It was at times like these where Charlie cursed the whole of the ton. They seemed to have gone blind entirely as they continued their dances and conversations. For a society that valued a woman's unblemished reputation, they were awfully lax when they wanted to be.
Thank heavens, Charlie thought, she was not another such person. She could, and had, been caring for herself all along.
She waited until Lord Simpton had secluded them in the far right corner, another large shrubbery shielding them in deep shadows before she twisted on her heel. Charlie made to skirt around him, ready to outmaneuver him. His arm shot out, gripping her around the waist. Charlie felt like a doll on a carousel, her body twisted this way and that, disorienting her.
"You're quick, my dear," Simpton laughed, his body backing her steadily towards the wall of the townhome. "But you don't have the strength that I do."
"No, I don't," Charlie muttered, her eyes judging the distance to the doorway. Simpton smiled, a look of satisfaction pulling his lips back from his teeth. She leaned in, as if she had had a change of heart. Her lips spoke close to his ear. "But I do have the element of surprise."
Her arm pulled back, and Charlie thrust the heel of her hand upwards.
A crack sounded. He bent over, a moan of pain leaking past his thin lips.
He looked up in shock, blood pouring from between his fingers. The shot of red against his pale skin in the low light of the moon filled her with satisfaction.
Lord Simpton's eyes came up, crashing against hers. The wind whistled in her ears, tickling the hair on her neck. A tinkle of laughter broke over them, the ballroom oblivious to the splotches of blood staining the merriment.
That was when he lunged.
The meager sliver of distance evaporated quickly. She found herself shoved back, the hard coolness of the stones digging into her bare shoulder blades.
A hand landed on her thigh, clenching tightly to her skirts. She heard the rip at the same moment a breeze brushed her ankle. The contrast of it against the hot, heavy breath on her neck, the weight of Lord Simpton's body pressing against hers from the waist had her gaping in shock. The truth of his intentions caused her body to jolt, her struggles increasing.
She heard her whispered, "no," the panic in her voice followed by a surge of anger.
That same helpless feeling her uncle had inspired in her the day before struck her, but she refused to give in to it. Charlie shoved him back. Hard. The strength of her anger causing him to stumble back, loosening his grip.
It was the opening she had been hoping for. Bringing up her knee, Charlie threw her entire weight into the movement, prepared to rid this man of his balls. Sophie will be so proud, she thought silently, triumphantly.
She never got the chance.
Her knee met air, and she stumbled, her split skirts twisting around her right calf. Lord Simpton had been thrown off her, him and the mysterious newcomer with broad shoulders being swallowed in darkness on the far side of the balcony.
Charlie heard the scuffle. Rough grunts, the scraping of cloth. A crack. A soft thud.
Then silence.
Charlie looked to where the two bodies had gone, wondering if she would meet friend or foe.
What if she had escaped one pursuer only to find herself under attack by another?
Her uncle, she didn't doubt, was capable of anything. She had seen and heard for herself what lengths he was willing to go to for her inheritance, his delight in her future being under his command, like the rest of the ton who he kept within his pockets.
She had underestimated her uncle, but no longer.
Charlie refused.
Steeling her spine, Charlie braced herself, trying to regulate her breathing.
If only she could breathe...
His shadow separated from the darkness so quickly, Charlie reacted in much the same manner as she had been seconds before.
With her fist.
Charlie connected with the man's face, his muffled curse meeting her ears as he stumbled back.
The stranger was tall. Taller than Lord Simpton. The highest she could strike had been his chin. And it was made of steel, Charlie thought, cursing in pain.
She clutched her fist protectively with her left, forgetting her fear of moments ago. Charlie glared daggers at the man's head. They did little good, however, as the man was currently cursing her entire gender, cupping his chin as if it were broken.
"Bloody hell, woman," the man growled. "Is this how you thank every gentleman who comes to your aid?"
Charlie stepped closer to the man, cradling her hand. "How was I to know if you were friend or foe when you were skulking about in the dark, headed for my person?" She thought the man flinched, but she continued, unheeded. "Are you mad?"
The man laughed, a bitter sound that grated her skin. "I believe it is you, my lady, who is mad. You have not once, but twice, attacked my person?"
Charlie laughed in disbelief, her voice rising. "And how the devil did I manage to do so twice? I don't know nor care who-"
She broke off as they both walked to the middle of the balcony, Charlie with the rising fury of one challenged, and he, as a slow moving predator lying in wait. They came to stand toe-to-toe, Charlie's head having to tip back to meet his eyes. That was when she recognized him. The deep color of his hair as it teased alongside his hard jaw, the sparking gray of his eyes. The way his brow arched in inquiry.
It was only confirmed when her eyes dropped to his stained waistcoat, the blotch appearing black in the dim light.
Lord Greyson, the Earl of Claymore.
Fear was erased completely by her rising temper - compounded further in her embarrassment in being caught in such a scene by any man, but particularly this man.
Righteous anger filled her. She had hardly attacked him in any matter, Charlie thought. How was she to stop the earlier trajectory of her tart, or stop the bloody big oaf of a man from backing into her and then seeking to help only for his waistcoat to meet its untimely fate with her treat? Yes, Charlie urged, it was his own fault. Just like her having swung at him. The man should have known Charlie would be leery of any lurking gentleman on the darkened balcony.
