Page 38 of A Very Roguish Boxing Day
“There are four of you!”Rat-face screeched.“You can take him!”
One of the men holding Gwen had his face screwed up in anare you daftsort of expression.“He’s Tommy fucking Talbot!”
“This is ridiculous!”Gwen snapped.“Your men are not fools.They know they will get beaten to a pulp, to absolutely no end.You’ve lost again, Joseph.Unhand me!”
That got Tom’s attention.“Joseph?This lout is your brother, then?”
Gwen’s lip curled as she glared at the subject of their conversation.“He is.”
“Oh, jolly good.”Tom closed the distance to Joseph in two brisk strides and threw his signature right hook, the Stinger, taking him square in the temple.He didn’t bother to put his shoulder in it, but he didn’t need to.Joseph went limp as a wet noodle and collapsed in a heap on the snowy pavement.
He could hear the three boys tittering in delight behind him.Tom turned to the blokes holding Gwen.“Well, there’s no point in detaining her now, I’m sure you’ll agree.”
“There’s really not,” one of them offered.
“She’s all yours,” his companion said, unable to release her fast enough.
The other two goons had already made themselves scarce, and these two promptly followed in their footsteps.
Heaving a sigh, the coachman, who had been watching silently from his seat atop the carriage, climbed down from the box.Bending down, he checked Joseph for a pulse.
Gwen went to his side.“How is he, Mr.Caraway?”
The coachman answered in a deep voice, “Well, he’s breathing, anyway.Going to have a deuced big headache when he comes around.”He heaved a put-upon sigh.“I suppose I should take him back to the house.”
“Here,” Tom said, stepping forward, “let me help you.”
He hooked his hands under Joseph’s arms, and Caraway took his feet.They stuffed him into the carriage, with his knees on the floor and his torso draped over a seat.
Caraway mopped his brow.“I appreciate that.”He turned to Gwen.“I’m sorry about all this, Miss Gwendolyn.Your brother… well, you know how he is.”
Gwen nodded grimly.“I do, indeed.”
“And on Christmas Day.Just when you think a man can’t sink any lower.”Caraway shook his head, his expression one of disgust.“He knew they was having a ball.Those Wicked Widows, I mean.Yer barrister let slip that they was the ones that hired him, so he had someone watching the house, in case you showed up.That’s how he found you today.”
“I see.”Gwen squeezed his forearm.“Please rest assured that I do not hold you in any way responsible.”
Caraway bowed.“That’s right generous of you.”He turned to Tom and a grin sneaked across his face.“Tom Talbot.I’ll be damned.”
Tom held out a hand.“Pleasure to meet you.”
The coachman pumped his hand enthusiastically.“I was there, you know.The night you won the title.”He shook his head.“You and Harry Osborne.Fifteen rounds.Best fight I ever saw in my life.”
Tom smiled.“I remember it well.I could scarcely believe I’d beaten Harry Osborne.”
“I had three quid laid on Osborne,” Caraway confessed.“So I didn’t believe you could beat him, either.”
Tom laughed, taking no offense.“I hope you didn’t make that mistake again.”
“Believe me, I didn’t.”Jerking his head toward the carriage, Caraway rolled his eyes.“I guess I’d better be getting this one home.But Merry Christmas to you both.”
“Merry Christmas,” Tom and Gwen called.Caraway climbed up top and disappeared down the street.
Tom turned to Gwen.“So, what’s our next?—”
“Are you all right?”She surged forward, seizing his right hand and tugging the glove off.“Oh, Tom!You were sobrave!How I hope you haven’t sustained a fracture, or a sprain, or a?—”
“Hangnail?”he suggested, then laughed.“I’m fine, bun.Truly, that was nothing.”
