A less optimistic man might have declared the night a complete disaster. The fact that he had exited Frost’s town house unscathed warranted a small amount of rejoicing.
He supposed he had Regan to thank for his good health. If the lady had demanded his head, Frost would have gladly fetched his sword.
Dare braced his boot against the empty bench and tried to get comfortable as the coachman drove him to Nox. Despite the late hour, the lower club rooms would be filled and perhaps the private rooms as well. He was not concerned about finding a bed. Berus would prepare a room for him. If Dare desired, the steward could procure one of Madame Venna’s girls to soothe his bruised pride, and to provide a distraction for the remaining hours of the night.
Dare intended to climb into bed alone. He did not want another woman, not when his body still ached from the hours he had dallied with Regan in his bed. The intoxicating musk of their lovemaking lingered on his skin and in his nostrils. Just as he had marked her delicate flesh, she had returned the favor. His left shoulder bore evidence of her sharp teeth, and his back was crisscrossed with long scratches made by her fingernails, the result of several powerful releases Dare had managed to wring from her body.
No, another female would not do. Nor did he want to sully the memory of his time with Regan. This evening, she had come to his bedchamber needing him as much as he needed her.
Not enough to marry her, his mind whispered, adding to his guilt.
Frost was within his rights to toss his arse out of the town house.
Had Regan been willing to risk her reputation to get him to come up to scratch? She had told Frost that she had intended to seduce Dare, and had written her goals in a damn diary. Had she been telling the truth, or had she lied to protect him from her brother’s wrath?
Dare ordered the coachman to halt as he recognized his surroundings. Nox was not far, and there was enough activity on the streets that he was not worried about footpads. He left his belongings in the coach. Berus would send someone to collect them later. The coachman gave him a wave of farewell, and Dare continued down the dimly lit street toward the club.
He had almost reached the property when someone tackled him from behind. Dare’s gloved palms took the brunt of the impact as he fell on all fours. An unseen boot stomped his lower back, forcing him flat on the dirt and gravel.
“Watch him!”
The gruff warning came too late. Dare rolled over and kicked out at his unknown assailants. He grunted with satisfaction as the bottom of his boot connected with the soft belly of one of his attackers. The man staggered backward and gagged. There were three of them, Dare counted as his leg swept under the tallest member of the trio. He reached down to pull the man up.
These ruffians had chosen the wrong gentleman to rob. Dare punched the man in the face. He pulled his elbow back to deliver another punishing blow.
“ ’It ’im, Willy,” the stout gent with the soft belly shouted.
Dare turned to address the third man, but he was not quick enough. He saw stars as the blunt wooden club struck him just behind his left ear. Dare dropped his quarry and fell to his knees. He shook his head to fight off a wave of dizziness. If he lost consciousness, his attackers might slit his throat and leave him for the watch to find.
He was roughly grabbed from behind, his arms pinned at his back. Dare used the back of his head to connect with his captor’s chin. The man howled in pain but did not release him.
“Quit dawdling and get down to business,” the one holding Dare hissed. “Ye ’ave friends who want to send ye a message.”
The shadowy stout figure approached him with something in his hand. “Hold him tight, Briggs,” the man said, swinging his wooden club forcefully into Dare’s gut three times in rapid succession.
A low sound of pain burst from his lips along with most of the air in his lungs. He would have collapsed if the man behind him had not held him up.
“Again. Just in case our man’s ears are stuffed with dirt.” The man holding Dare gave his pinned arms a vicious twist.
Dare bared his teeth and braced for the pain. He groaned as the wooden club struck him in the groin, and again in the thigh. His eyes watered as the pain shot up and down his spine.
The tall brute grabbed Dare by his hair and yanked hard to get his attention. “And this one is from me.” The man’s fist felt like a hammer as it smashed into Dare’s jaw.
He felt as if his eyeballs were bouncing within his skull like dice. Dare struggled as he watched the stout man pull out a knife. With a sudden burst of strength, he threw himself backward, using his captor as a fulcrum, and kicked both men hard enough to send them sprawling. The man holding him could not manage the extra weight. Dare landed hard on his arse. Crawling forward, he seized the wooden club and brought the weapon down on the stout man’s kneecap.
The footman screamed and clutched his wounded leg.
“Not so tough are you … when the odds aren’t in your favor,” Dare said, his breath coming out in short puffs. He spat the blood from his mouth. “I usually try to refrain … from violence. For you gents, I’ll make an exception.”
“Run!” the man at his back shouted before he disappeared into the night.
The other two scrambled to their feet and ran off in opposite directions. The need to avenge himself clawed at his chest. However, Dare was in no condition to fight anyone. With his hand splayed over his stomach, he limped toward Nox.
* * *
“I refuse to believe Frost sent those ruffians after you.”
Dare opened one eye and looked at Vane. He was pacing at the end of the bed. His unexpected arrival and battered appearance had caused quite a stir at the club. Shouting orders, Berus and a footman half carried Dare up the stairs and placed him in a bed. Hunter had dashed off to wake up a surgeon while Vane and Saint had searched the area for the three men who had attacked him.
“I did not say that Frost was responsible,” Dare mumbled, almost too weary to speak. “Just that he was furious enough to do it.”
No one had asked him why Frost was furious with him, which made him wonder if his friends had noticed his growing fascination with Regan.
The surgeon had inspected his injuries and proclaimed to the relief of everyone that nothing had been broken. Dare was going to be sporting some very colorful bruises for a few weeks, which was nothing unusual as far as he was concerned. The surgeon had given him some laudanum for the discomfort, and ordered several days of bed rest.
“Nah,” Hunter drawled from one of the chairs in the bedchamber. “If Frost wanted to see you hurt, he would have delivered the message himself.”
“I agree.” Dare glanced up at the steward, who was hovering nearby. “Berus … my apologies for keeping you from your duties.”
The steward leaned over and tucked the sheet into the bed. “No need to apologize, Lord Hugh. It has always been my pleasure to look after the Lords of Vice. I just wish we could have caught those ruffians.”
Dare silently concurred. Trouble at Nox usually started in the gaming hell, not outside it. “This was not a random robbery. Someone ordered them to watch the club.”
Saint stirred from his slouched stance against the wall. “Perhaps it was a message to any member of Nox? Someone angry with the Lords of Vice?”
Vane snorted. “The list would be endless.”
“Did one of the ruffians call you by name?”
“No.” Dare winced as he tried to sit high on the small mountain of pillows Berus had provided. “They just delivered their message.”
“You might not have been their intended quarry,” Hunter mused aloud. “Saint, I heard that you and Lord Turley almost came to blows the other night.”
“It wasn’t Turley,” Saint said flatly.
Vane’s brows lifted as his curiosity got the better of him. “How can you be so certain? After all, you and Lord Turley share a mutual interest in—”
“Do not bore us with your ignorance, Vane,” Saint said, talking over the earl. “I may not like the man, but I can assure you that Turley had nothing to do with this ambush.”
“How do you know?” Vane persisted.
Saint sighed. “Because Turley is quite aware that we would retaliate, and it would not end well for him. It isn’t Turley.”
“There is another possibility,” Dare interjected before Vane could ask another question. “I was the man those hired ruffians were waiting to ambush.”
Hunter leaned forward in the chair. “Who else have you annoyed lately?”
“My brother.”