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She spun sideways so she could keep an eye on both foes.

Verity hugged her books tightly, the spine of one of her volumes biting painfully into the soft flesh of her upper arm. “Step out of my way,” she commanded, proud that her voice didn’t shake. “I’ll scream.” Her heart hammered out of control. She whipped her head back and forth between the two men.

“Now why would you go and do that?” The taller of that menacing pair started forward. Stalking her. “If you did, Miss Lovelace, then we’d not have the opportunity to speak on what it is we want.”

Miss Lovelace?It took a moment for that correct usage of her name to register.

A hard, empty smile curled his lips. “Or is it Countess Maxwell? It’s all very confusing, isn’t it?”

Her pulse picked up its beat. He knew. This man knew she wasn’t married. Or mayhap it was merely speculative ... ?

“Step out of my way,” she repeated.

“I will,” he offered.

At her back, she registered a sharp snap as the shorter stranger cracked his knuckles.

“Once we make something clear to you, Miss Lovelace.”

He stopped before her.

Verity’s mouth went dry. Reflexively she hugged the books in her arms all the tighter.

“Your story? About the earl? Kill it.”

It took a moment for that warning to penetrate her fear.

“What?” she blurted.

“There’s those who don’t want that story out, miss. People who’d rather you be ... silent.”

Silent. Orsilenced?

Verity shivered.Bolingbroke.Who else would these henchmen be here on behalf of? And yet she’d be damned if they quieted her. And she’d certainly not silence Malcom’s story, not when it would open the world’s eyes to the abuses those who lived beyond the lap of luxury suffered. For all the times she’d been silenced before this one, and all the stories she’d been prevented from telling, and the directives she’d taken, they had brought her to this moment. “No.”

He tipped his head. “What did you say?” The brute exchanged a look with his partner.

“I said no. You can go back to whomever has sent you here to try and intimidate me and let them know I’ll not be cowed. Whatever Lord Maxwell,the rightful Lord Maxwell, wishes to share with the world will be shared.” Her chest rose and fell quickly from the force of her emotions. Or fear? Or mayhap a blend of both. “Nor do I truly believe you’re going to kill me in public at an establishment filled with patrons.” Adjusting her hold on her books, Verity gathered her skirts in her other palm, and took a step forward. “Now get out of my way.”

Neither man budged.

“We aren’t going to kill you,” he scoffed. “We only came to warn you.”

He swiftly caught her by the nape of her neck, wringing a gasp from her ... which he promptly buried under a meaty palm.

The books toppled from Verity’s arms, the sound as they clattered about her feet muted by the pounding of her heart. She scrabbled at those unforgiving hands. Dimly aware of the bespectacled figure charging forward, the unlikeliest of saviors.

“You there!” That shout came from somewhere in Hatchards. That voice vaguely familiar. But everything swirled in her mind; it was twisted and jumbled by fear and panic.

The gentleman with the glasses was quickly brought down by the stocky fellow at her back.

Verity’s eyes bulged, and she scrabbled all the more with her assailant.

“Consider yourself warned,” he whispered against her ear. And then he slammed her headfirst into the wood shelving.

Verity didn’t blink. Surely, she was supposed to cry out. To make some sound. The vicious crack of her skull. The agonizing thud surely merited even just a sigh or whisper of breath. Except she couldn’t make a noise. Her ears buzzed. Her vision swam.

And then, collapsing against the bookcase, Verity crumpled onto the floor—and remembered nothing more.