Finally, he turned his attention to the reason they’d undertaken this adventure. The gentleman strutting around the empty space that had been made available to him was well over six feet, possibly falling just shy of six and half. He was broad, muscle upon muscle visible because he wore naught but breeches and boots. His dark skin glistened in the light of the flaming torch he held.

“Behold!” he called out in a booming voice. “The wonder that was once dragons!”

He took a sip from the pewter tankard he held, strode around the edge of the makeshift circle, before taking up position in its center. He held up the torch, puckered his mouth slightly as though to whistle, spewed liquid, and when he drew the torch away, a stream of fire arced upward into the darkness above. When the fire vanished, he spread his arms wide and smiled broadly. “Are you entertained?”

The crowd was deafening with their cheers, and once again, he strode around the perimeter, before moving to the center and giving those watching another display of his control over fire. Once. Twice. Three times.

Matthew could fairly feel Miss Trewlove shimmering with excitement in his arms, and he rather wished he’d been the one responsible for her trembling, her exhilaration. Yet he couldn’t deny the Fire King deserved the adulation showered on him, as his minions gathered up the coins tossed at his feet.

He handed his torch and tankard off to someone and gave a sweeping bow before raising his arms high. “Thank you, my friends. Please be gracious enough to move on and allow others in before the next performance in fifteen minutes.”

Matthew lowered his mouth to the delicate shell of her ear, so he wouldn’t have to shout. “I suppose we should be moving on.”

“Not yet.”

Glancing in the direction she was looking, he realized the Fire King was striding purposely in a direct path toward her. As though anticipating his arrival, she moved out of Matthew’s arms, which caused him to have an instant dislike for the man.

“Hello, Fancy.” Leaning down, he bussed a quick kiss over her cheek—which she’d turned up to him—and it took everything within Matthew not to punch the bloke’s perfect nose.

“The last time I saw you, you were swallowing fire.”

“Got bored with that. Decided breathing it was more exciting.”

“How do you do it?”

“Tricks of the trade, my sweet.”

My sweet? A bloodied nose was becoming more a probability.

Fancy—damn it, if this man could address her as such, Matthew could certainly think of her with less formality—turned slightly. “Fire King, meet Mr. Sommersby.”

“Mister?” The Fire King—what a ridiculous name—repeated. “Thought you were destined for a duke, my girl.”

My girl? A bloodied nose and a blackened eye, perhaps, were in order. And did every person in Christendom know she was on the hunt for a lord?