Derek cursed and stood. And swayed.

 Grant exhaled loudly. Men as big as Derek presented a hazard when drunk. Without asking, Grant grabbed Derek’s shoulder and half-tossed, half-supported him out of the tavern and into a hackney.

 “I left with you,” Derek began as the horses’ hooves clacked along the street, “now tell me what Lydia wanted.”

 “Money.”

 He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why does that not surprise me?”

 Grant wanted—needed—to tell Derek about his recent decision. He needed to tell him that he was tired of being chained to Derek’s estates. While Grant was making certain Derek didn’t lose everything, he himself had lost four years.

 Grant was done.

 But Derek looked exhausted, beaten, worse than Grant had ever seen him. Christ, he hated to see his brother like this. It wasn’t in his nature to kick someone when he was down. Yet when wasn’t Derek down?

 When they arrived at the town house, Grant helped Derek, still insisting he was “not bloody drunk,” to his room. Grant stood in the doorway, alternately amused and cringing as Derek wrestled off his boots. When Derek finally lay on the counterpane, Grant found a blanket and tossed it to him. “Good night, Derek. We’ll figure this out in the morning.”

 As Grant shut the door, he heard Derek mumble, “Thanks. For the help.”

 Grant opened his mouth to answer “Anytime,” but knew that was no longer true.

 Derek woke sometime during the night. His head pounded, seeming to throb in unison with the ticking wall clock. He squinted at it. Three in the morning. Hung over, and it wasn’t even dawn.

 He rose in stages and lurched to the washstand. Splashing cool water on his face didn’t help his head. Derek knew of only one thing that would. He started toward his study to find a bottle there, but hesitated. He didn’t want Grant to wake up and see that he couldn’t make it through the night without a drink. Especially not after Grant had had to peel him out of the Mermaid.

 But he didn’t want to stay here. He told himself it was just because he didn’t sleep well off the ship. But the truth was, he didn’t sleep well there either. Except for last night. His eyes opened a touch wider. He’d return to the ship to sleep, but on the way there he’d stop at the Mermaid, take one last look for the girl, and a drink for the road. Hell, he’d pay the girl simply to sleep on his ship again.

 His plan set, he orchestrated dressing so that he didn’t have to move quickly or lean over too far. As he walked out the front door, the thought of how much he’d enjoyed the night before made his steps brisk.

 But in the back of his mind, he felt foolish for going back out. For using the girl as an excuse to go get a drink, or for using the drink as an excuse to go get the girl.

 A sense of foreboding settled over him. Yet he continued, ignoring his conviction that the night would most likely not improve.

 The bloody night did not improve.

 Derek’s only warning that he was about to be rushed was Jason Lassiter bellowing, “I’m going to kill you, Sutherland!” He whirled around and stumbled, effectively ducking under Lassiter’s meaty fist.

 The bastard had blindsided him!

 Lassiter roared and swung again, narrowly missing Derek’s averted chin.

 When Lassiter yanked off his coat, the crowd in the Mermaid retreated evenly. “What were you thinking when you kept her for the night?”

 So this was about the girl.

 “You must’ve known I’d kill you for it!”

 Not that they needed an excuse to fight.

 Lassiter lunged for Derek, who barely sidestepped him. If the bastard wanted a dirty fight, he’d oblige. He drew back and kidney-punched Lassiter before he could turn.

 His hands clenched at the thought of Lassiter obviously being more than a little involved with the girl. From the look of him, you’d think he really cared about her. The thought filled him with rage. Of all the men in the world she could choose as a bloody protector, why Lassiter? He decided then that he wanted to provoke the older man, wanted to fight him.

 When Lassiter whirled around, Derek said, “I’m sure whoever she is, she isn’t worth the trip down here.”

 Lassiter’s face twisted in fury “I’m going to tear you apart!”

 “Looking forward to your attempt.”

 When Lassiter launched another swing, Derek ducked and jabbed, landing a pounding blow to Lassiter’s chest.

 The man’s hands flew to his chest and he wheezed frantically, but Derek knew he’d only bought time with a man that big.

 This shouldn’t even be a contest. But he’d never fought an opponent so livid. Although it didn’t overly concern Derek, that rage could give Lassiter added strength and deaden his pain. It would be a good fight. He welcomed it.

 And it was due.

