Elijah was expecting a blow to the face because that was how the men fought in the boxing salon he regularly visited. He barely managed to keep to his feet, and the man was rounding about, ready for another charge.
In one lightning quick moment, Elijah calculated the rate of speed of his attacker and his relatively lower height, drew back his fist, and waited for the man’s chin to connect with it.
Over the sailor went, out cold.
The thunk that resounded through the night air was followed directly by an unmistakably official bellow. “Now what’s all this, what’s all this?”
“Ah…the watchman,” Villiers said softly.
Elijah turned his head. “You’re at my shoulder?”
Villiers shrugged. “He might have had a brother. How are you feeling?”
Elijah waited a split second, shook himself, and started grinning. “Stupendous. Where’s Jemma?”
“Fool,” Villiers muttered, stepping forward.
The duke made an imposing figure. A plain domino would never do for Villiers, of course. His was of black velvet with a border of pale lilac. His silver cane looked exactly like the sword stick it was. The crowd stopped chattering when they saw him.
He prodded the fallen man with the tip of his boot.
“Drunk,” he announced.
The watchman frowned. “I was informed there was a fight and I think I heard…” His voice died out.
The cold look in Villiers’s eyes could have graced the devil himself. “You must have been mistaken.” He looked around at the bystanders. “He was mistaken, wasn’t he?”
Vauxhall might attract those of different backgrounds, but it wasn’t limited to the stupid. “Drunk as a sailor,” the burly woman in the front said promptly. “Only person drunker would be my old da, and he ain’t here tonight.”
“Humph,” the watchman said.
“I suppose someone must drag him away to sleep it off,” Villiers said, sighing. “For your trouble.” There was a gentle click, the kind made by guineas passing from one hand to another.
“Now, now!” the watchman shouted briskly. “No need to stand about gawking at this unfortunate inebriate.”
Jemma was standing to the side, still giggling.
“You are a reckless wench,” Elijah said, taking her hands.
“I’m not,” she protested, but her eyes were alight with laughter.
“You enticed that man to kiss you.”
“If I wanted to make you jealous,” she said with a delicious pout, “I could do far better than that.”
“Yes?” He pulled her mask over her head.
“Villiers is here.”
“I saw him.”
“I could—” She broke off in a little grunt. “What are you doing?”
Without further ado, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. “Going where I can chastise my errant wife.”
There was an enthusiastic shout behind him. “That’s the way, square toes! Keep the missus in line!”
Elijah turned. “I shall, thank you…Villiers!” he called.
“You couldn’t be an acquaintance of mine,” Villiers said. “Are you the local dockworker?”
“The Marquise de Perthuis is here somewhere, unless she’s fallen into a drunken stupor. Will you escort her to her house? I must take my wife home.”
Villiers bowed and disappeared.
“That’s the sauce!” someone shouted. “Give her a bit of the home remedy and she won’t be flirting with the first jackanapes she sees!”
Jemma was laughing helplessly. Her hair had fallen around her face and she couldn’t see anything. “Elijah,” she gasped.
“In a moment,” he said politely, walking off.
“I had too much Champagne to be in this position,” she said a second later.