Page 4 of Captured by the Earl (The Secret Crusaders #2)
CHAPTER 4
L ondon Society News:
Do you ever truly know someone?
The ton is the land of facades and disguises, hidden meanings and unseen motives. Some people are as they seem, yet many hide their true nature. Those looking for their match may find something deeper or darker, or an entirely different entity altogether. One can never imagine what lurks.
“The betrothal continues.”
It had not been what he meant to say, or even consider, yet the words flowed naturally from his lips, backed by steel and a feeling of utter rightness. Philip drank in Emma’s released breath, eyes widened with uncertainty, cheeks tinged pink. He stepped forward, into her space, as if his right.
“I am not yours.” Yet her voice was little more than a whisper, her tone soft and lacking conviction. Emotion he could not name flickered in her eyes.
When he first learned of the feigned arrangement, his only goal was ending it as soon as possible, without scandal or repercussions. Yet in the span of a day, matters had changed, shifting perspectives and opening possibilities. In his position a match was inevitable, its creation his primary focus. Lady Emma was quite eligible, meeting all the requirements of an earl’s bride. Now that she showed who she truly was, what he saw intrigued him.
He may just keep her.
“The betrothal was merely a ruse.” Even as emotion flickered in her eyes, she stood tall. “You do not get to decide whether it continues.”
“You stole my choice.” He stepped closer again. Her nostrils flared, but she didn’t retreat. His estimation of her rose. “Now I will be the one making the offers, and decisions, regarding our relationship.”
Her eyes narrowed to little slits. “Not. In. This. Lifetime.”
The challenge sent fire through his blood. She was talking to the man she thought he was. Little did she know he thrived on challenge. “You cannot end this betrothal without me.”
“I absolutely can. It is one of the few advantages of being a ‘fickle’ woman. I can simply cry off. There won’t be scandal unless you…” Her voice trailed off, vulnerability flashing for an instant, before her expression hardened. “What are you planning, Lord Peyton?”
“There are no plans. I am simply exploring.”
She visibly tightened. “I do not wish to be explored.”
“You do not have a choice.”
She turned pink and started walking on the thick rug. Her nightdress swirled around her. “You promised you wouldn’t ruin me. I am offering an escape that will allow both of us to emerge unscathed. You had no part in creating this betrothal.”
He moved in front of her, stopping her movement. “I may not have started it, but I am part of it now.” And it was not as uncomfortable as he imagined a surprise arrangement would be. Sort of like sampling an unknown food to find it delicious. “Don’t worry, I will not bring scandal upon either of us. Yet I find myself intrigued.”
“Intrigued?” She lifted her hands. “By what?”
“By you.”
She recoiled slightly, yet in the next moment, lifted herself taller. “Whether you are intrigued or not is no matter to me. I created this betrothal, and I will end it.” Of course she could end it against his wishes, yet if he made a fuss, it could imperil her reputation.
He would never actually do that, but she didn’t know that. Without his agreement, she was trapped.
“What do you want?” she ground out.
It was a good question, and one even he didn’t know the answer to. Yet he couldn’t end it without learning more about Lady Emma, and whether they would suit. “As I said, I want to explore the possibilities.”
She visibly swallowed, then straightened. “While I appreciate your interest, I am looking for a different kind of relationship.”
“What about our kiss?”
She pursed her lips. “I was confused.”
“And the second kiss?”
“Curious.”
“The third?”
“Insane.”
“And the kiss we’re both imagining?”
“Clearly I’ve completely lost my wits.”
It was all he could do not to give her that kiss.
He folded his arms across his chest. “Why are you so adamant about ending the betrothal?” A sudden thought arose, casting unexpected displeasure. “Please don’t tell me you have an arrangement with another man.”
She gasped. “Of course not!”
Her horrified look mollified him somewhat. “As you said earlier, you must marry. I meet the requirements of most ladies.”
“Of course you do. Every eligible lady in the ton wants to marry you!”
By her cringe she hadn’t wanted to admit it. Yet it was true. Entering a ballroom was akin to field work, with matchmaking mamas playing the part of wily combatants. “If that’s so, why wouldn’t you be happy to explore the possibility of an actual match? It’s most logical.” He stopped, looked at her. “Unless you aren’t looking for logic.”
