Page 2 of Only Earl in the World (Taming of the Dukes)

She grinned back, baring her teeth in a deranged snarl.

Briar didn’t care—her hands were just as capable in men’s or women’s gloves.

She flung the sides of her cloak to the side, displaying the weapons belt beneath, her cocked and loaded pistol tucked into its holster on one side, and a very sharp epee on the other.

A small brace of daggers sat in a girdle at her waist.

“Still want to play, little toads?” she taunted, and without waiting for an answer, threw one of the daggers at the accomplice on the right. The sharp blade caught him in the shoulder, and he stumbled back into the wall with an agonized howl.

Briar didn’t hesitate; she charged forward, ducking the clumsy swing of the primary assailant, before smashing him in the temple with the butt of her weapon.

He slumped down and went out like a light.

A muffled curse alerted her to the attack from behind as the first man she’d wounded rushed her, pure humiliated rage on his face.

Briar sideswiped him and then pointed the muzzle right at his head with the utmost confidence.

“I didn’t blow your brains out, so leave while I’m feeling generous,” she hissed, seeing him gulp as the stench of urine filled the air.

He’d pissed his pants in fear. “But first, I’m going to need my dagger back, if you please. ”

“Who are you?” he yelped as she leaned forward to pluck the blade from his flesh with her free hand, a grimace wrinkling her nose.

She’d stitched up many a wound, seen more blood in these filthy back streets of Seven Dials than any lady could imagine, and the sight of the blood-darkened blade still turned her stomach.

She wiped it on his already gin-stained coat.

“No one to you, now bugger off before I change my mind,” she said, watching as he turned and bolted, leaving his unconscious friend on the ground.

“Well, that’s that then,” she said, uncocking the gun and replacing it in the holster.

Briar didn’t know if the man was going to come back with any more of his friends to teach her a lesson or some such.

She wouldn’t put it past him, even though she’d let him go.

Male pride was a fragile devil of a thing.

A low, rich chuckle met her ears.

Oh, hell .

Briar straightened and froze at the sight of a figure leaning against a guttering lamppost across from the mouth of the alley, arms folded over his chest. The onlooker wasn’t drunk, nor was he loud.

He was dressed in an elegant suit of dark clothing, and he only watched her like a hawk, head tilted to one side as she approached with each step from the alley.

Was he one of the many pimps who frequented this part of town?

Who preyed on desperate women and girls?

But the gentleman tipped his chin up, the light bleeding onto the auburn waves and the sharp angle of a much-too-handsome face beneath his top-hat as Briar let out an unladylike oath.

Damn and blast her terrible luck. She’d have much preferred if it’d been a pimp.

Or more thieves. A dozen of them, in fact! But no.

Of course, it had to be him .

Jasper Lyndhurst, the useless Earl of Lushing. Her unwanted soldier of the bodyguard, nemesis, partner, and an excruciating pain in her goddamned arse.

“Bloody hell,” she swore.

An impish smirk curled one corner of a pair of much too full lips as the vainglorious redhead tutted. “Sweetbriar, is that you?” he drawled. “I couldn’t quite see your face in the alley, but that blade-sharp, vicious tongue of yours…well, it’s a dead giveaway.”

She ground her molars together at the nickname. “That’s not my name, you brainless oaf, and clearly, you know it’s me.”

“Do you prefer Thorny then? Poison Ivy? I am also partial to Prickles.”

“None of them because you know my name is Briar,” she spat, ignoring the jolt of alarm at the second suggestion—it was much too close to a certain secret nom de plume.

“What are you doing here? Were you standing there observing the whole time? Did you not think to help when I was trapped by two deuced meaters who could have killed me?”

Perhaps she was being a tad histrionic, but who cared?

The earl pushed off the post and rolled his wide shoulders. “But you did not need my assistance, did you? It looked like you were doing just fine.”

He closed the distance between them and loomed over her, but she stood her ground, keeping her face neutral.

Like her, he was dressed in black trousers, a dark waistcoat and coat.

A scent of warm leather, cedar, and the crisp night air clung to him, doing aggravating things to her insides that she should not think about.

Would not think about. She was an engaged woman now, after all.

