Chapter Two

H eath saw the blow coming and knew he deserved it. He hadn't believed that a woman, even a fiery Scotswoman, would dare mete out justice to England's worst aristocrats. And yet, two seasons ago, she'd been instrumental in the demise of that reprobate Mr. Carr. She hadn't wielded the weapon—that had been the work of the victim's cousin. But her name had been attached, and so she'd caught his attention.

A Scotswoman who lured men to their doom. That's what he'd been told, and a little bit of investigation had proved it true. They'd even given her a name: Lady Vengeance.

Over the past two Seasons, he'd heard tales from several men sporting bruises. One was chastised enough to pay back monies owed to an impoverished widow. Another was forced to confess a gambling problem to a father and was therefore no longer eligible as a prospective bridegroom. And most salacious of all, one man had admitted to having lost in a pugilistic match against the Scotswoman and was therefore forced to recover a pawned jewelry item that was owned by his sister.

That any woman had even attempted such a thing astounded him. That this Scotswoman had done all three left him in awe. Until he remembered that wild women usually came to a bitter end eventually.

He would be sad to see her final downfall, but such was the way of unrestrained souls, men or women alike. They ended up wretched. No woman, much less a Scottish debutante, could court disaster and not find it. He'd warned her guardian, her sponsor, and herself.

Obviously, she'd ignored him because she was once again punching peers with no thought to the consequences. And what a punch! She'd rung his bell, for sure, and appeared ready to strike him again.

"I allowed that first hit," he said, "because I deserved it. But I'll not tolerate another."

The woman froze with her fists ready, but then pulled back. "Thank you for your assistance," she bit out. "I believe it's time for me to leave."

Surprise, surprise, she did have some restraint.

"I agree," he said congenially, as he held out his arm. "May I escort you inside?"

"No." And when he stiffened at the insult, she quickly explained. "I made a big show of feeling ill and allowing Georgianna to escort me home. I cannot return to the ball now."

Deception. Of course. "Then how were you to get home?"

"I am not a useless English miss," she said. "I intend to walk."

Alone at night? "It's not safe. There are footpads everywhere."

She rolled her eyes. "I did not ask for your help, nor do I want it—"

"And yet you shall have it because I cannot leave you to perish from your own willfulness."

"I—"

He did not let her continue. "It was the height of folly to confront Lord Liddican alone."

"I wasn't—"

"Those girls weren't of any help, and you know it," he said.

He waited to hear her sputter of outrage, but it didn't come. She swallowed what she wanted to say and shrugged.

"I didn't ask for them to come. I've tried hard to not embroil anyone else." Her expression softened, and her voice took on an attractive Scottish lilt. "But it was brave of them. They're not used to taking risks."

"Brave of all of you," he conceded.

She looked out the garden toward the dark street. "I would likely be fine on my way home, but if you intend to escort me—"

"I do."

"Then I thank you."

She could be sensible. Good. He could be courtly. He smiled and held out his arm, but she didn't appear to notice. Her attention was on the unconscious Eddie.

"I also thank you for your help with him." She stepped closer to the man. For a moment, he thought she would kick him. But she did not—kicking a man while he was down did not seem to be in her nature. "He's still breathing," she said. "I suppose that's to the good."

"You cannot be associated with another murder."

"That's true." She dropped her hands on her hips. "When is this vote of yours? He must never see his wife and child again."

Ah yes, that. "Is he so bad?"

She turned to look him in the eye. "You have seen depravity, yes? Viciousness and—"

"Yes," he said. And from the look on her face, so had she.

"He is not the worst, but he will be. Give him a few years…" She ended her words on a sigh. One that he echoed.

"I will see that he never touches his wife and child again," he promised, though he had no idea if that were possible.

She pursed her lips, and he was momentarily distracted. She was a beautiful woman, especially when the torchlight colored her cheeks and set her auburn hair aflame.

"I swore to his wife that she would never have to see him again. She wants him out of London, but that won't stop his violent nature. It will just force other women to deal with his temper."

"Hmmm," he said, startled that she had thought that far ahead. He certainly hadn't.

She shook her head. "She didn't care either."

"But you do?"

She threw up her hands in a gesture of disgust. "I do, but there is little I can do about it. I cannot save the world, only my corner of it."

How odd. That was a sentiment he had voiced before. Then she abruptly stopped and turned to face him.

"Don't you want your hat or coat or something?"

"Would you wait for me if I said yes?"

She appeared to think about the idea, but then shook her head. "It is dangerous to stay still. Best if I keep moving home."