She sniffed and looked away.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” He softened his voice. “Your best friend found a love match, and now you want one, too. You must know how rare those are.”
She stood as tall as her petite stature allowed. “If you must know, then yes, I am waiting for a love match. And while rare, they are not unheard of. I have already found a lord who is an excellent candidate.”
“An excellent candidate?” he echoed. “Are you choosing a husband or a housekeeper?”
She glared.
He was going about this the wrong way. She was so strong and vibrant, it was hard not to show his own strength. Yet sometimes reasoning was the most powerful strategy of all. “Many ladies fancy themselves in love, yet not all love matches end well, and many arranged marriages grow to contain mutual regard.”
“Mutual regard.” She wrinkled her nose. “Do you use that in poems? What about how you adore her reputable position? Or how her dowry makes you simply weak in the knees?” She sighed. “I almost wish lords said such things. While lacking in romance, at least they are honest.”
He hid his smile. Clearly, she was trying to aggravate him. What would she say if she knew her bold challenges only amused him? “Actually, I would say she brightens my world, casting color into the gray with a simple smile. Her beauty is beyond compare, but what lies inside is even more extraordinary. If I never had to leave her company, I would be a lucky man.”
She paused, biting that plump lower lip. “You are a gifted wordsmith, Lord Peyton, yet I am not so easily fooled. Most ladies would be delighted with your suit. When I end the proposal tomorrow, you may pursue them with such enthusiasm.”
Right now, there was only one lady he wanted to pursue. “I cannot chase another while I am betrothed. I am a firm believer in loyalty. On all sides.”
“The longer this supposed arrangement lasts, the more difficult it will be to break.” She walked right up to him, surrounding him with the alluring scent of jasmine. “It’s one thing to claim an arrangement, but another thing entirely to act the couple. Do you realize what is involved?”
He couldn’t stop the grin.
She flushed. “That’s not what I meant.”
He sobered. This mission was different from his last, yet no less important. She would learn she wouldn’t best him easily. “I am well aware of how betrothed couples act. What are your plans tomorrow?”
Her eyes turned guarded. “Why?”
“So I may join you, naturally.”
“Well, in that case, I plan to visit an alligator-infested lake.”
He held back a bark of laughter. “Is that so?”
“Absolutely,” she sniffed.
Were it true, he would challenge the alligators. Thankfully, he wouldn’t need to, for it would reveal the abilities he must keep hidden. “Am I to assume you think I could best an alligator?”
She growled.
And he couldn’t stop himself from leaning closer. “I do believe I’ve found an effective strategy for dealing with you.”
Charcoal eyelashes flitted above narrowed eyes. “What strategy?”
“I simply need to keep surprising you.”
She huffed out. So many ladies kept every emotion under lock and key, yet she shared her feelings with animated expressions and clever repartee. It was refreshing. “In the morning I will conduct my weekly visits, and in the afternoon, I have to suffer my own visit from an all-too-persistent suitor. Speaking of which, how does an entire two minutes at half-five sound to you?”
Sharp amusement rose again. “Two entire minutes. Flattering, yet wholly unnecessary. Instead I will join you for breakfast and then your visits.”
Her eyes widened. “That is unacceptable. The hosts are expecting only Priscilla and me.”
“Nonsense. Undoubtedly your hosts will be pleased when we show up together.”
“It will make the betrothal harder to break.”
Exactly.
“I’m coming. We can go after breakfast.”
She hesitated, as if debating how to respond. “Fine,” she breathed. “If I agree, will you leave?”
The urge to deny her reared, to learn more about the lady who would defy an earl. It was unusual and unexpected, for he was not a man accustomed to lingering. It was an instinct he would have to retrain, yet unfortunately not tonight. “I will see you tomorrow. What time do you break the fast?”
“Not early.” She looked to the side. Either she was suddenly intensely interested in the bedroom curtains, or she was misleading him. No doubt she would “accidentally” leave him behind at the first opportunity.
“Is there an approximate time?”
Subterfuge glittered in those amber eyes. “The typical time. Now you are leaving.”
“You won’t find an alligator this late at night.”
“I can certainly try.”
He laughed lowly, then went to the window. He pushed aside the curtains, and fingered the hard frame. “Do as I say, Emma. Do not make me mad.”
