“Not so similar.” Mr. McCarrick flicked the reins suddenly to make the horse speed up. “A lower class of criminals obviously frequent it, though, so we’d best not linger.”

  She looked around. “How do you know there are criminals here?”

  “Don’t look.”

  “I—” And then Charlotte saw four men brawling on the edge of Green Park, while a fifth, his hat pulled low over his eyes, watched on from behind a distant tree.

  One brawler stumbled and fell; his assailants were upon him immediately. Kicking at him with their rough boots. His hat went flying off his head as he tried to protect himself, and Charlotte recognized him instantly. “Stop the carriage!”

  “I hardly think—”

  “No, stop!” Charlotte rose despite the fact they were moving and it was dangerous. Her skirts might become caught in the wheels, but she was beyond caring. “Stop the carriage this instant! We have to help him.”

  “I don’t want to put you in harm’s way.”

  “I’ll put myself in harm’s way. That is Lord Hurlston on the ground!”

  She snatched up her parasol and gathered up her skirts in preparation to fling herself out of the moving phaeton, if need be. Thankfully, Mr. McCarrick saw reason and brought the horses to a rough halt not far from where Lord Hurlston had fallen.

  Charlotte wasted no time. She clambered over Mr. McCarrick’s long legs and jumped down unaided to the roadway. She landed well and then darted into Green Park, little caring for the consequences of her mad dash.

  Winston was being hurt.

  She flew at his attackers, parasol swinging wildly, and struck the first fellow she came to a resounding blow about his head before moving on to the next man.

  They roared in outrage, but her surprise attack gave Winston a chance to regain his feet. He seemed winded and in obvious pain. He clutched his ribs with one arm for a moment, then went on the attack, too. Striking out at two of his assailants.

  Charlotte kept up her jabs and smacks to the third man until the moment he grabbed the end of her parasol by the tip.

  “Unhand my parasol, you worthless cur!” Then she jabbed at him as hard as she could. The tip of her parasol was nicely pointed and apparently sharp enough to cause a break to the skin. A bright patch of red appeared on the man’s shirt and he uttered a foul curse.

  She stumbled back a few steps, assessing her situation as the man surveyed his injury. She was not winded, and her opponent was wounded and obviously angry. Uncertain what he might do next, Charlotte planted her feet. Her opponent glared threateningly at her.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Winston knock one assailant to his knees. He was doing better now that the odds were more in his favor.

  Charlotte swirled her parasol about and smacked Winston’s other attacker across the back of his head.

  Her own wounded opponent quickly backed out of her range, dragging the second man with him. The third turned tail and fled without prompting.

  Charlotte watched them hurry away, blood pumping wildly through her veins. “Cowards! That’ll teach you for not having any gentlemanly manners and teaming up three against one,” she complained.

  Winston shook his fist in their direction, too. “Bad sportsmanship if ever I’ve seen it,” he cried out. “Eh, Charlotte?”

  “The worst,” she replied, turning to grin at him. She scanned the park again, looking for the fifth man. But he’d vanished now, too. She turned back to the earl. “Are you all right, Winston?”

  “Never better.” But then Winston winced, his arms curling around his ribs.

  Charlotte rushed to him. “You’re hurt!”

  “Bruised.” He looked up at her from under his long fringe. “I’ll forever consider myself lucky my assailant didn’t carry an equally lethal parasol like yours. I wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

  “Miss Waters!”

  She turned to find Mr. McCarrick standing just beyond Winston and staring at her as if he’d never seen her before. She also got the sense that it wasn’t the first time he’d called her name.

  Mr. McCarrick strode over, grabbed her arm and tried to tug her away from the earl. “I must insist we leave this place now.”

  “Yes, of course. We must get Lord Hurlston on his way home immediately. We cannot wait for the authorities.” She wriggled under Winston’s arm to support his weight as he slowly straightened up. “Where is your carriage, my lord?”

  “I walked here.”

  “Well, that wasn’t sensible.”

