Marrying Winterborne (The Ravenels #2) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,111

grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. Helen staggered slightly from the weight of the child, slight though Charity was.

The man kept his meaty hand on Helen’s shoulder. He was stout and round-faced, his thick skin textured like an orange peel. Hair of an indeterminate color straggled out from beneath a shiny oilskin cap.

He stared at Helen, his beady eyes widening in fascination. “The face of an angel,” he breathed, and licked his small, narrow lips. There were black gaps between his teeth, like the sharps and flats of a piano keyboard. “I’d like a leg over yer, I would.” Helen tried to pull back from him, and his hand tightened. “Yer not going nowheres, my fine bit o’ fluff—bugger!” He let out a scream as a hickory cane whistled through the air and struck the joint of his wrist with a sickening crack.

Helen backed away quickly as the length of hickory whistled again, walloping the side of the man’s head. A sharp jab with the tip of the cane sank into his stomach, and he bent over with a groan. Deftly flipping the cane, Dr. Gibson smashed the curved handle between her opponent’s legs and yanked it back as if it were a hook. The man dropped to the ground, curling up as tightly as an overcooked shrimp. The entire procedure had taken no more than five or six seconds.

Without pausing, Dr. Gibson turned to confront the other man, who had lunged forward. Before he reached her, however, someone had seized him from behind and spun him around.

The stranger displayed extraordinary agility, dodging to the side with fluid ease as the thug swung at him. He moved in with an effortlessly fast and brutal combination: a jab, right cross, left uppercut, and a full force blow with his right. The ruffian collapsed to the street beside his companion.

Helen whispered to the petrified child, who was whimpering against her neck. “It’s all right. It’s over.”

Dr. Gibson viewed the stranger warily, lowering the tip of her cane to the ground.

He returned her gaze implacably, adjusting the brim of his hat. “Are you unharmed, ladies?”

“Quite,” Dr. Gibson said crisply. “We thank you for your assistance, although I had the situation under control.”

Helen had the impression that the other woman was annoyed at having been deprived of the chance to demolish the second ruffian as thoroughly as she had the first.

“Obviously you could have managed on your own,” the stranger said as he approached. He was a well-dressed young man, slightly taller than average, and extraordinarily fit. “But when I saw two women being harassed, I thought it only civilized to lend a hand.”

He had an unusual accent, in that it was difficult to place. Most accents were so specific that one could easily discern what area they were from, sometimes even pinpoint the county. As he drew closer, Helen saw that he was very good-looking, with blue eyes and dark brown hair, and strong features.

“What are you doing in this area?” Dr. Gibson asked suspiciously.

“I’m on my way to meet a friend at a tavern.”

“What is the name of it?”

“The Grapes,” came his easy reply. His gaze moved to Helen and the child in her arms. “It’s not safe here,” he said gently, “and night is falling fast. May I hail a hansom for you?”

Dr. Gibson replied before Helen was able. “Thank you, but we don’t need assistance.”

“I’ll stay at a distance,” he conceded, “but I’m going to keep an eye on you until you’re safely in a cab.”

“Suit yourself,” Dr. Gibson said crisply. “My lady, shall we go?”

Helen hesitated and spoke to the stranger. “Will you tell us your name, sir, so that we may know to whom we owe our gratitude?”

He met her gaze, and his face softened slightly.

“Forgive me, my lady, but I would rather not.”

She smiled at him. “I understand.”

He lifted his hat off his forehead in a respectful gesture, the outer corners of his eyes crinkling as they walked away. Helen beamed, remembering West’s warning about strangers and heroes in disguise. Wait until she told him about this.

“No smiling,” Dr. Gibson reminded Helen.

“But he helped us,” she protested.

“It’s not help when one doesn’t need it.”

When they had nearly reached the main road, Dr. Gibson threw a quick glance over her shoulder. “He’s following us at a distance,” she said, annoyed.

“Like a guardian angel,” Helen said.

Dr. Gibson snorted. “Did you see the way he felled that thug? His fists were as quick as thought. Like a professional fighter.