“Of course.”
By her easy agreement, she had no intention of obeying, yet he would not illuminate his suspicions. The best way to best a wily opponent was to keep your secrets close, and discover those of your challenger. Despite her resistance, he would explore the relationship she began, and if it proceeded the way he suspected it might, she would have to accept far more than a family breakfast.
He just might keep this magnificent beauty.
She remained on his mind as he strode to his residence. A few ruffians eyed him with interest, yet when Philip glared at them, showing the power he did not show the ton, they reddened and turned away. He walked through the dark, cool night, his shoes pounding on the hard ground, as he breathed in the scents of animals and smoke and a touch of nature. It was quiet, yet comfortable, a familiar stillness after a dangerous journey.
Soon, the expansive family townhouse came into view, a neat four-story residence crafted of brick and framed by wide white windows. It had been in his family for generations, and now housed his mother, his sister and a bevy of servants, many of whom had been in residence since his own childhood. He trusted them with the care of his family, in addition to the numerous solicitors, friends and extended family members he recruited to watch them while he was away. That it was no longer necessary was a relief.
He did not bother the servants, but instead let himself into a spacious foyer scented with freshly polished wood and the fragrant roses his sister adored. Comforting features appeared in the shadows: the large mahogany desk where his father once did accounts, the plush settee where his mother still entertained guests, the rocking chair where he used to rock his baby sister to sleep. The adornments were luxurious but not gaudy, with a priceless wealth of memories. He strode soundlessly through the darkened halls…
Until something tackled him.
His attacker was fortunate he recognized her scent, for his training would have taken over otherwise. Instead, he simply contained the diminutive figure, holding her close, softly rubbing her back. In the dim candlelight her cheeks shone as she clutched him tightly. He breathed in her fresh scent, and for just a moment, he was aged twelve again, and she was a precocious three-year-old with blond curls and an impish smile.
It was their first encounter since his return. Something warm nudged at his heart, even as he adopted an expression of sternness. With such a lively sister, he must be careful to keep control. “Catherine, why are you up so late? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
His sister leaned back, her eyes dancing with exasperation. “In bed? Am I in the nursery? You were imagining me as three-year-old again, weren’t you?”
“Of course not.” He bristled. “All ladies need their rest.” For a moment he studied his sister. Something beyond innocent concern sparked in her expression, but it was gone an instant later. “Tell me how you have been.”
His sister nodded and complied, sharing the latest gossip and happenings. It was astounding how many people became betrothed, married, and otherwise engaged in the span of a few months. Afterwards, he regaled her with stories of his travels, little tidbits of truth amidst the mission he could never share. She seemed more reserved than normal, without the effervescent openness she typically bestowed upon him.
“Is all well with you, little sister? I heard you have many suitors.” Acid splashed in his stomach at the thought of his little sister amidst the ton’s wolves. “Is Lord Fulton still your preferred match?”
She nodded, yet her expression was not of a satisfied woman, or even a contented one. Alexander’s words came back to him.
“Are you certain you wish to be with Fulton? A friend mentioned he may be a little timid for you.”
She narrowed her eyes slightly. “This friend wouldn’t happen to be Lord Everly?”
When he didn’t answer immediately, she gave a soft growl. She took a step, turned and stepped back. “That man should know better than to stick his future ducal nose in my business.”
He frowned. “I didn’t realize you were so well acquainted.”
She stopped and gaped at him. “Of course we are. I followed the two of you through every forest in the country when we were children. Don’t you remember?”
Vague memories of childhood play surfaced, set in sunlit forests and leafy forts. If he recalled correctly, Alexander was as protective of his little sister as he was. “That was a long time ago. You were a child.”
“And some people don’t realize I no longer am,” she muttered. She paced for a second more, then stopped and glared at him with an expression he had not seen. “I do not need a keeper. Not you and most certainly not Everly.”
What was happening? With her porcelain skin and soft hair, she was the picture of innocence, yet defiant strength burned in her eyes. While he had been saving people, she had grown up.
Yet despite that, he could not release the reins the law gave him. He strode to her. “As your brother, it is my duty to protect you.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Do you share everything with me? Is there anything you want to tell me?”
Could she know about the mission? His true role?