  Winston made a half-laugh that turned into a full groan of pain. “I see the error of my ways now that you’ve pointed them out.”

  She smiled at him, but couldn’t help noticing his handsome face was in utter ruin, and that tore at her heart. One of Winston’s eyes was swelling shut, his nose was dripping blood onto a once pristine cravat, and he was listing to one side like a sailor under the influence of too much rum. “We’ll take you straight home.”

  “Miss Waters, I must speak with you immediately,” Mr. McCarrick announced.

  She glanced up to see a look of severe disapproval on Mr. McCarrick’s face. She took a moment to consider what she was doing. What she might have looked like to another person more concerned by appearances than she currently was.

  She had fought beside Winston with a parasol, drawing blood on at least one of his attackers, and now she was draping herself around the earl’s waist in case he was worse than he let on and happened to fall down. It was nothing she’d never done before on her adventures with her parents with an injured fellow traveler…but it was not something she ought to do in England, perhaps. “He is injured and needs our aid.”

  “This is distressing indeed, however, I think you’ll agree with me that—”

  She cut the young man off. “If you have difficulty with rendering assistance to a member of the aristocracy, then I am afraid we can have no more to say to each other after this.”

  “Charlotte,” Winston warned.

  “Hush. I won’t abandon you.” She looked up at her once potential suitor with resignation. McCarrick clearly disapproved of her behavior. But then he shrugged, at last coming to Winston’s other side, and put an arm around the earl.

  They shuffled to McCarrick’s carriage which McCarrick had left tied to a tree, listened to Winston groan as he climbed up to the high-perch bench. “Oh, that stings.”

  Charlotte clambered up next and put her ear lightly on Winston’s chest, listening to his labored breathing. It was impossible to tell if his ribs had punctured a lung through. He seemed to be breathing well enough for now. “You must see a doctor soon.” She turned his abused face carefully toward hers. “Are you having great difficulty drawing in breath?”

  Winston stared at her and then his fingers rose to touch her face as well. “That’s not the difficulty I’m having.”

  Charlotte frowned. “What is the other difficulty? How can I help?”

  He dropped his hand, and looked away. “Take me home,” he whispered.

  Charlotte looked down at McCarrick who had not yet taken a seat in the carriage. “We should go, sir, before they think to come back for him.”

  Mr. McCarrick clambered up to sit beside her. It was a tight fit to seat the three of them on the narrow bench, with her squeezed in the middle, almost on each man’s thigh.

  Hurlston tilted alarmingly away from her at the first corner, and Charlotte made a hurried grab for his leg to prevent him from tumbling out. “Hold on,” she whispered to him.

  McCarrick grunted again. “So just how well acquainted are you with this man, Miss Waters?”

  “Oh, not very,” she assured him, putting her hands back in her lap primly as soon as they were driving in a straight line again. “He is a friend of my friends. We’ve hardly ever spoken.”

  “It seemed just now as if you and he were more than that,” he muttered, half under his breath.

  “I’d render aid to anyone in the same situation,” she assured him. But perhaps not as vigorously if it were anyone else. She hadn’t given a thought to her own safety from the moment she’d seen Winston under attack. Those men could easily have pulled out a knife and slit his throat. She shuddered. She might have been wounded herself. Yet, she hadn’t thought of anything besides saving Winston from harm.

  Winston frequently groaned as they built up speed and the carriage began to lurch and bounce them with every change of direction.

  “This will not do.” She turned to Mr. McCarrick. “Could you please take the next corners very slowly? I fear he might have broken ribs.”

  “What do you know about the care of broken bones?” McCarrick asked.

  “I’ve treated my share of misadventures,” she admitted.

  “She’s too modest. She’s probably seen more misadventures than anyone in London, if half the stories I’ve heard about her travels with her parents are true,” Winston added in a strained tone.

  She looked at him in surprise for that statement. What had he heard about her? And was that the reason why men never sought her company?

  But she pushed those questions aside as she noticed how pale Winston’s face had become, and that it shone with perspiration now, too. She dug in his coat pocket, finding his handkerchief nestled directly over his heart. She held it out to him. “Bite down on this. It will help you bear the pain.”

