She flexed her shoulders and scanned the street once more. It was noon, but few were about. She could wonder why, but credited it to the sticky weather. Too hot for June, the air suddenly seemed to smother her.
She checked the watch pinned to the collar of her pelisse. She’d wait only for another ten minutes, then be gone. He would have to make another appointment, because she would not risk waiting too long. She suspected that anyone observing her now would question her intentions. Did she meet a friend? Did she have a rendezvous with a lover?
She scoffed.If only.
She began to pace.
*
Across the corner,Clive sat by the window, tracking her movements.
“Another, milord?” The barmaid hoisted a stone pitcher of beer.
“Aye, thank you.” He sat back to allow her access to pour.
The woman bent to follow his line of sight through the window. “Pretty lady. Yours?”
What to say, other than, “I hope so.”
She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “A man came earlier today and walked that corner.”
“When did he leave?” Clive had no idea if what they spoke of was of any importance, but he’d research every fact if it meant he would save Giselle from whatever and whomever she feared.
The maid shrugged. “Maybe…eleven?”
“I see. What did he look like?”
“Gruff. No shave. Rough and dirty, hair like string.”
“His nose?”
The woman gave a start, looked at Clive with a smirk, and said, “Flat.”
“Ah.” So not the beak-nosed one, but a colleague, perhaps.Christ, what a tangle.
“But there’s another one. Look. He likes the looks of your lady. He’s going to stop her, seems like.”
The stranger charged toward her.
In a snap, Clive was up out of his chair, his coin on the table. “Thank you.”
He was just crossing the street when Giselle spied him.
She gasped and spun sway. Right into Mister Flat Nose’s open arms.
“Bugger.” Clive slid his stiletto from his waistcoat pocket.
But the man was fast, coiling his arm around Giselle’s throat and dragging her back toward the lean-to of the blacksmith’s shop.
“Let her go,” Clive seethed as he marched in time with him.
The man sneered and flicked a small knife against Giselle’s ear. “Don’t try.”
“She’s mine,” Clive spat. “You haven’t a chance.”
“No?” The cur yanked her backward.
Her eyes wide upon Clive, she pleaded with him for reprieve.