“Something about Lady Emma, perhaps?”
He breathed out. “I assume you are talking about my betrothal.”
She nodded, but her expression lost some of its sternness. “Do not mistake me; I adore Emma. You made a brilliant match. It was just rather sudden.”
She had no idea. “Many ton marriages are. We’ve known each other for a while.” During which time they spoke approximately a dozen sentences, none of which involved a betrothal. He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. Between Emma, Catherine, and his new mission, he would have no break from his challenges. “It is late. You should go to bed.”
She looked upward. “As you wish, my lord . I shall see you tomorrow.” She took a step and hesitated. When she spoke, her voice was softer, almost vulnerable. “Do you remember my art?”
A picture of a paint splattered toddler surfaced, and he allowed a smile. “Of course. You always loved art, ever since you were a little child. I remember you were quite good at coloring flowers.”
She looked upward for a moment and sighed. “I got a very tempting offer.”
Muscles tightened. “I’m sorry?”
She held out her hand. “Not like that. There is a gallery in town that displays artists’ work, both to promote and sell to discerning customers. I gave my friend a sample to send to the curator, and…” Her eyes shined. “He agreed to display some of my work.”
The reply came without a second’s thought, consideration, or hesitation. “Absolutely not.”
Catherine stared. “What?”
He grimaced. Protecting his sister was the hardest part of being both brother and guardian. Yet grifters were abound, with clever schemes and false offers to take advantage of vulnerable ladies. He could not risk his little sister. “Who is this man? What are his credentials? How do you even know he has a gallery?”
Her voice increased in volume. “He’s painted portraits of half the people in the ton. He’s not taking advantage of anyone.”
“Even if the offer is legitimate, what will people say if they think you are selling your paintings?”
She flushed so brightly, it was clear even in the darkened hallway. “I really don’t care what people think,” she said icily. “But if it bothers you that much, I can use an assumed name. Then you won’t have to be ashamed.”
“I’m not ashamed of you.” To the contrary, he’d always been proud of her talents. Yet even under an assumed name people could find out. He couldn’t risk it. He reached for her. “I’m just protecting you.”
She stepped back out of his grasp. “As I said, I do not need protection. I need a brother.”
She pivoted on her heel and stomped away. Even as doubts assailed themselves, an image of her as a child rose again, affirming his actions. He would always be her brother, but for her sake, he had to put the role of protector first. It was how he must deal with his sister, and his supposed betrothed.
No doubt Emma would take as poorly to the thought.
He was going to be mad.
So very, very mad.
Her smile widened.
Still, it wasn’t her fault she would be gone by the time he arrived. She’d told him she had calls to make. He was the one who assumed it would be at a fashionable hour.
Emma adjusted the coarse fabric of her serviceable dress. The mud-colored garment fell in shapeless waves about her body, as ill-fitting as it was ugly, nothing like the elegant day dress she would don for her later visits.
“Your kindness is greatly appreciated.” Mrs. Wallace held up the plain envelope Emma had just gifted her. “I can’t tell you how much this means to us.”
Emma turned her attention to the weathered, yet kindly face of the middle-aged woman. Two little girls clutched her skirts, skinny and yet scrubbed clean. She forced a smile. The gift was such a small amount, a portion of the pin money she spread out among as many worthy causes as she could.
It was never enough.
“I’m happy to help.”
“Would you like to come in? I have some soup brewing.”
Emma’s smile faltered. Likely that soup was the family’s main meal of the day, yet as always, the kindly woman offered to share. And as always, Emma shook her head. “I’m afraid I must leave. I have more deliveries to make.”
“Of course.” With a smile, the woman ducked her head. “Thank you again, my la–”
Emma’s eyes widened.
The woman smiled. “I mean, miss.”
Goodness, was she that obvious? Perhaps she could not hide her upbringing as much as she hoped.
Loud howls sounded as a group of sailors stumbled behind her, enjoying a few hours respite from the docks. The pungent odor of spirits and fish tainted the air, as they laughed, guffawed, and belched. Emma moved closer to the doorway, holding a breath until they passed.
The woman’s forehead crinkled. “Miss, are you sure you should be out all by yourself? Where is that nice lady who used to accompany you?”