  He met her gaze—what gaze he had left, because one of his eyes seemed to have swelled almost completely shut by then. He used the handkerchief to dry his brow instead. “You shouldn’t have put yourself in harm’s way on my account again,” he complained.

  “Would you rather they’d succeeded in stripping you of everything of value?” she asked, wringing her hands, unsure of what else she could do for him.

  Winston shoved the handkerchief back in his coat pocket and showed her a bundle of notes from another pocket. “They took nothing from me. Too busy with their fists and feet. At least until you arrived. You were magnificent, by the way. A veritable tigress.”

  She ignored his praise, thinking hard on the fact that she had, twice in one week, managed to save Winston from danger. Of course, he was badly injured this time, but what were the odds of it happening at random twice?

  Unheard of.

  He groaned as they reached his square and suddenly clutched at her arm. “I need to get down from this carriage before I cast up my accounts.”

  “You’ll not do that,” she ordered of him. She grasped his hand tightly. His impressive London mansion loomed just ahead. “We’re almost home, I promise.”

  McCarrick drew to a halt in front of Winston’s grand house and jumped down. He helped Charlotte down to the pavement, and Winston nearly tumbled out, landing almost on top of her with his inelegant decent.

  McCarrick, instead of Charlotte, hooked an arm round Winston’s back and marched him up to his own front door and kicked instead of knocking.

  Charlotte followed them inside as soon as the butler opened the door a crack. She had been inside Hurlston’s home just once before. His study was to the right, his drawing room to the left. “To the right, Mr. McCarrick,” Charlotte decided. He’d be more comfortable in his own private chamber. There was bound to be liquor there, too, to dull his pain.

  A flustered butler followed them into Winston’s study, spluttering out a demand to know who they were and what they’d done to Lord Hurlston.

  “That is not our story to tell,” she informed the distressed servant. “His lordship will explain what you need to know later.” Charlotte stripped off her gloves. “For now, we’ll need long bandages, warm water, and soft cloths. Quickly, man. Your master is in agony while you dither.”

  The butler scurried off as McCarrick eased Hurlston down onto a leather settee and stood back.

  Charlotte leaned over Winston. “Let me see your face now,” she murmured.

  Winston looked up slowly as he slid back more comfortably into the seat with a groan. His right eye had swelled completely shut, and his nose was in danger of dripping blood onto his cravat still. She gently pressed her handkerchief to his nose, wincing as Winston hissed in pain from even that little pressure.

  “Sorry,” she whispered.

  “Who are you people? What are you doing in my son’s private chambers?”

  Charlotte turned to meet the angry glare of Winston’s esteemed mother. Realizing she was blocking the lady’s view, Charlotte quickly stepped aside. “Your son has been hurt, my lady.”

  The woman rushed forward with a terrified wail. “Oh, my sweet boy! What’s been done to you?”

  “I’m all right, Mama.” Hurlston promised, trying to avoid his mother’s hands as they started to close about his abused face. “I’m all right. There’s no need to fret.”

  “First those riders, and now this,” she sobbed. “Who did this to you? Tell me.”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted, catching hold of his mama’s hands and comforting her. “But they’re far away now.”

  Charlotte backed toward the door where Mr. McCarrick waited, to give them privacy.

  “Might I have that word with you now, Miss Waters?”

  She nibbled her lower lip and nodded. “Yes, I’m at your disposal.”

  He stalked into the hall and Charlotte followed, assuming he was about to speak very bluntly indeed.

  He spun about, his eyes blazing. “You know that man too well indeed. Don’t lie to me.”

  She owed McCarrick nothing but thanks for his aid in bringing Winston to safety. “Of course, I know of him. He is the Earl of Hurlston, a popular figure in London society. Thank you for helping him.”

  “Is he so popular that everyone uses his given name rather than his title, or is that just you?”

  “That was my presumption,” she admitted. “I am fond of the name.”