"I was hardly skulking," Claymore said, breaking into her thoughts. "I saved your life, my lady. Instead of being bombarded with your fists, I believe I deserve an abject thank you for my efforts."
She scoffed aloud, welcoming the heat of battle. "What gentleman does not announce himself when confronting a lady he means no harm to befall? Perhaps you were an even worse gentleman, and what lady deserves to be subjected to numerous attentions of men in one horribly trying evening?"
They studied each other in silence. Charlie had had enough of men. Had had enough of everything. She was left exhausted.
Deflating, Charlie broke eye contact first. "I thank you for your efforts in my behalf even if i didn't have need of them. "
It happened to be the wrong thing to say. Claymore bristled. She had no idea a man could bristle, but that's what came to mind.
He leaned close, some unidentifiable emotion in his eyes. It couldn't be that he held himself to blame.
Could it?
"You are lucky that no lasting harm has come to you. If i had been a second later..."
Charlie lifted a brow. "It would have ended the same. Lord Simpton in pain, and myself untouched."
The way he stared at her made her feel as if she had something in her teeth. Mayhap some touch of the preposterous about her.
One brow crept high on his forehead.
It was becoming a characteristic, Charlie noted. A rather lordly one, as if he questioned her sanity.
"Is that so?"
"I had the situation handled," Charlie said. When he failed to be dutifully impressed, Charlie crossed her arms across her chest. " In fact, one could say your interference let Lord Simpton off rather easy."
"Unbelievable."
Charlie leaned over to see around Claymore's massive shape at the prone body of her attacker. Satisfied the man was of no immediate concern, she faced Claymore, lifting her chin. "Whereas your method left the man temporarily unconscious, I was about to deliver my own, a method that would have permanently effected the man's ability to conceive. Which would be a great service to humanity, truth be told."
She watched in fascination as Claymore's heavy brow rose higher and higher upon his forehead. His hand came up almost reflexively, probing his bruised jaw. "It appears I lucked out then with my punishment." He winced as if in sympathy, glancing at Lord Simpton's unconscious body behind them. "Duly noted. Remind me never to provoke you, my lady."
Charlie smiled. "Wise words for a man who is doing a rather poor job of it."
His answering grin stretched widely across his face, transforming his harsh features into the charming gentleman she had met.  It caused the same reaction in her that it had earlier in the evening. Her chest got tight. Her pulse thrummed in her neck. And Charlie's eyes fell to his lower lip.
It was as if all the adrenaline from her struggle with Lord Simpton, her disappointment in not locating blackmail on her uncle, followed by the test of wills twice with the same man had coalesced into something else entirely. Something that her holding her breath in anticipation.
Waiting.
Charlie wondered what would have happened if this man was the one to have waylaid her, asking her for a dance. If he were the one to shepherd her into the shadows of the balcony. Perhaps this man would have been the one to push her against the cool bricks, hemming her body with his masculine scent wrapped around her, his body warming hers from chest to thigh.
Would his hand have landed on her ankle, entrapping the fine bones in his grip? Would he have trailed his fingertips over the curve of her calf only for them to clasp her inner thigh?
Or would he be bolder yet and go higher?
She shivered.
Claymore noticed, his eyes banked embers, that smoked a trail from the tips of her ears to the dip of her collarbone. The entrancing shape of her hips.
Clearing her throat, Charlie said, "While I thank you for your assistance, Lord Claymore, I believe, now the moment has passed, that I should be getting back to the ballroom."
His eyebrow, that telling gesture of his, quirked.
"You seem to have the advantage of me, my lady," he murmured, his voice a husky caress on her skin. "It seems you know of me, while I have yet to know of you."
Claymore's words were punctuated with a look that spoke of another kind of knowing. One that seized Charlie's breath. Those damned eyes of his noticed the gesture, his eyes flickering with what could only be described as a thunderbolt. She wanted to look above her, at the clear, starry night, to make sure she hadn't actually heard the resounding clap of it.
He moved a step closer, smooth and sure.
Charlie found herself falling back further into the shadows, chills racing down her spine at the enticing aroma of the chase. She was simply a woman. He, a man.
"Charlotte? Are you out here?"
Her head tilted, realizing the distinctly feminine voice was not the one of the man before her. As her gaze shifted, she could make out the long, drawn shape of a woman standing in the entrance to the balcony. She found herself pushed back against the wall and Claymore's voice in her ear.
Charlie would have told him there was nothing to fear for she had finally registered the voice of her friend, Sophie, through the haze that had clouded her senses. But then, she became distracted having looked in the direction where Lord Simpton's body still lay. She wondered how long the man would be unconscious for - and what the devil to do with him- when Claymore waded in once more as her ill begotten knight in shining armor.
For Sophie had come further onto the balcony to investigate, drifting far enough in the other direction that she tripped on Lord Simpton's leg. One moment Claymore was standing in front of Charlie, shielding her, and the next he had caught Sophie.
Charlie came running towards them, stopping next to Lord Simpton's sleeping body. She took in Claymore's wary expression, and Sophie, lying in his arms on the ground, grinning like a loon up at the Earl.
Sophie glanced from Claymore, up to Charlie, and back again, taking in their disheveled clothing and scuffed skin, and finally landing on Claymore's bruised jaw. "This looks like a story I want to hear."