It had been much easier when Priscilla joined her. Yet when Bradenton discovered his wife sneaking to dangerous areas a whisper past dawn, he’d been furious, and immediately forbidden it. Priscilla had tried to argue, but stopped when he agreed to send thrice the money via courier. Fortunately, he did not know Emma accompanied her, or he would have stopped her, too.
She straightened, rubbing her unclad hands together against the chill. “There’s no one, I’m afraid.”
It wasn’t quite true. There were many who considered it their duty to shield ladies from danger. Yet they would not accompany her on such a trip – they would strictly forbid it.
Including, she imagined, her betrothed.
“I’m fine.” She patted her hip, where a small dagger lay nestled in a hidden pocket. It wouldn’t stop a surprise attack, but its presence made her feel safer. “You just take care of those little ones, and I’ll see you next week.”
The woman smiled, yet worry still lingered in her eyes.
Emma kept a wary eye as she turned, pulling her arms around herself. The streets were just beginning to crowd, as men and women hurried to their work. Merchants set up wares in their little booths, hawking everything from greenish fish to wilted flowers to tiny scraps of fabric. The scent of oil tangled with the already heavy smell of fish. What would Peyton say if he knew she was here?
Her smile returned.
She stepped into the walkway. People jostled this way and that. Suddenly, something grabbed her.
She jumped.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Emma relaxed at the warm voice. With sapphire eyes and flaxen hair, Elizabeth Henley was as poised and well-spoken as any lady in the ton, and far richer than most in kindness and charity. Of modest means, she lived nearby, running a sanctuary for women and children with nowhere to turn. No one quite knew where she had come from, and no one asked. Now she wore a serviceable gray dress, and carried a bag piled high with fabrics and threads.
“I’m bringing work to my former tenants.” Elizabeth smiled, but it faltered as she looked around. “Where is Lady Priscilla? It’s not safe to be here alone.”
“I could say the same to you.” Emma softened the words with a smile. “Unfortunately, Priscilla’s duke no longer permits her on such activities. I like Bradenton, but he can be a bit strict as her keeper.”
“Indeed.” Elizabeth peered closely. “And what of your keeper?”
Heat spread up Emma’s neck. “I do not have a keeper.”
Elizabeth’s gaze turned curious. Like the others, she believed her arranged to Peyton.
“My betrothed does not get a say in what I do,” Emma continued. Yet it hadn’t stopped him from asserting his position. “You are fortunate to have no one endeavoring to control you.”
Emma expected Elizabeth to smile wider, yet instead a slightly haunted, or hunted , expression flashed. “Quite fortunate,” she said softly, then shook her head. “It is how I prefer it.”
A shout pierced the air, and both women turned. Scuffling sounded, amidst yelling, banging and glass shattering. Around them, people trudged on their way, giving no reaction to the commotion.
“Do be careful.” Elizabeth’s eyes turned serious. “It truly is not safe to be alone.”
Yet they both did it, to help those who hadn’t a choice. “I appreciate the concern, and return it.”
“Any news from the guild?”
Elizabeth knew the secret of the Distinguished Woman of Purpose, but despite repeated invitations, rarely attended. It was yet another mystery to the kind woman. “All is well. I am spending every minute convincing lords to support the orphans’ initiative. Those poor children live in dreadful conditions, and we hope new laws can safeguard them. I don’t suppose you know any lords.”
“No.” The answer was quick and curt. Elizabeth gave a quick smile. “Where would I ever come upon any lords?”
“Not here, certainly.” Emma rubbed her hands together. “I should take my leave.” As she traded farewells, she shivered lightly. The area truly wasn’t safe, and no doubt her self-appointed keeper would think so. In a few hours, she would change clothing and meet Priscilla on the first of their official visits to the lords and ladies of the ton. Until then, she would do her own visiting.
And hope Peyton didn’t find out.
“Where is she?”
The man in the doorway folded his arms across his chest. “Goodness, man, do you know the hour?”
It was the same question the butler had asked, in a far more respectful manner, before the duke came to see who would dare arrive unannounced at the obscene time.
Philip held up his hand, shielding the rays of the early morning sun slanting through the trees. “It is an hour when all ladies should be safely ensconced in their beds.” He glanced down the street, nearly empty in the fashionable area of town. No doubt the wealthy inhabitants were sleeping off the festivities of the night before, as was proper.