  “And the man too, it seems.”

  She couldn’t answer that honestly. “I did what I thought was right, even if you don’t agree with me.”

  “Did you even bother to ask my opinion before you went charging in and endangering your own precious life?”

  “That is not the way I was raised, sir. There was no time to waste. I have taken care of myself, made my own decisions, for as long as I can remember. I had to.”

  “Well, when you marry me, I’d advise you to start listening to your husband. It will be my responsibility to shield you from the unpleasantness of life.”

  She studied McCarrick. He was a good man, and he wanted to treat her in a way she’d always dreamed a man might. But she was ill-suited to doing nothing. Not when someone she cared about was in peril. “Thank you for an enjoyable drive today, Mr. McCarrick. I will be able to find my own way home from here.”

  “I am not leaving without you. Think of your reputation!”

  “Lord Hurlston is engaged and no danger to me, and his mother is here now, so I am suitably chaperoned.”

  “The men who attacked him know your face,” he warned. “I’ll see you home and speak to your parents about the danger you foolishly put yourself in.”

  Charlotte sighed. She’d rather he didn’t try to talk to her parents. When he did, he’d find out just how indifferent her parents were to her welfare. He would certainly turn tail and run then.

  But as she considered his towering display of temper, she realized she wanted him to do exactly that. To be put off by her parents attitudes. She couldn’t consider marrying McCarrick, after all. She wouldn’t be happy with such a man.

  Chapter Eight

  Mama was beside herself despite Winston’s reassurances, and she turned to Charlotte immediately when the young woman returned to stare down at him with such tender concern.

  Charlotte, his unexpected savior.

  Again.

  “My lady, I suspect he’s suffered no great harm,” Charlotte soothed.

  From what little he could see through his diminished vision, Mama was only somewhat relieved by Charlotte’s words. “You were there.”

  “I only brought him home,” she admitted, making light of her rescue. “Mr. McCarrick and I were luckily driving by and saw…”

  “She saw that I had fallen down,” Winston finished for her firmly. He could not allow Charlotte to embark on a long description of his altercation today. That would not do Mother’s nerves any good. “So clumsy of me. It was just a bit of bad luck that I landed flat on my face.”

  Mama frowned, clearly suspicious of his explanation. But there was no way she’d bear the truth. A lie was a kindness for her nerves right now.

  “Yes, he fell forward,” Charlotte agreed in a rush. “Tripped and fell. Straight into a tree trunk,” she confessed and then winced.

  Dear God, Winston would have to live out that lie for the rest of his life. He could easily imagine the teasing he’d suffer for it, too.

  “Mama, could you do me a favor,” he asked quickly. “I was expecting to meet with my banker here later tonight. Given my accident, would you be so good as to send a servant to Jacobs and Sons and request a delay of a few days for our appointment? Please. I’d rather not be seen like this.”

  “Yes, of course,” Mother agreed, nodding quickly, but she remained, wringing her hands. “Oh, I wish Elizabeth was not out still. She’d be such a comfort to you.”

  Charlotte’s smile turned brittle and she drew Mama slightly away from him. “I’d be happy stay with your son until your return.”

  “We both will,” said Charlotte’s male acquaintance in a stern tone.

  “Oh, thank you, both of you,” Mama gushed. “Yes, I…I’ll be right back.”

  When Mother went on her way again, Winston rushed to explain why he lied. “It will do her no good to hear what really happened to me.” Winston glanced at the man standing just behind Charlotte. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced, sir.”

  “Mr. Taylor McCarrick. I’m an acquaintance of Miss Waters’,” he said slowly. “And you are…”

  “This is Winston Bell, the Earl of Hurlston,” Charlotte said quickly, introducing them properly.

  McCarrick’s shake was too firm and made Winston wince in pain.

  “Be careful with him,” Charlotte cried out, rushing to take his abused hand out of McCarrick’s grip. He still wore gloves, which she carefully removed for him. As she turned his hands over, Winston was relieved to see no blood or cuts upon his knuckles. They ached though.