"Then it is a good thing that I have decided to forgo my outerwear. I shall return later for it, explaining that I caught Lord Liddican assaulting a poor maid and laid him out flat. I then escorted the quivering gel home."

She snorted. "I'm hardly quivering. And it was my blow that laid him out."

"Perhaps. But I shall claim it anyway. It will save your reputation."

She nodded. "Kind of you."

He couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or not. Whatever her mood, she gestured to a hedge. "My home is that way." Then she hiked up her skirt and jumped over it.

It was a planned move, made all the more obvious when she turned back to him with a smirk. "It is only a few blocks. I can go on if you—"

Her words were cut off as he jumped the hedge as easily as she had. Or rather, he pretended to. He had considerably more bulk and landed heavily beside her.

"I haven't done that since I was a boy," he mused.

"Jumped a hedge?"

"Landing next to a pretty girl."

She arched her brows. "Did she run away screaming?"

"She was quite flattered."

Miss Allen snorted. "Of course she was. You will find, Lord Heath, that it takes a bit more to impress a Scotswoman."

He nodded. "I shall keep that in mind if I ever want to impress one."

It was a mild jab as far as insults went. He expected her to stiffen at the affront. Instead, she chuckled, her mood softening as they began to walk toward her home.

"I know I am prickly, my lord, but I am grateful for your assistance tonight. I needed the ladies' help to escape the ballroom. I didn't expect them to show up with penknives and pebbles."

"That could have gone very badly." He kept his tone light, hoping that a softer touch would make headway with her.

"I will be clearer in the future. They are not to help me."

Damn, the woman obviously planned to continue with her folly. "What would you have done if he had attacked?"

"He did attack!" she shot back. "But I am good with my fists, and I have healthy lungs. If nothing else, I could have screamed and people would have come running."

False confidence. "Did you know that he always carries a knife? That he could have gutted you before you drew breath?" Heath didn't usually speak so bluntly with ladies, but she seemed to prefer it.

To his surprise, she didn't speak. There was no bravado or acknowledgment.

"Miss Allen—" he began.

"Have you seen the bruises left when a woman is choked? Or heard a child cry because her shoulder was wrenched by her father?"

He swallowed. "As bad as that?"

"His wife limps now. He did it so she couldn't outrun him."

"Words no doubt spoken in anger. Eddie has a temper."

She turned to face him. "That makes it better?"

"No," he admitted. "That makes it worse. Perhaps I should put him into debtor's prison, but I fear it will make him meaner."

She shook her head as they turned a corner. "I do not understand any soul who has food and power, and yet expends it on hurting others. They are vile creatures without reason or compassion."

There was more to her words than she said aloud. She probably knew someone like that and had suffered at his hands.

"Did you become Lady Vengeance in Scotland?" he asked. "To fight against someone?"

She stared at him. "The English ladies gave me that ridiculous name. I simply do what I can."

Doubtful. No woman became the fighter she was without cause, but he wouldn't press it. Instead, he shifted her to his other side to protect her from a large pile of rubbish. The smell was bad, but the potential for a footpad was worse.

"Does the countess know of your activities?"

Miss Allen snorted. "The Dowager Countess of Byrning? The woman is too old and too privileged to believe anyone would disobey her dictates."

"She is your sponsor. These activities will destroy your chances of finding a husband and hurt her in the process."

The lady sighed. "Her task is doomed. I am already too notorious to marry, even if I weren't Scottish."

"Don't be ridiculous. You are handsome and adequately dowered. There will be a man who wants you."

She actually laughed at that, then turned to face him. "Really? Would you marry me?"

She didn't seem serious, and yet, he was put in the awkward position of answering. "Miss Allen—"

"Go on," she chided. And when he didn't, she had the nerve to poke him in his sternum. "Say it. Say that I am not an acceptable woman for you."

"You are a completely acceptable woman!" he shot back. "Provided you cease trying to discipline the men of the world."

"So you would marry me?"

Did she want him to insult her? "You are aware, perhaps, that I am a widower?"

She jolted. "I was not. I am sorry."

"Thank you. Barbara died in childbirth with my second daughter." He felt the usual squeeze in his heart at the memory. "I have two beautiful daughters now, aged three and five. And where I might consider you an excellent bride—"

"Provided I behave," she said.

"I must also consider them. They need a mother, but she must be a very special woman to love them as they deserve."

"And to teach them proper etiquette?"

"Of course."

"Which I do not know."

