Page 7 of How to Tempt An Earl (Wed Within a Year #2)

T hey dashed through the kitchen, zigzagging through the maze of tables and workers chopping vegetables. She cursed as her hip caught on a table edge. Kieran tugged her forward, pushing her past a hot stove as they pelted towards Grigori, who held open the back door, shouting ‘Idti! Idti!’ Go, go. And they went, racing out into the narrow alley with its brick walls and rubbish piles, Kieran’s hand gripping hers. She held on tight. To let go would be to be lost, to be caught by Ammon Vincent, her worst fears come to life.

She risked a glance backwards, knowing she would see Vincent pounding behind them, brandishing his ever-present knife. Instead, the threat came from ahead of them: two hulking men blocked the exit. She stifled a scream and would have stopped running, which was no doubt what the men expected—to stop would allow them to close in—but the men had shown themselves too early.

Kieran had time to adjust. He kept moving, bending low to his boot top, coming up with a blade and throwing it in a single motion that was too quick to anticipate. The first man gave a grunt and went down. Stunned, his partner was slow to react and Kieran took advantage, using his momentum to charge, ramming his head into the man’s stomach. The force pushed him up against a wall and Kieran was on top of him with a fist to his gut… No, not a fist—another blade from somewhere. The man’s eyes went wide and then he sagged. Kieran let him fall, the light in his own eyes feral when he turned to her.

He grabbed both blades and returned them to their hidden sheathes. ‘Come on.’ He grabbed her hand and led her past the bodies with a single command. ‘Don’t look.’

But she’d already looked, already seen the blood. How long had that taken? He’d dispatched those men in seconds. Gone was the laughing man who’d led her onto the dance floor. He was all Horseman now and the Horseman had saved her without a second thought. The transformation was overwhelming, a powerful reminder of what was real and what was not. This pursuit through a dim alley was real. Those beautiful moments at Grigori’s had been an aberration.

They turned a sharp, dark corner and he drew her up against a wall, his eyes full of onyx fire as his body pressed into hers, protecting and shielding even as he offered rough counsel. ‘Get yourself together. There’s no time to fall apart. Forget what you saw. My curricle is across the street, over my shoulder. My tiger can drive like a fiend. I’ll be right behind you, but if something happens, if I’m waylaid…’

She knew what that meant. If there were more men, if they were attacked when they broke cover—or, worse, if he went down and couldn’t follow—she was to go on without him. Celeste started to protest. He gave a silencing shake of his head and she shut her mouth.

‘Just keep going, head for the townhouse. Tell my people to harness the travelling coach. It will take them fifteen minutes; they’re fast. Grab what you need but do not delay. Fifteen minutes, no more—do you understand?’ His eyes were ablaze with the light of battle. She nodded, fighting back shock. To disobey him, to fail him, would make his efforts meaningless. He’d killed for her. She would succeed for him.

‘Good. On my signal, run like hell.’ He gave a final look over his shoulder, unpinned her from the wall and gave her a shove towards the street. ‘Go, now!’ he barked, and she went, dodging between unsuspecting passersby, skirts in one hand as she ran. The tiger saw her coming and leapt to the driver’s box.

She clambered inelegantly up beside him, breathing hard. ‘Is there a pistol?’ Kieran had thought to cover her escape, but she could damn well cover his, as long as she didn’t have to shoot too far.

‘Yes, miss, it’s beneath the seat.’

Celeste reached for it, her eyes on the alley. Her heart quickened, if such a thing was possible given it was already beating fast. There was Kieran! He moved through the crowd, his height making him an obvious target. If someone was looking for him, they’d find him. She watched, breath held, expecting Ammon Vincent to emerge, but luck was with them. No one followed. Kieran jumped on the back bench and gave the signal to go. He nodded towards the pistol. ‘What were you planning to do with that?’

‘Shoot anyone who came after you,’ Celeste replied coolly, settling the pistol across her lap as the tiger put the team in motion. She wouldn’t put it away just yet. Who knew who they might meet in the dark? They were safe for the moment but the fact remained that they’d be found. It was only a matter of when and where.

