“Yer mum’s been boastin’, telling all and sundry, anyone what’ll listen, about yer little shop ’ere. That ’n’ yer introduction to the nobs.” He smirked as his sneering gaze traveled the length of her, what little bit of her there was. Oh, how she wanted to smack that odious expression right off his face. “Says ’er little gel is gonna marry a lord. Wot she’s been sayin’ got back to me, it did. And I started thinkin’ yer my little gel, too. Since ye ’ave such a posh life, I reckon ye can spare a bit of blunt fer yer father. Fifty quid tonight should do it. Ye wouldn’t want me showin’ up at one of your posh balls, would ye? Introducing meself around?”

At least he seemed to recognize that he was not someone with whom anyone would take pride in being associated. But surely it was all a bluff. How would he even know where she was going to be? And no servant in his right mind would allow someone so grubby to be allowed into the home of an aristocrat. “You’re mad if you think I’ll give you so much as a ha’penny.”

“Ah, gel, don’t be like ’at.” His hand came up fast, before she could react, tightening around her jaw, lifting her head, threatening her ability to breathe because his foul stench was causing her to gag to the point of retching. “Don’t force me to teach ye manners like I did yer mum. Ain’t pleasant schoolin—”

“Get your bloody hands off her.”

The growled words were feral, frightening, even to her. Dibble reacted instantly, snapping his head back in surprise, his eyes going wide, his grip loosening as he lurched around—

Matthew pounded a tightly balled fist into Dibble’s face that caused blood to spurt from his nose as he staggered back and landed hard on the floor. Matthew was nearly a blur as he straddled the prone man, grabbed a handful of his shirt, lifted him slightly, and hit him again. Dibble grunted. Another blow and he went limp.

Breathing harshly, straightening, Matthew came to her and looked her over, concern reflected in his eyes. With a grimace, he gently touched her jaw. It was tender, and she suspected it was already showing signs of bruising. “Did he harm you anywhere else?”

“No.” A lie. How did she explain the pain he’d caused her heart? “He claims to be my father.”

“I thought your father died at war.”

She nodded jerkily, shook her head. “My mother told me she loved my father, but how could she love that?”

“He could have been lying. Do you have any rope so I can bind him before going to fetch a constable?”

“No, but I have my kite string.”

“I can make do with that. Will you fetch it for me?”