He snorted. "You are too smart to not know, Miss Allen. You disregard the rules because you think you can." He faced her directly. "You cannot. This Lady Vengeance thing will end badly for you."

He thought her expression shifted then. Was there a flash of rueful acceptance? If so, it was quickly covered.

"So I am a bad choice to be the mother of your two daughters."

He winced, but it was the truth. "Miss Allen—"

"I agree," she abruptly said. "If you want quiet, docile girls who obey men without question, then I would be a terrible person to have in their lives."

He stiffened. "My daughters will be stronger than that. They have me to guide them."

"And you know all. You know how young girls think, what they need, and how to get them to obey. You are an impressive man."

He huffed rather than answer her directly. She had, of course, hit the nail on the head. There were things he could not teach his children. Female things. Which is why he was looking for a bride.

"I shall speak plainly. I do not believe you and I suit, but there are plenty of others who will find you exciting." Were he younger and without children, he would be one of them.

She chuckled, and he realized that she had been testing him.

"I agree, Lord Heath. We do not suit. Nevertheless, I commend you for thinking your girls need a mother, and I can see you are well on your way to making them very English."

She sounded as if that were a bad thing. He might have been annoyed, but she was right. He found her too Scottish in her belief that she could live outside the normal rules.

So he laughed, and the amused sound surprised them both. "I see we understand each other," he said.

"I suppose we do," she said. "Who takes care of the girls now?"

"I do," he said. "I have a sister who loves to give advice, but she lives far north, almost in Scotland. I employ a nurse who is with them now. But a hired woman is no substitute for a mother." He looked to the left where the strains of music could be heard from someone's ballroom. "I intended to find a wife this Season but have been unimpressed with the current crop."

"I am insulted on behalf of several of this year's girls."

He cast her a sideways glance. Truth be told, of every woman on the market, she was the one who intrigued him most. "I do implore you, Miss Allen. Stop being Lady Vengeance."

"Not until Lady Liddican and her daughter are safe."

He nodded. "You need not worry about Eddie anymore. I shall see—"

"I do not trust the word of any man, Lord Heath. Even yours."

He should be grateful that she added those last two words. It wasn't exactly respect, but she'd put him in a better category than Liddican.

"We are not all villains."

"But how am I, a sad, feeble-minded woman, to tell the one from the other?"

She was mocking him, but he would have none of it. "You are not feeble-minded, and it serves no point to pretend with me." His words were sharp, but before she could react to his tone, he modified his statement. "Nevertheless, you have a point. You have no way to trust that I will do as I promise."

"On the contrary," she said. "Your reputation is well known to me."

"Is it?" What had she heard?

"You are known as a man of your word among women."

He wasn't aware that he'd had many dealings with women, except for those in Prinny's circle. His official job was to manage royal warrants or marks, deciding who was allowed to put the royal stamp of approval on things like whiskey or furs. But he also stepped in unofficially when the prince became petulant.

"How exactly will you force Liddican's reformation?" she pressed.

"I do have some sway over the man. I bought out his debts. I knew his father. And, best of all, Prinny has taken an interest in the way he votes. Between the three, I may moderate his behavior."

"That wasn't a ruse? You really bought out all his debt?"

He shook his head. "Not even I have that much blunt. But there are others who did, and they did so on the condition that I would see to his vote."

"So we are in the same boat. Together, we are beholden to others to curtail him."

"Not we. Me—"

She turned and set her hand on his chest. She wasn't a small woman, but she was slender compared to him. And yet, with the heat of her palm burning through his coat, he froze at her earnest expression.

"You are a kind man, Lord Heath. You are a good father, and you might even be an honest man."

"Stop," he drawled. "I shall blush."

"But you are not someone I trust to finish my task."

Of course not. "Miss Allen, you are a na?ve girl with good intentions, but you court disaster."

She grinned as if he'd complimented her. "Disaster and I are old friends. I already know I will lose everything." She shrugged. "But this is London. What need has a Scotswoman to live here?"

He shook his head. "Then why are you here?"

"Because the head of my clan gave me three Seasons and a dowry. And he found my sponsor in the Dowager Duchess of Byrning. If I do not marry in that time, he will give me the money to live however I can."

"A single woman—"

"With coin."

He sighed. He knew the size of her dowry. It wasn't enough for what she wanted to do, even if she hadn't depleted it in the last two seasons.

"It is not enough," he said.

"I will make it work. And if you press the topic further, I shall punch you. Again."

He believed her. Odd how that thought made him smile.