Kieran’s tiger was every bit as good as Kieran had claimed and they reached the townhouse in record time, Kieran barking out the orders for the coach and team. ‘Upstairs with you—be fast, Celeste.’

She was. She grabbed her valise from under the bed, her travelling gown with its secrets and a hairbrush from the dressing table. She heard Kieran’s heavy boots in his own chambers and then the sound of raised voices downstairs.

Kieran pounded down the corridor. ‘Hurry, Celeste, we’ve got to go.’ He raised his voice for all to hear. ‘Everyone—out, out. Leave now, except for the footmen,’ he shouted. ‘Cooks, maids, boot boys, out—all of you. Scramble!’

The order was given not a moment too soon. She was behind him in the hall when the brick shattered the decorative window set high above the door. He pivoted instantly, throwing his body over her once more, glass raining down on them in sharp shards. Her fear spiked. This brick meant Roan’s men were here ! Ammon Vincent was here at this house where just last night she’d felt safe. He might even be outside this very moment, waiting to take her, to claim her.

She froze for a moment, overwhelmed with the realisation that violent men were after her —this was all happening because of her, because she’d chosen to run. In theory, she’d known she’d be followed. But the reality was something different entirely. Twice tonight, she’d seen proof that they would not hesitate to use violence on her. Roan had punished her before, so she ought not to be surprised, but this was a different type of violence, a bloodier type than the sort Roan meted out, and it was frightening.

Kieran’s hand closed about her wrist with a tug. ‘Don’t think on it. Come on, out the back, to the mews. They can’t hurt you if they can’t catch you.’

Or him, she thought. They would hurt her but they would kill him.

The rest of the house was deserted as they raced through, except for grim-looking footmen turned soldiers who now stood armed at the windows and doors. The staff had indeed scrambled with alacrity and efficiency. Kieran ushered her out to the mews where the coach waited, along with four outriders and Tambor. ‘We should be clear,’ one of them said. ‘We took out the fellow watching the alley.’

Kieran gave a curt nod. ‘Eric, sit the bench with Bert. I’ll ride Tambor with the outriders for a while. It will give us an extra gun if we need it. Later, you and I can switch. Celeste, let’s get you in the coach.’

Kieran helped her inside with instructions. ‘If there are shots, get on the floor and stay there. There are pistols beneath the seats but don’t be a heroine.’ He shut the door firmly behind her and was gone. She was alone and the realities of the evening had her shaking. His comfort would have helped. What she would give to be wrapped in his arms, to be held against the strength of his chest and to feel the warmth of him against her fear.

What a silly thing she’d become in such a short time! She reached for a hand grip as the carriage picked up speed. She’d been on her own for two weeks, journeying to England. She’d been on her own since well before then, too. Goodness knew she had no allies in Roan’s household. Perhaps it wasn’t so much a testament to her weakness but to Kieran’s charm that she found herself wanting him with her. He’d put himself forward as capable and reliable, among other things, all of which she hungered for, all of which she craved deep down.

The carriage lurched and she stifled a surprised scream. Outside, she could hear Kieran raise his voice and fear reignited. She told herself pursuit was expected, inevitable. Ammon Vincent and his men had made it to the house, and they were close —close enough to have thrown bricks through windows. Now, men were outside risking themselves—Kieran was risking himself—for her. She did not want to be responsible for the death of another Horseman, not when her intention in coming here had been to save them.

There was the sound of galloping hooves and the sharp report of one pistol then another. She hit the floor, groping madly for the gun box beneath the seat. Vincent would not take her without a fight. Outside, there were yells; the coach sped up erratically and she was thrown against the door, the gun box sliding away from her. Damn it, she hated this! Hated not knowing what was happening outside. Was Vincent even now taking aim at Kieran or had Kieran got a shot off first? She hated not being in charge of her fate. She was entirely dependent on the men out there. There was no more helpless feeling than knowing that things were happening to her that she could not control. It was the height of unfairness. Once again, men were deciding her fate.

