STILL baked from the day’s heat, the ground was warm beneath his cheek. Or perhaps he had lain in that spot for hours and his own body heat had warmed the ground, he didn’t know. These thoughts went through Nicholas’ mind when he came to and opened his eyes.

He next called himself a fool, ten kinds of a fool. Gentleman that he was, he had simply stepped out of his carriage, never dreaming he would be attacked even before his foot touched the ground.

He spat dirt out of his mouth. They had apparently left him lying where he’d fallen. Careful movement told him his hands were tied behind his back, and nearly numb besides. Famous. With sharp stabs shooting though his head, he would be lucky if he could get to his knees, let alone his feet. If they had left him his carriage, he wouldn’t be able to drive it without the use of his hands. Had they left the carriage?

Twisting his head agonizingly to the side, Nicholas saw one of the carriage wheels—and a pair of boots beside it.

“You’re still here?” he asked incredulously.

“An‘ where would I be goin’, mate?”

“Back to your den of thieves, I assume,” Nicholas answered.

The fellow laughed. What the devil did this mean? Wasn’t this just a common robbery, then? He thought of Malory again, but try as he might, he couldn’t conceive of the fellow hiring someone to rough him up.

“Have I been unconscious long?” Nicholas asked. His head throbbed.

“A good hour, mate, ter be sure.”

“Then would you mind telling me what the bloody hell you’re waiting for?” Nicholas growled. “Rob me and be about your business!”

Again the fellow laughed. “Did that, mate, right off. Wasn’t told I couldn’t, so I did. But me business is right ‘ere, seein’ ye stay put.”

Nicholas tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness toppled him. He cursed, trying again.

“Steady, mate. Don’t be tryin‘ no tricks now, or I’ll ’ave ter let yer ‘ave another taste o’ me cudgel.”

Nicholas sat up, his knees bent to support his chest. Deep breathing helped. He finally got a look at the slovenly creature. He wasn’t impressed. If he could just get to his feet, he would make short work of the fellow even with his hands tied.

“Be a good fellow and help me up, will you?”

“That’s funny, mate. Yer twice the size o‘ me. I weren’t born yesterdy.”

So much for that, Nicholas thought. “What have you done with my driver?”

“Dumped ‘im in an alley. Ye needn’t worry. ’E’ll wake up wi‘ a ’eadache, same as ye ‘ave, but he’ll be a’right.”

“Where are we?”

“I liked ye better when ye were asleep,” the footpad answered. “Too many questions.”

“You can at least tell me what we are doing here,” Nicholas asked impatiently.

“Yer sittin‘ in the middle o’ the road, and I’m makin‘ sure ye stay there.”

“No, what you’re doing is making me angry!” Nicholas snapped.

“That worries me, mate,” the fellow snickered, “it surely do.”

With just a little leverage and effort, he could plow his head right into the ignominious bastard’s belly, Nicholas thought. But his planning was interrupted by the sound of another carriage approaching. Since the footpad was not making haste to leave the scene, Nicholas concluded uncomfortably that the carriage was expected. What bloody next? “Friends of yours?”

The fellow shook his head. “I told ye, mate, ye ask too many questions.”

The outside lamp on the approaching carriage illuminated the area and what Nicholas saw was naggingly familiar. Hyde Park? He rode the paths there every morning and knew them as well as the grounds of Silverley. Would they dare accost him so close to his home?

The carriage stopped twenty feet away, and the driver got down and brought the carriage lantern forward. Behind him two men left the carriage, but Nicholas could see only vague shapes because the light was thrust toward his own face. He tried to stand, but Pye’s cudgel pressed down on his shoulder warningly.

“A very pretty picture, eh, Connie?” he heard, and then, “Indeed, yes. All trussed up and awaiting your pleasure.”

Their laughter grated on Nicholas’ oversensitive nerves. He didn’t recognize the voices, but they were cultured accents. What enemies had he made recently among the fashionable set? Good God, dozens! All the past suitors of his bride-to-be.

“A splendid job, my good fellows.” A purse was tossed to the cudgel-wielder, and another to the short, stocky carriage driver. “Just light that lamp there for us, and then you may return the hired hack. We’ll make use of this carriage since his lordship won’t be needing it.”