 Lassiter shook his head forcefully, as if to shake the hit away, then raised his fists once more.

 Derek ignored the circle of screaming patrons crowding around them in a frenzy and focused on dodging Lassiter’s colossal swings. He succeeded twice. The third smashed into his face. Derek fingered the trickle of blood trailing down his cheek.

 Then he smiled.

 Wagers flew as everyone cheered wildly for the two captains, rivals for years, to finally battle it out.

 “You can’t be serious!” Nicole shrieked, having shot up from lying over her desk and now fully awake. “What do you mean, Father’s in jail?”

 “Got thrown in,” Chancey supplied by way of explanation. “Wouldn’t o’ woke ye, but he don’t have enough blunt in the till to cover bail.” He frowned. “Don’t have any blunt.”

 Nicole shook her head. “I spent all my money on the trip here. But I can sell some things,” she added hopefully.

 “That’ll take time. I’ll go see what he wants to do.”

 “I’m going with you.”

 Chancey studied her, and he couldn’t mistake her resolve. After a moment he said with great reluctance, “If ye want to see him, get yerself dressed and meet me topside.”

 When he turned to go, she grabbed his arm, “Is he hurt?”

 “Nothin’ that won’t heal. Now, git.”

 Darting to her sea chest, she haphazardly dragged on clothes. She was making a hasty attempt at knotting her hair when she met Chancey on deck.

 Nicole had been certain there would be a fight. She’d been terrified that Sutherland would be provoked to hurt her father, all because of her.

 She’d never imagined jail.

 Nicole followed Chancey blindly into the waning night, still unrecovered from her shock. They moved swiftly, and not many minutes later they arrived at the local constabulary. When she walked through the beveled double doors and into the entrance hall, the sun was just rising.

 The inside was not dank and cobweb-ridden as she’d envisioned, and for that she was glad. In fact, the russet shutters outside were open to the sun’s indifferent reach, and dawn streaked in to light the little dust in the air. The wooden floors were pitted but clean. All the same, she wouldn’t have cared if this were a manor house. It was depressing to think of her father being kept here.

 She pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin, preparing to face him with a cheery demeanor. Then she turned the corner, and her face fell.

 Instead of her father, she locked eyes with Sutherland.

 “Do you want to press charges, milord?”

 Derek was undecided. A part of him argued that the fight had been fair, and if he’d been released simply because of his title, then Lassiter should be free to go also.

 Then he recalled how they’d gotten to this place. When the watchmen finally dragged him and Lassiter apart and out of the tavern, Derek had said, “You’ll want to release me now—I’m the Earl of Stanhope.” The officers had looked at him with wide, alarmed eyes. They hadn’t exactly been gentle with their two prisoners.

 “It’s true,” Lassiter had spoken up, surprising Derek, until he added, “and I’m the president of the United States.”

 Derek had ignored him and turned to the closest watchman. “I am Derek Sutherland, sixth earl of Stanhope. You are aware of what would happen to you if you jail me.”

 “I can’t believe you’re pulling the ‘earl’ stunt again.”

 Derek only smiled at Lassiter. “Perhaps I’ll go and see to our mutual friend while you’re engaged with the constable.”

 Immediately, Lassiter had shut up and remained silent during the time it took to convince all involved that Derek was, in fact, an earl. Suddenly the officers weren’t concerned about a raging public fight that destroyed the tavern that housed it. They were outraged that an American had attacked a member of the nobility on English soil.

 Now the constable wanted him to make a decision. Derek wanted to teach the cur a lesson, but

 At the sound of voices in the anteroom, he turned slowly and, he could admit, with some pain. He dimmed a look of disbelief when the reason for the fight tumbled into the hall, followed by a behemoth of a man right at her heels.

 Her hair was falling out of its loose knot atop her head, and her cheeks were pinkened. Obviously she’d just dressed and raced down here. She was the type of woman, he thought unexpectedly, who looked beautiful when she first awoke.

 She took in a sharp little breath when she saw him standing next to the constable, but aside from her slight hesitation, there was no semblance of acknowledgment. She nodded to the man with her, who stayed behind as she walked right past Derek to go to Lassiter. The rejection was like a punch in the gut, only this bothered him much worse than the blows he’d sustained earlier in the night. In her mind, he didn’t warrant even a backward glance. So much for saving her.