There was another yell. Was it Kieran? At least that meant he hadn’t been shot. She’d have loved to look out of the window and assure herself of his safety. But she might get herself shot in the process and if not that, she’d most certainly encounter his wrath. All she could do was lie on the floor and keep herself safe.

It seemed she lay there for an eternity, listening for clues outside, feeling for them in the rhythm of the coach. Their speed was consistent now, London likely far behind them. They would be in the countryside with the summer dark falling full around them. There were no voices, no yelling; surely, all was safe now? The coach began to slow. They were going to stop. She picked herself up off the floor and climbed back into her seat just in time.

The door opened and Kieran thrust his head inside. ‘Are you all right?’ She nodded and then he climbed in, shutting the door and giving the signal to go. So much for a longer stop, but at least she wasn’t alone.

He looked windblown, the battle light in his eyes temporarily banked in exchange for alertness and it was…appealing. He had been her champion tonight. She’d not had one before, and it was a rather intoxicating sensation despite the fact that it didn’t mean anything. This was his job. As long as she held information of value, she was his job.

He looked about the carriage, his gaze noting the pistol case half-out from under the seat. ‘I thought I said no heroics?’ He arched a brow, scolding.

‘I had to do something, anything, to not feel helpless!’ she shot back. ‘It was horrible to be in here and not to know…’ She could not restrain the questions any longer. ‘What happened? Was anyone hurt?’

‘We are unscathed.’ Kieran gave her the most important fact first. ‘They caught up with us on the outskirts of the city but we were ready for them.’ He stretched his long legs. ‘I’ve sent two outriders to confuse the trail and lay a decoy. With luck, Roan’s men won’t know where we’ve gone, and by the time they realise it they will have followed the wrong track.’

‘Where are we going?’ she asked, another sign of how helpless she was, how dependent she was. Nothing about this plan was her own.

‘We’re going to Wrexham.’

To the home he’d never seen—to Wales. To a place where she might be safe from Roan. She thought of the home they’d left behind. ‘Will the townhouse be all right?’ She hated thinking his house might be destroyed because of her.

‘There’s a fair chance it might be all right.’ His broad shoulders shrugged. ‘There’s no one there to hurt so the house serves no purpose for Roan. Why waste energy on it? The house is just bricks and mortar. It holds no secrets, no people of interest that can be held against the Horsemen for leverage. It’s just a place. Any message he wants to send through violent actions has already been sent tonight. He is hunting us, even as he knows the Horsemen are hunting him. What he isn’t sure of is whether or not he is running us to ground or if we’re luring him out.’

‘He won’t find us in Wales.’ She would cling to that idea as long as she could. At present, she cared less about the Horsemen finding Roan than she did about Roan not finding her. ‘And the decoy you’ve laid ensures he won’t find us on the road.’ To her dismay, Kieran offered no assurances.

‘How many men do you think Roan has sent?’ He was all seriousness now.

‘I thought perhaps two or three,’ she began, uncertain. That no longer seemed a likely number. It didn’t matter so much to her if there was one or seven—as long as a particular man was among them, it would be dangerous for her. Ammon Vincent was known as ‘the Bulldog’ for good reason. He would stop at nothing to find her for purposes she did not allow herself to contemplate.

‘We’ve seen more than that tonight. I am guessing at least seven, three of which are temporarily out of play now while they lick their wounds.’

Kieran fixed her with a hard stare. ‘I think you’ve greatly under-estimated your worth to Roan. A notorious dealer in weapons has sent seven of his henchmen after a single young woman. He would not go to all of this effort simply to stop a warning. It makes me wonder what else you know. What else is he afraid you will tell us? Given that tonight I have been chased through the alleys of Soho, shot at, had a brick thrown through my window and been forced to abandon my townhome, I think it’s time you and I had a talk. What’s the rest of the story, Celeste?’