Bradenton frowned at the cryptic reply, then opened the door wide. He gestured the butler away, and led Philip to a luxurious room decorated in shades of navy. Two large settees provided ample seating, separated by a low table of carved mahogany. The duke did not speak until he closed the door. “I assume you are referring to Lady Emma?”
Before Philip could respond, the door burst open, and the duchess strode in, wearing a hastily tied dressing gown and her hair flowing freely down her shoulders. “What have you done?”
Bradenton’s frown deepened as he closed the door once more. He faced his wife with a stern look on his face. “I have done nothing, my dear. Why are you not in bed?”
“It’s no matter.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I wasn’t talking to you. I meant you.” She turned to Philip, her expression that of an avenging warrior. “What have you done to Emma?”
Philip stood tall. “I have done nothing to my betrothed. I went to her home for our appointment, only I was told she was already out with Lady Priscilla.”
The duchess paled. “Your betrothed? But I thought–” She glanced at her husband.
Who folded his arms across his chest.
Priscilla chuckled nervously. As Emma’s best friend, she knew a great deal about his intended. Perhaps he was questioning the wrong Hawkins. “Do you know where Emma is?”
She glanced at the dim light filtering through the curtains. "It's very early. I assume she’s gone to–” She stopped, and for an instant her eyes widened. “To bed,” she hastily continued. “Perhaps they simply claimed she was out because you called so unfashionably early.”
Bradenton stared at his wife. “Today is the day you conduct your weekly visits, is it not?”
Priscilla grasped the sides of her robe and pulled them together. “Yes, it is. But of course we do not start until much later.”
Bradenton ran his hand along the back of a clawed chair. “You used to start your visits far earlier, with a different destination.”
Twin spots of color tinted Priscilla’s cheeks. “Yes, well, a certain autocrat decided I wasn’t allowed to make my own decisions. He was quite lucky there were no vases nearby.”
Bradenton grimaced. “I’m not an autocrat for keeping you safe. I sent more than enough funds to make up for the lack of personal correspondence. And of course, we go together to those areas, only at more suitable times. I assumed you visited the dangerous areas alone, yet now I wonder…”
“Dangerous areas?” Instincts armed.
“By the docks,” Bradenton elaborated. “The homes barely stand, yet they are overcrowded with people, women, children.” He frowned. “Orphans. But at least the inhabitants have sense enough to stay inside during the early hours of the morning.”
Ice traced up Philip’s spine. “Please tell me Emma doesn’t visit those areas alone.” A dagger of fear pierced his gut. An unprotected lady was no match for the perils of the docks. There were too many what ifs to imagine.
The duchess pursed her lips, her eyes darting between Philip and Bradenton. “Money can’t replace the benefits of a personal visit.”
Discomfort sharpened to alarm. “Are you telling me Emma is traipsing through the worst areas in London dressed like a lady?”
“Well, no…”
He breathed out.
“She’s dressed like a working woman.”
Every. Muscle. Clenched.
Bradenton looked as thunderous as he felt. “If you had told me, I would have put a stop to it immediately.”
Lady Priscilla glared. “Which is exactly why I didn’t tell you. Caring for Emma isn’t your duty.”
“No.” Philip stepped forward. “It’s mine.”
Lady Priscilla glared at him. “How is it your place? The betrothal isn’t even…” Her eyes once more flashed to her husband. “I thought the betrothal was over.”
“The betrothal is continuing.” The words came easily, naturally. “Tell me exactly where Lady Emma is. She and I are going to have a very long talk.”
Time for Emma Sinclair to learn exactly what it meant to be his.
She was not alone.
How she knew was not obvious, as she walked through the shadows, beyond dark corners and unseen dangers. The alley was desolate, filthy and dark, its only inhabitants scurrying across the narrow path on the hunt for breakfast. It was unsafe at best, treacherous at worst, yet the only alternative was a busy thoroughfare filled with miscreants who wouldn’t hesitate to attack a lone woman. She should know – she’d barely escaped an assault last month.
Yet now the musky air suffocated her, as tiny noises whispered nefarious presence. A rustling sounded in the corner, and she gasped, yet it was only a mama rat and her litter. She was alone.
