Free His Mistress by Morning by Elizabeth Boyle Page B

like Quince had said, she felt a power within herself that she’d never suspected she possessed, but here it was, rising up inside her like a torch blazing to life in the darkness.
    Words, thoughts, deeds that no Mayfair miss, no shy spinster would ever consider, let alone utter, came to her lips, along with the nerve and daring to match them.
    “Over my dead body, you bastard,” she said, spitting at him and trying to wrench herself free.
    But while Lottie might have been able to handle the likes of Lyman with the nerve of a fishwife, Charlotte was no match for this bounder.
    He reeled back from her, his face contorted with rage. “A whore in the bedroom and a whore on the street, as I see it.” And then he struck her.
    She felt, more than saw, the blow. It sent her reeling backward, and she toppled over, her head clipping the curb, an explosion of sparks lighting her vision as she struggled to stay conscious.
    For a moment Lyman leered over her and she thought he meant to boot her completely into the gutter. But just as suddenly, the man flew up and backward.
    “How dare you,” came the black words from her rescuer.
    Charlotte’s lashes fluttered open. Lord Trent .
    Strong and tall, he held the smaller man in the air, his feet swinging.
    “How dare you!” Lyman seethed. “You’re no better than that strumpet.”
    Trent replied by smashing his fist into the man’s face. “If you ever dare to speak to Mrs. Townsend again, if you even whisper her name, I will thrash every last bit of life out of you, you miserable little cur.”
    She didn’t know what was more shocking—the cold, deadly intent in Lord Trent’s voice or the fact that he looked ready to kill the other man in front of half the ton on her account.
    “Leave him be,” she said. “’T’isn’t worth the gossip.” She nodded in both directions, where all the traffic had come to a halt and nearly every curtain on the square was parted with a pair of eyes watching the row.
    So instead of giving the man the accounting he deserved, the viscount hoisted Lord Lyman up and heaved him into his carriage, where he landed with his head down, his legs pedaling helplessly in the air.
    “I’ll kill you for this,” Lyman choked out as he struggled to right himself.
    “You’ll try,” Sebastian scoffed.
    “My seconds will call tomorrow,” Lyman sputtered as he climbed shakily into the driver’s seat of his expensive phaeton.
    “If you can find anyone who considers your honor worth standing up for.” Sebastian tipped his head and clucked at the restless pair, sending them dancing out into the traffic at a fast clip.
    Lyman barely remained in his seat, and his hapless tiger could do nothing more than cling precariously to the back.
    Lord Trent turned immediately to Charlotte, closing the distance between them in an instant and catching her up in his arms. “Good God, Lottie! Are you hurt? That bastard didn’t harm you, did he?”
    Charlotte found herself folded up against Sebastian’s chest, warm in his embrace, surrounded by his solid strength.
    She inhaled deeply, caught by the fresh scent of bay rum and that masculine air that had bedeviled her senses earlier. His hands roamed over her, not as they had before, but carefully and gently. “That bastard,” Sebastian repeated, holding her out at arm’s length and giving her a worried once-over. “If he ruffled one hair on your head, I swear I will—”
    Charlotte gazed into his eyes, awe unfolding in her heart at the depth of his concern for her. The ringing in her head, the pain on her forehead was nothing compared to this.
    He loved her .
    She knew it without even hearing the words from hislips. She’d always wondered what it would be like to have a man look at her, to see in his eyes the admiration and affection that sprang freely from his heart.
    And here it was. Staring back at her. Lord Trent loved her. Just as she’d wished, just as she’d always dreamed, just as she’d desired. Not