A Regency Lady's Scandal. Кэрол Мортимер

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      ‘Dominic, why—?’

      ‘Not now, please, Caro,’ he cut in as he sat broodingly across from her inside the lamp-lit coach.

      Not that the lamp was really necessary, dawn having long broken, and the sun starting to appear above the rooftops and chimneys of London, by the time they had delivered Nathaniel safely to his home. The two of them had remained long enough to see him settled in his bedchamber and attended by several of his servants before taking their leave.

      Caro had given a horrified gasp earlier when she’d ventured from Drew’s office and entered the main salon of the club to see a group of men standing around Lord Thorne as he lay stretched out upon one of the couches, with blood covering much of his face and hands and dripping unchecked on to his elegant clothing.

      Not that Dominic had spared any time on the pallor of her cheeks or her stricken expression as he’d turned and seen her standing there. ‘Someone take her away from here!’ he had ordered as Caro stood there, simply too shocked to move.

      ‘Dom—’

      ‘Stay calm, Nate.’ His voice softened as he spoke soothingly to the injured man, some of that softness remaining in his face as he turned back to Caro. ‘It really would be better for all concerned if you left, Caro.’

      ‘I’ll take her back to my office,’ Drew offered before striding across the room to take a firm hold of her arm and practically drag her from the room.

      She barely heard the older man’s comforting words as he escorted her to his office before instructing Ben to remain on guard outside the door. Caro had paced the office for well over an hour whilst the two men obviously dealt with the bloody—and Caro sincerely hoped not too seriously injured—Nathaniel Thorne.

      Dominic had grimly avoided answering any of her questions when he’d finally arrived to escort her home. Caro had gasped in surprise as he had thrown his cloak over her head just as she was about to step outside. ‘What are you doing?’

      He had easily arrested her struggles to free herself. ‘Continue walking to the coach,’ he had instructed.

      Caro had thrown that cloak back impatiently as soon as she’d entered the carriage, any thought of further protest at Dominic’s rough handling of her dying in her throat as she saw Lord Thorne reclining upon the bench seat opposite, the dressings wrapped about both his hands seeming to indicate that he had received the attentions of a doctor since she had seen him last. His face had been cleansed of the blood, revealing his many cuts and bruises, injuries that could surely only have been inflicted by fists and knives.

      Caro felt herself quiver now as she remembered the full extent of those numerous gashes and bruises, and the imagined violence behind them. ‘How—?’

      ‘I am in no mood to discuss this further tonight,’ Dominic rasped, the attack on Nathaniel having been a brutal awakening, a timely reminder that there was no place for a vulnerable woman like Caro in his world.

      Sea-green eyes gazed back at him reproachfully. ‘But why would someone do such a thing to Lord Thorne?’

      ‘I should have realised that asking you for silence, even for a few minutes, was an impossibility.’ Dominic sighed heavily. ‘The simple answer to your question is that I do not know. Yet,’ he added grimly. But he had every intention of discovering who was responsible for the attack on Nathaniel and why.

      Caro flinched. ‘He appeared to be badly injured …’

      Dominic nodded curtly. ‘He was beaten. Severely. Repeatedly. By four thugs wielding knives as well as their fists.’ He knew more than most how strong a fighter Nathaniel was, but the odds of four against one, especially as they had possessed weapons, had not been in his friend’s favour.

      She gasped as her suspicions were confirmed, one of her hands rising to the slenderness of her throat. ‘But why?’ She appeared totally bewildered.

      Nathaniel had remained conscious long enough to explain that he had been set upon the moment he’d stepped outside the club earlier, the wounds on his hands caused both from the blows he had managed to land upon his attackers, and defensively as he’d held those hands up in front of him to stop the worst of the knife cuts upon his face. Once he’d fallen to the ground, he had not stood a chance against the odds, as he was kicked repeatedly until one of those blows had caught him on the side of the head. After which he knew no more until he awoke to stagger back inside the club and ask for help.

      Considering those odds of four against one, Dominic was sure that if murder had been the intention, then Nathaniel would now be dead. Also, his purse had still been in his pocket when he’d regained consciousness, the diamond pin also in place at his throat, so robbery was not the motive, either. From that Dominic could only surmise that the thugs had achieved what they had set out to do, and that the attack had been a warning of some kind.

      But a warning to whom exactly … ?

      The words of caution Gabriel had given Dominic before he’d left Venice, in regard to Nicholas Brown, the previous owner of Nick’s, had immediately come to mind. Dominic was well aware of the other man’s violent reputation; while publicly Brown behaved the gentleman, privately he was known to be vicious and vindictive, his associates mostly of the shady underworld of London’s slums. Also, the other man had been most seriously displeased to lose Nick’s in that wager to Dominic.

      No, the more thought he gave to the situation—when Caro allowed him the time to think about it, that was—the more convinced he became that Nicholas Brown was somehow involved. That tonight’s attack might not been meant for Nathaniel at all …

      Dominic had left for Venice only days after winning the wager that had cost Brown his gambling club, only returning back to London two days ago, a fact that would no doubt have reached the other man’s ears as early as yesterday. As such, it would have been all too easy for the four thugs lying in wait outside the club to have assumed that the gentleman leaving alone, long after the last patron had left, with his face hidden by both the darkness and the hat upon his head, was Dominic himself.

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