Until she wasn’t.
Priscilla’s heart slammed in her chest, pounding against gasping lungs, as the shadows lengthened and grew, forming into men, large, menacing, smiling . Half a dozen lurked in the shadows, each larger than the next, leering, rubbing their hands together in chilling synchrony.
And walking closer by the second.
“Out here all alone, love?” A tall man with hair everywhere grinned, showing off a mouthful of broken teeth. “That doesn’t seem very safe.”
“Not safe at all.” A stout, bald man who resembled a pirate walked closer.
What was she thinking? He probably was a pirate.
She stepped back, reaching into the hidden pocket in her dress, even though the small dagger gave little chance against six assailants. If she couldn’t talk her way out of this… “I’m just passing through. My brothers are waiting for me.”
The men only grinned wider. “Looks like they’re going to have to wait a little longer.”
The men moved closer, boxing her in from the back as they blocked her escape. She pivoted around, poised to run, but it was too late.
She was surrounded.
She sucked in a breath of dust-laden air. “People will come for me. They’ll be here any minute.”
“They can join in on the fun,” the de facto leader sneered. He reached out…
And screamed.
Emma gasped as the man pitched forward. He caught the bottom of her dress, slamming her to the ground as the breath rushed from her lungs. She curled up for the inevitable attack, yet he remained unmoving as a large bump formed amidst his shaggy mane. The other men looked around wildly.
What happened? Had he been hit? Suddenly something flew through the air, so fast it was only a black blur. As another man gasped and fell, the men spun.
“There!”
Emma looked into the blinding sunlight. A man stood on the roof of the building, pure blackness silhouetted against the blazing sun. His features were hidden behind a giant black coat, low hat and bandana, yet he was clearly massive.
The brute next to Emma removed a pistol from his coat.
“Watch out!” Emma yelled, even as the miscreant fired. Only the mysterious stranger was no longer there. Nor had he fallen to the ground. He had simply vanished.
Until he jumped right in front of her.
“How did you–” the bald ruffian gasped, before he was silenced by a thunderous punch.
Then everyone lunged.
Emma leapt back as the three men tackled her savior, fighting in a blur of punches, kicks, and hits. Although outnumbered, the mysterious man outmatched his opponents, moving with impossible precision and unearthly speed, expertly dispatching all attacks.
Suddenly more people emerged, not fighters, but spectators, pouring in from the street and peering down from windows and balconies. As more people entered the alley, the urge to leave was like a physical push. They were not of the ton, of course, but it was not impossible one would be a servant in a ton household. What if someone recognized her?
Yet she couldn’t just leave. The man was risking his life to save hers. Even if she couldn’t help him, she had to stay.
One of the assailants went down, and then another and another, and then only he was left. As the crowd watched with awed eyes, the man turned to her.
He was a veritable giant, made of solid muscle and defined power. He wasn’t even breathing hard, no worse for having just defeated six men. Yet by their whimpering and movements, he hadn’t killed one, a skill upon itself.
She still couldn’t distinguish features, not even from up close. The coat, mask and hat hid all but his piercing eyes and sensual mouth. Danger sizzled in the air.
Their eyes locked. Then…
He took a step toward her.
Escape.
It was her only thought, as she pivoted away. Her feet slammed on the hard ground, pain reverberating through the thin-soled shoes, as she pushed into the wind, threading through gaping onlookers and startled pedestrians. The rough fabric of the stiff dress swirled around her, almost tripping her, but she pushed only harder, not daring to look back. Yet she could feel him watching, following. That he hadn’t caught her was a conscious decision on his part – a man who could best six men could certainly catch a petite woman. Yet his steps continued evenly, never growing louder or faster. Then they were lost altogether as she emerged into the crowded street.
She had planned to go to Priscilla’s early, yet instead she took a step toward home. Even if it put her at risk of seeing Peyton, the elemental need to wash the reminder of those men off her commanded her return.
She risked a look back, but her rescuer was nowhere to be seen. Still, his presence lingered, even as she raced back through the streets, through the awful areas to the slightly better, not slowing until she finally reached the fashionable area of town. And when she stopped, the questions came. Why had he saved her? How had he defeated so many men?
And most importantly… who was he?