The light moved out of his eyes and Nicholas got his first good look at the two men. Both were tall and bearded, both well dressed, the thinner man in a double-breasted redingote; the other one, with a huge beard, in a several-tiered Garrick coat. He saw dark trousers and well-polished boots. But who were they?

The broader man, slightly shorter than the other, sported an ivory-handled walking stick. That plus his bushy beard gave him a caricaturelike appearance. He was older than his companion, possibly in his early forties. He seemed vaguely familiar, but for the life of him, Nicholas couldn’t place either of them.

“Bring that other lamp over here before you go.”

Nicholas’ own carriage lamp was set on the back of the carriage, casting light on him, but leaving the two gentlemen in shadows. The driver and the thug left in the hired carriage.

“He looks confused, doesn’t he, Connie?” the younger man said when the carriage had rumbled away. “You don’t think he’s going to disappoint me by saying he doesn’t remember me?”

“Perhaps you should refresh his memory.”

“Perhaps I should jar it.”

The boot caught Nicholas on the jaw. He fell back on his bound arms, grunting in pain.

“Come, lad, sit up. That was barely a tap.”

Nicholas was hauled roughly to his feet by his bound wrists, wrenching his arms. He swayed for a moment, overcome by a wave of dizziness, but a heavy hand steadied him. Fortunately his jaw was already turning numb. He barely felt a twinge when he parted his lips. “If we are supposed to have met—”

The fist knocked the breath out of him as it slammed into his stomach. He doubled over, gasping for air that eluded him.

The hand that slipped beneath his chin to draw him back up was almost gentle. “Don’t disappoint me again, lad.” The voice was soft with warning. “Tell me you remember me.”

Nicholas flushed with impotent anger as he stared at the man. He was only a few inches shorter than Nicholas. The light brown hair was long and tied back with a ribbon, though shorter, blonder locks fell over his ears. The beard was the same light brown shade as the hair. When he moved his head to the side to study Nicholas, a flash of gold appeared at his ear. An earring? Impossible. The only men who wore earrings were… uneasiness began to replace his anger.

“Captain Hawke?”

“Very good, lad! I would hate to think you had forgotten me,” Hawke chuckled. “You see what the right prodding can do, Connie? And it was a darkened alley where we last met. I doubt the boy got a good look at me then.”

“He saw you well enough on the Maiden Anne.”

“But do I look the same on board ship? No. He’s a clever lad, that’s what. It was a matter of deduction, see? I doubt he has another enemy like me.”

“I hate to disappoint you,” Nicholas said wearily, “but you no longer have a monopoly on hating me.”

“No? Splendid! I wouldn’t like to think of you having too easy a time of it once I’m gone.”

“Then I shall live to see another day?” Nicholas asked.

Connie laughed. “He’s as arrogant as you are, Hawke, damned if he isn’t. I don’t think you frighten him at all. He’ll be spitting in your eye next.”

“I don’t think so,” Hawke replied coldly. “I might pluck out his own in that case. How d’you think he’d look wearing a patch like old Billings?”

“With that pretty face?” Connie snorted. “It would only enhance his superb looks. The ladies would love it.”

“Well, perhaps I should see to his face, then.”

Nicholas did not even see the blow. Fire exploded on his cheek, the impact staggering him. Connie was there to hold him up, however, and then the other cheek received the same powerful blow.

When his head cleared, Nicholas spat blood. His eyes glowed with a murderous light as he met the pirate captain’s stare.

“Are you angry enough now to fight me, lad?”

“You need only have asked,” Nicholas managed.

“You needed a bit of motivation. I’m here to even the score, not play with you. I demand a good showing, or we’ll only have to do this again.”

Nicholas snorted, though it hurt to make the effort. “Even the score? You forget who attacked whom on the open sea.”

“But that’s my trade, don’t you know.”

“Then how do you dare speak of revenge simply because you were bested?” Nicholas demanded. “Or do I have the honor of being the only man ever to come away with a whole ship after an encounter with the Maiden Anne?”