The trifling flirtations over the past few years would have to stop.

“It was quite a show actually,” he said. “I enjoyed watching you in action. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t have let anything happen to a single pretty curl on this head.” He reached out for a loosened spiral that hung below her chin and tugged playfully on it.

“Glad to entertain,” she said drily, her neck going hot for no good reason as she yanked her head out of his reach, wincing at the tight pull of her hair that was followed by an unspeakable burst of pleasure that struck out of nowhere.

Her lungs went on hiatus, leaving her unable to take in a full sip of air for a breathless minute.

Gracious, what would it feel like if he had grasped a handful of the mass in his fist and tightened those long fingers? While he situated her on her knees from behind … The ensuing visions, ones of arched spines and gasping breaths, thrusting hips and sweat-dampened skin, were shockingly visceral.

Briar blinked at the scandalous images and sucked in a bracing breath as her temperature spiked. Goodness, was she catching a chill? It was unseasonably cold this evening.

Yes, that was it. Not the fact that she was imagining the utterly intolerable Earl of Lushing pulling her hair in a manner that was decidedly inappropriate and having fantasies that were better saved for use as inspiration elsewhere.

Briar was no stranger to erotic scenes, considering she invented them for a living.

Filing her imaginings away for later, she made the mistake of meeting his gaze, breath hitching anew at the knowing she saw reflected there…

as if he could see right through her to the truth of her ribald thoughts.

With a hiss of irritation, she pressed a gloved fist over her ch est, noting the moment that hooded gaze dropped to the motion, and her breath fizzling when his gaze roved over her bosom, garbed in snug men’s clothing.

Something that looked too much like desire flashed in those limpid blue eyes.

Though she had to be mistaken. Perhaps it was disapproval.

Because they loathed each other. Everyone knew it.

They could barely go any time at all without snapping or getting into a quarrel.

He was the splinter lodged beneath her skin and the perpetual thorn in her side.

They were like cats and dogs, oil and water, chalk and cheese.

He was a profligate. He was obnoxious. He was a controlling know-it-all.

And yet, he was someone she would trust with her life.

As well as the lives of others…

Briar exhaled a silent sigh. They weren’t friends, nor were they each other’s intimate tastes.

She categorically did not fancy much-too-handsome redheads with eyes like the deepest ocean and a lush bedroom baritone that should be illegal.

She liked calm, boring gentlemen with good manners and quiet dispositions like Viscount Sackley.

He was safe , and he would not get in her way.

Briar required a husband she could manage .

And God alone knew that Lushing was utterly unmanageable.

Besides, the earl had no interest in her…

at least not if his usual choice of companions was anything to go by.

Jasper Lyndhurst was currently courting a woman who was Briar’s complete opposite—meek, quiet, sweet.

The flaxen-haired, bright-eyed Lady Penelope Adler was the perfect high society rose.

She would make Lushing an impeccable bride.

Strange th at the idea of him belonging to somebody was not one she’d ever considered.

A fist clenched around Briar’s gut, for no good reason.

She scowled. The earl’s matrimonial plans were no business of hers.

Indeed, it was truly a wonder that she and Lushing worked so well together, despite their volatile temperaments.

Then again, Briar suspected she was one of the few people who ever got a glimpse of the real man behind all the many, many masks he loved to wear, and even those sightings were rare.

In that regard, Lady Penelope was perfect for him.

She would never dig deeper than he allowed, never incite him to anger or passion, never take up any more space than he was willing to give.

The similarity of their comparable prospects did not escape Briar’s notice.

Predictable. Easy. Uncomplicated.

Dull .

The thought of her own future husband inexplicably set her teeth on edge before she shook her head hard.

Uninspiring and governable were what she wanted.

Sackley was who she needed. Not a man who constantly had her on her toes because he found it diverting to goad her to distraction.

Or follow her like an annoying Peeping Tom.

“Don’t you have your own precious damsel to worry about? Stop pestering me,” she groused over her shoulder to the earl. “Can’t you leave me alone?”

Enigmatic dark blue eyes caught hers, a hint of ferocity flashing in them. “Good thing you’re no damsel, and no, Sweetbriar, I cannot.”