were both split, and the area around his left eye was swelling. The bruiser handled him ungently, his expression unimpressed as Bartlett spluttered outrage.
There was a story here, but it would have to wait a little longer. Henry couldn’t risk Skelton leaving before he’d spoken to him and left him in no doubt of the danger he was in if he ever so much as looked at Kit again. But when Henry glanced Skelton’s way, it was to see that the other bruiser was already hauling that sorry specimen to his feet with the same disregard for comfort that his colleague had shown Bartlett, and was pushing him towards Sharp.
Henry strode towards them.
“Mr. Sharp, I presume?” he called out, and the dark-haired man glanced his way.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, your grace. That was quite a punch.” Plainly, he already knew who Henry was.
“Father?” Freddy exclaimed.
“Good evening, Frederick,” Henry replied coolly, inclining his head.
“What are you doing here?” Freddy said weakly.
“Punching my customers, it would seem,” Sharp said. “Is that an Avesbury family trait?” He raised a brow, and Freddy flushed.
Henry did not. “If you don’t want your customers punched, then don’t allow Lionel Skelton in the door,” he said tightly, adding in a lower voice, “the last time he was here he was using his own marked cards.”
Sharp’s gaze narrowed angrily at that, and he glanced at Skelton. “I think we need to have a talk, Mr. Skelton,” he said. His voice was not unpleasant, but there was a note in it that was somehow chilling. Skelton paled.
Sharp glanced at the bruiser who nodded and led the unprotesting man away.
Sharp turned to Bartlett then. He smiled, but his eyes were flat and dangerous. “As for you, Mr. Bartlett, I think it’s about time we discussed your account, don’t you? Join me for a glass of brandy in my office. Ackroyd here will show you the way. I'll be with you in just a few minutes.”
Bartlett went red with angry mortification, but he too was silent as the other bruiser escorted him from the room. Given his docility, he must owe Sharp a fortune.
Sharp turned to Henry, meeting his gaze. “Thank you for the information about Skelton,” he said. “I don’t tolerate cheats in my establishments—you can rest assured that I will deal with him. As for the other one, I’ll make sure he doesn’t come near Kit or his friend ever again.” His smile was tight. “He’s in considerable debt to me, and I can make his life extremely uncomfortable.”
Henry wasn’t sure what Bartlett's connection to Kit was, but he nodded, resolving to ask Kit later.
Sharp sighed. “I should have insisted on dealing with Bartlett myself. Kit’s got balls, to be sure, but not much by the way of muscle to back up his heroic tendencies.” He jerked his head in Kit’s direction. “So, are you planning to take him home, your grace? He’s not fit to find his own way back—if you can’t—”
“I’ll take him home,” Henry said firmly.
“Who’s Kit?” Freddy asked, then, looking in the direction of Henry’s gaze, said wonderingly, “wait, do you mean Mrs. Marsden’s brother?”
Mrs. Marsden? Wasn’t that Kit’s friend, Clara?
Sharp glanced between them. “I can see some explanations are required, however, I really do think Kit needs to be taken home without delay.”
Henry nodded.
“And he’ll need to be watched tonight,” Sharp said. “If you can’t stay with him, tell me now and I’ll—”
“I’ll stay with him,” Henry bit out.
Sharp looked faintly amused at his tone. “Very well.”
Henry felt himself flush. Trying to ignore the betraying heat, he turned to Freddy. “Can you help me get him out to the carriage?”
Freddy nodded, though his puzzled expression did not fade, indeed, it had changed now into something more wary.
“Good night, gentlemen,” Sharp said. “I’m sure all will be well by morning.”
Henry nodded his thanks then returned to Kit’s side, Freddy on his heels.
Kit now had his head leaning back against the wall, his eyes closed.
“Kit?” Henry said worriedly, crouching down again. “How are you?”
“Other than a headache and feeling like I’m about to cast up my accounts, I feel as fine as fivepence,” Kit mumbled without opening his eyes.
“Don’t worry,” Henry said. “We’ll get you home and into bed.”
“Hmmm,” Kit replied, eyes still closed. “Is that a promise?”
Henry’s face flamed. Christ, what must Freddy think? He couldn’t even bring himself to look. Instead he cleared his throat, becoming all business. “Let’s get you up then,” he said heartily. “Freddy, you take his right arm and