“Not at all,” Hawke said honestly. “We have limped into port before. I myself have received wounds in the heat of battle. Though I did not take kindly to having my son injured when you felled my main mast. But even that had to be accepted for having the boy on board. However, as one gentleman to another—”

“A gentleman pirate?” It was dangerous, but Nicholas had to say it.

“Sneer as you will, but you are clever enough to comprehend why we had to meet again.”

Nicholas nearly laughed. It was incredible. The pirate had attacked him first, intending to win the cargo Nicholas was carrying. Nicholas had won that sea battle. He supposed he shouldn’t have taunted Captain Hawke when he sailed away. That had been hitting below the belt. But, it had happened four years ago, and he’d been young and reckless, heady with victory. Still, those taunts were apparently what had goaded Hawke into evening the score. What gentleman could ignore an insult?

Gentleman! They had met in a darkened alley in Southampton after Nicholas returned to England, three years ago. He had been unable to see his assailant that night, though Hawke took pleasure in introducing himself. That encounter had been interrupted.

Then there’d been a letter, a letter, waiting for Nicholas when he returned from the West Indies last year, expressing regret that Hawke had been unable to renew their acquaintance when he was in London. The letter convinced Nicholas that he had made a terrible enemy.

Why, oh, why, was he so blessed as to have a scum of the earth thirsty for his blood?

“Cut him loose, Connie.”

Nicholas tensed. “Do I fight you both?”

“Come now,” Captain Hawke protested. “That would hardly be sporting, would it?”

“Bloody hell,” Nicholas growled. “Striking a defenseless man isn’t sporting.”

“Did I hurt you, lad? You must accept my apologies, but I thought you were made of sterner stuff. And you must understand, I feel justified after all the bother you’ve cost me waiting for this moment.”

“You will understand if I don’t agree?”

“Certainly,” Hawke replied with a mock bow.

Hawke removed his Garrick. He was dressed for easy movement in a flowing shirt tucked into his trousers. Nicholas was encumbered with cloak, coat, and waistcoat. He saw that he wouldn’t be given the opportunity to remove any of these as he watched the pirate flex his fingers impatiently.

Nicholas couldn’t stop the groan from escaping as his bonds were finally severed and his arms dropped painfully to his sides. There was no feeling in his fingers for several moments, and then too much feeling as the blood rushed into them. And he had assumed correctly. He was not given a moment’s grace to recover before the first staggering blow caught him under the chin. He landed hard.

“Come on, lad,” Hawke complained with a weary sigh. “We won’t be interrupted this time. Give me a good showing and I’ll call it quits.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you may not walk away from here.”

Nicholas took the warning. He threw off his cloak while he was on the ground and then propelled himself at the older man, catching him in the midsection and knocking them both to the ground. He followed with a hard right to Hawke’s jaw, but the impact so jarred his throbbing hand that he was the one who cried out in pain.

Nicholas gave it his best, but Hawke was relentless, and despite Nicholas’ injuries, Hawke was the more furious of the two. He was also heavier and more muscular. His hamlike fists were merciless on Nicholas’ already bruised face and body. The fight was a hard one for both, however, and as Nicholas lay bleeding in the dust, he knew the older man was hurting, too. Even so, Hawke could laugh.

“I must hand it to you, Montieth,” Captain Hawke panted. “You probably could have beaten me if you’d had a fresh start. I am satisfied now.”

Nicholas heard only some of it before he passed into blessed unconsciousness. Conrad Sharpe leaned over and shook him, but he didn’t stir.

“He’s out, Hawke. You have to take your hat off to the boy, though. For a pampered nabob, he lasted much longer than I would have expected. Conrad chuckled then. ”How does your own body feel now about settling scores?“

“Do be quiet, Connie. Hell and fire, the chap’s got a nasty right.”

“I noticed,” Conrad laughed.

Hawke sighed. “You know, under different circumstances I could almost like him. It’s a shame I had to come across him when he was such a sharp-tongued young pup.”

“Weren’t we all at that age?”

“Yes, I suppose we were. And we all must learn from it.” Hawke tried to straighten to his full height but groaned and doubled over. “Get me to a bed, Connie. I think I’ll need at least a week’s rest after this.”

“Was it worth it?”

“Yes, by God, it sure as hell was!”