And then the fists went flying.
A feral rage gripping him, Daniel ignored his wound as he sank his fist into a soft belly. The man released a grunt of gin-soaked breath. As Daniel drew back for another, the man clipped his cheek. It ripped open, the man’s hand breaking the already damaged skin and causing Daniel to see stars as his head snapped back.
The man followed his punch with another to Daniel’s gut and he doubled over.
The combined forces of rage, pain, and fear propelled him to straighten up. He landed another punch before the man barreled into him and they flew to the ground.
One eye was swelling shut and the pain from his knife wound near blinding, Daniel never saw the punch to his jaw. It landed just before Robbie dove over and yanked the man off of him.
Groaning, Daniel ignored their scuffle, his hand going to his stomach, blood soaking his fingers. “Christ.”
There was a ruckus of feet stomping, and Robbie was back at his side. His thick mop of hair stood straight up as if someone had yanked it in different directions, but otherwise, he looked as he always looked. Large as a bear and just as formidable.
A welcome sight for sore eyes.
“You all right?”
No, he was not all right. Every bone in his body ached, his head throbbed, and he was bleeding like a leaking barrel of ale. But he nodded. “Brett?”
Brett staggered over and seeing Daniel’s state, he shrugged off his redingote, knelt and pressed it to Daniel’s side. “Christ, he had a blade?”
Brett had a bloody lip, and one of his eyes was half closed, but he was still another good sight. “Did they get away?” Daniel managed to ask.
“They wouldn’t have.” Robbie grunted. “But they ran like the cowards they were, rather than stay and fight it out. Should I have followed them?”
“No time. We need to get him to a doctor,” Brett answered.
“Right. Where?” Robbie said.
“Are you asking me?” Brett snarled. “The ones I know are in Boston. A bit too far to carry him.”
“It’s not deep, just a scratch,” Daniel murmured as Brett doubled in his vision. “Just get me back to my room.”
Both of Robbie’s heads swam in Daniel’s blurry eyesight, their expressions looking dubious. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Because it’s a bad one,” Brett said. “He needs a doctor. Where is the nearest hospital? Get a hackney coach.”
“No, no hospitals. I don’t trust them,” Daniel panted.
“The earl is in residence. Let’s take him there,” Robbie suggested. “He’ll get him seen faster than anyone. Our peerage comes with benefits.”
“Glad to know they are good for something,” Brett muttered. “Hail a hackney.”
“No. Absolutely not . . . no,” Daniel protested feebly, blinking to clear his sight. Black spots danced before his eyes. He thought he recognized the constellation Orion, his large belt dazzling.
“Quiet,” Brett snapped. “You are outvoted. What’s his address?”
Daniel blinked at Brett, seeing his mouth move, but not understanding.
“Fortunately for you, I am sure your hackney drivers know the residences of your exalted peers. Cheer up, for there will not be any balcony scaling to reach your Juliet. We are delivering you right to her doorstep. No woman can resist a weak, wounded man. She’ll have to say yes to you. That is if you don’t bleed to death.”
“I heard that.” His response was barely a whisper. “Keaton House, Mayfair.”
“Your Juliet will thank you,” Brett said. “And you can thank me later.”
Juliet. Daniel smiled. Wherefore art thou. Something nagged him about the name . . . Robbie hefted him into his arms and he groaned, searing pain gripping him, erasing all other thoughts. He searched for Orion’s belt, but his world went black.
Chapter Sixteen
JULIA was settled in the library, curled up with a book, when the loud clanking of their brass doorknocker followed by a thunderous pounding shattered the silence. She jumped, and then wondered at the late hour. When the noise came again, the raps in rapid succession, she tossed down her book. She had given up on sleep a long time ago, plagued with memories of Edmund overlapping with those of Daniel. She welcomed the distraction from the Bryant twins. Her book was failing her.
She belted her robe securely and scooped up her candle. Emerging from the library and heading along the front foyer, she caught up with Emily and her father descending the stairs. The noise must have wakened her father, and Emily had always been a light sleeper.
“What in God’s name? What is the time? It’s the wee hours of the morning. Doesn’t this cursed city ever sleep?” Taunton grumbled.