They finished the whiskey with a tacit agreement to say nothing more about the dukedom, and turned to the car, cleaning and polishing it, Jamie lighting a lamp as darkness fell.
Their conversation centered on Daniel and Violet’s apparent success with this motorcar in the United States, but Jamie put only half his attention on the topic.
He realized that the other half was going over every word Evie had uttered since their encounter on the quay, every movement, every smile, every frown.
She is betrothed, Jamie told himself firmly, as Alec speculated on what design Daniel would tackle next. I should send her a wedding gift and be finished with her.
But thoughts of Evie lingered, no matter how much he tried to banish them.
When the motorcar gleamed to Jamie’s satisfaction, he and Alec put away all their tools and packed up the dirty rags to take to the laundry. Violet had trained them well.
Alec slung the laundry bag over his shoulder, offering to drop it off on his way back to Grosvenor Square, and Jamie did not protest. If a marquess wanted to visit the laundry, Jamie would let him.
They left the lock-up, carefully closing and engaging the padlocks. The wooden door appeared rickety, but in truth, it was solid and well reinforced, protecting Daniel and Violet’s precious motorcars.
The evening had darkened as they’d worked, and the street was inky, except for a light at the corner. More than enough darkness for the toughs who abruptly stepped out of the shadows and faced the two Mackenzie men.
Chapter 5
Jamie counted five of them. They were drunk, but just drunk enough to seek trouble instead of stumbling home to sleep it off.
“Evening, gentleman,” Jamie said. Alec dropped the laundry bag, folded his arms across his broad chest, and remained silent.
One of the toughs swaggered forward. They always had to swagger, Jamie reflected. The man’s thick body was hard with muscle, and the scars on his face attested to many previous fights.
“Gentlemen, eh?” The man glowered at Alec instead of Jamie. Because he thought the younger man an easier target? Fool if he did.
“Fine night for a walk,” Jamie went on amiably. “To a nearby pub? I’ll stand you a round, if you’d like.”
Usually when Jamie offered to buy a belligerent ruffian a pint, said ruffian softened and accepted. Jamie had made many friends this way, all over the world. The drink might be different in Samarkand or Argentina, but the sentiment was the same.
This man remained unmoved, his eyes glittering in the dim gaslight from the end of the street. “Won’t be seen in a pub with a man in a skirt. A Scotsman.” A sneer pulled at his face. “Go back north, where you came from, why don’t you?”
Alec rumbled in his throat, the sound of a growling bear. The tough turned the sneer on him.
“Like an animal, ain’t ye? A pig most like. Go suckle your Scottish pig mum’s teat.”
“Ah,” Jamie said, the humor never leaving his voice. “I don’t think ye should have said that.”
“I don’t give a—”
The man managed to grate out those four words before Alec became an inferno. Alec was a big lad, with the energy of generations of Mackenzie men eager to unleash the warrior within. He also was very protective of his mother, and any disparagement of Eleanor, even a generalization, ignited Alec’s fires.
Jamie stepped aside to enjoy the show.
The tough feinted back, momentary triumph on his face, as Alec attacked. He and his friends had been spoiling for a fight.
The triumph evaporated as Alec’s large fist landed on the tough’s jaw, sending him reeling. The other four thugs, seeing their leader in peril, dove in to save him.
Alec spun and punched, kicked, and hammered at his assailants. They seemed to have forgotten about Jamie, who watched, entertained, as Alec pummeled all five men with tornado-like moves.
Alec’s father, along with Uncle Mac, used words to smooth their way through life—Ian didn’t speak much, but he always managed to make his point. Uncle Cam, on the other hand, relied more on his fists than conversation. Jamie and the Mackenzie cousins had learned well from Hart, Mac, and Ian, but Alec took after Uncle Cam more than the rest of them did.
Jamie saw Uncle Cam’s teachings as Alec held his own against the pack, managing to gradually thin them out. Two quit the fight abruptly, one with a hand on his bleeding cheek, the other cradling a wrist.
Alec continued to punish the remaining three ruffians, his golden eyes alight, fists flying, the rebellious Jacobite in him rising to the surface.
Jamie let Alec enjoy himself without interfering until the thug’s leader pulled out a long-bladed knife.
Jamie launched himself from the shadows and wrapped a strong arm around the man’s throat. “No, you don’t, lad.”
The thug gasped, swiping at Alec then Jamie with the knife, until Jamie twisted the blade from the man’s hand. The tough fought for breath, his thick body relaxing as Jamie’s chokehold rendered him unconscious.
The remaining two thugs hovered, debating whether to help their leader or run for it. Alec spun to them, opening his arms.
“Come on, lads,” he announced. “I’ve got more in me. What about you?”
The toughs glanced from confident Alec, poised to attack, to Jamie lowering the first tough’s body to the ground and tucking the knife into his own pocket.
They ran. The sound of their thick boots disappeared into the mists, at the same time the whistle of a constable floated their way.
“Time to go, I think.” Jamie grabbed the laundry bag and then Alec, who’d been about to charge after the last two, and hauled him away.
Once they’d rounded the corner, blending in with the crowd on Baker Street, Alec jerked himself from Jamie’s hold.
“I was doing fine,” he growled.
“You were about to get your belly sliced open. You have the Mackenzie berserker in you, true, but that doesn’t help ye when your guts are spilling out all over the pavement.”
Alec dragged in a long breath. “Suppose. Thanks.”
“Oh, such grudging gratitude for saving your life, or at least bits of your skin. Where are you off to now?”
Alec took the laundry bag from him. “As I said, drop this off, then home.”
“No, you don’t,” Jamie said sternly. “Look at yourself. Your eye is puffing up and you’re bleeding all over your clothes.” Scarlet droplets dotted the fine white shirt and cravat that peeped over the top of Alec’s black coat. “Your mum won’t be too happy with that.”
Alec glanced down at himself and examined his torn and ruined gloves, his scraped knuckles peeping through the fine leather.
He shrugged. “I’ll pop into the Langham and clean up in Uncle Cam’s rooms. They won’t mind—”
“No,” Jamie said hurriedly.
Alec blinked at the abrupt answer. “Why not?”
Damnation. If Jamie told Alec about Evie he’d never hear the end of it. Or, Alec would charge around and see Evie for himself, unable to control his curiosity about what lady his cousin was hiding.
“Spring cleaning,” Jamie extemporized. “I was around there myself before this. Everything’s a mess in Uncle Cam’s suite.”
Alec’s Mackenzie-golden eyes narrowed. “Spring cleaning, my eye. What are you on about?”