketing it, Mason said, ‘I trust Mr Smith learned his lesson?’
‘Studying it now,’ Hal replied.
‘No need to call a constable, I suppose?’
‘Come here if needed one?’ Hal asked.
Mason chuckled. ‘Probably not. Nor should we linger with night starting to fall.’
Nodding at that truth, Hal followed the Bow Street man through the warren of alleyways until they reached an area where the buildings looked like they might survive the next windstorm and the pedestrians no longer passed by with a huddled, furtive air.
‘Hopefully