Page 11 of My Dark Duke

A cheer went up from his friends, as Miss Smith valiantly fought off her attacker. Though Sebastian could only have been a furlong away, it felt like miles as he ran to her aid.

"Get off her," he roared, as he neared.

With a strength Sebastian was unaware he possessed, he hauled the young man away from Miss Smith, and flung him to the ground. The lad’s friends roared in displeasure and advanced forward with menace in their eyes.

"Stay behind me," Sebastian whispered to Miss Smith, attempting as best he could to shield her with his body. "And if you get a chance, run, and don't look back."

At home, Sebastian had a grand collection of pistols—double barrelled Flintlocks with ornately carved handles—but they were hidden in a drawer in his library, and no use to him now.

With a sigh, Sebastian rolled up his sleeves, and prepared himself for a bout of fisticuffs. Luckily, like many men of the aristocracy, Sebastian trained weekly at Gentleman Jackson's, and was quite adept at delivering an uppercut.

His skill took the first lad who approached by surprise, and he fell to the ground howling as Sebastian's fist made contact with his cheek. The second lad, likewise, was not prepared for the force of Sebastian's punch, and he found himself levelled to the floor with a follow-up knee to the stomach.

Alas, six against one was always poor odds, and by the time the third attacker advanced, Sebastian was already winded.

He weathered a punch to the eye quite well, though he felt a trickle of blood run down his brow. Another punch left him dazed, and Sebastian was certain he would soon end up unconscious on the floor, when the sound of clattering hooves and shouting sent the whole gang packing.

"Your Grace," Higgins was breathless as he reached them. "Are you all right?"

"Perfectly fine," Sebastian drawled, as he reached for the silk handkerchief in his breast pocket, and dabbed at his bloodied brow. "Thanks to your good timing."

"Nothing can scare a pack of feral brats quicker than driving a carriage and four at 'em." Higgins grinned. "Though you managed to hold 'em off long enough alone, Your Grace."

"Thank you, Higgins," Sebastian replied, feeling really rather pleased with himself. He might be three and thirty, but there was life left in him yet.

"Miss Smith..." Sebastian turned to Miss Smith, who was silently shaking beside him. "Might I instruct you to take a seat inside the carriage? I am afraid I do not have the patience tonight to listen to any of your objections."

Miss Smith complied silently, allowing Higgins to walk her to the waiting carriage and assist her up the step. Her meek acquiescence almost made Sebastian feel guilty—almost.

"Did I not warn you that the docks were no place for a woman?" he grumbled, once he himself was safely ensconced inside the carriage, and the door shut behind him.

Sebastian dabbed irritably at the small cut above his eyebrow; it was but a scratch, but as with most head wounds, it was bleeding profusely.

He scowled in annoyance as he awaited her answer, but to his surprise, he was not met with indignation but something else—tears.

Dash it, Sebastian though fearfully, he was no good with tears.

"Don't cry," he said gruffly. "I've no handkerchief to gallantly offer you, as this one is covered in blood."

His weak attempt at humour sent Miss Smith into a louder wails of despair, and Sebastian realised nervously that he may have to offer actual comfort.

"Hush now," he said, moving across the compartment to sit beside her. "You're all right, Miss Smith. Everything will be all right."

She was near convulsing from her sobbing, so Sebastian, acting on instinct, drew her against his chest and held her as she cried.

Previously, the only emotion that had overwhelmed Sebastian when he held a woman was passion, but now he was consumed by another feeling altogether—concern. He knew Miss Smith had suffered a terrible fright, but her sobs went deeper than mere shock. They were cries of anguish and despair.

"There, there," he said, rubbing a consoling hand up and down her arm. "It's all right."

"Nothing is all right." Miss Smith sniffed. "Nothing has been right since my father died."

Sebastian stiffened and she must have felt it, for she hastened to compose herself.

"I thought you left the Reverend's employ to care for your ailing mother?" he questioned, as Miss Smith pulled away from him.

Sebastian deliberately kept his tone light, but the young woman was as undeceived of he, as he of she.

"Yes," she answered, clearing her throat, before blowing into a handkerchief she had fished from the pockets of her skirts. "But before that, my father passed, and nothing has been the same since."

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