Sudworth swiveled to aim at John.
“Don’t!” Netta stepped forwards, ignoring John’s raised hand. The muzzle of the gun was inches from his head. Too close to miss. “Don’t hurt him. I’ll…I’ll go with you. Let us away and no one need be hurt.”
John’s gaze flicked upwards and he sighed. “Darling, do you truly—” He ducked his head and spun, slamming his shoulder into Sudworth’s midsection. The gun fired, a chip of wood from the stables splintering from the bullet’s impact, and Netta clapped her hands over her ringing ears.
The men hit the ground. John bent Sudworth’s arm back over his head, forcing him to drop his weapon, and pressed a knife against the man’s throat.
Netta leaned against the wall of the building, her legs weak. Between one breath and the next, John had ended the threat.
The Duke of Montague strolled over and leveled his own pistol at Sudworth. “I don’t believe I’ve seen that move before. You’ll have to show it to me next time we’re at Gentleman Jack’s.”
Slowly, John rolled off of his opponent. His eyes found Netta’s, a wildness she seldom saw in them fading. “—think that I would allow you to go off with him?” he finished as though an assault hadn’t just taken place between the first and second part of his sentence. “I’m wounded. I thought you knew me better than that.”
Netta pushed off the wall and launched herself at him. Nothing had ever felt so good as his body pressed against hers. Even the jeweled cravat pin jabbing into her breast didn’t lessen the pleasure of feeling wrapped safely in her arms.
“I love you,” she said between kisses to his face, “more than you can ever know.”
“All the women I rescue say such.” But he gripped her closer.
She slapped his arm. “Do not play with me now. You could have died.Icould have died. This whole wonderful jumble you’ve brought to my life could have been over.”
He cupped her face between his hands, his thumbs wiping away her tears. “I wouldn’t let that happen. There are still too many games in our future, poppet.”
“You think you’ve won.” Even lying on his back, Sudworth managed to look condescending. “Liverpool and I have reached an agreement. He won’t try me for any crimes. You might have saved Miss Evered today, but I won’t be out of your lives anytime soon. Don’t get too comfortable with your whore; you won’t have her around for long.”
Netta shuddered.
John kissed her forehead. “I need you to go with my friends now. They’ll take you home to your sister.”
He stepped away and peeled out of his jacket.
She frowned. “What are you talking about? I’m not leaving you.”
“You’ll see me soon enough.” He winked.
She crossed her arms over her chest. She didn’t care how charming he was, she wasn’t budging. When she let the infuriating man out of her sight, bad things tended to happen.
“Dunkeld!” John called.
The burly Scotsman lumbered towards them.
“Give the man your knife, will you? I know you carry a great big one on your person.” He flipped his own knife in his hands, the blade glinting in the early sun. “Never let it be said this wasn’t a fair fight.”
Realization dawned. “No. You aren’t doing this. This isn’t happening.”
Montague slid his pistol into the front of his breeches. “I’ll stay. Just in case.”
“Thank you.” John motioned for Sudworth to come to his feet.
Dunkeld tossed an eight-inch blade to the dirt in front of the man.
“Do you hear me, John?” Netta out-and-out stamped her foot. This was absurd. They had just barely escaped with their lives; it made no sense to risk his again. “I won’t allow it.”
“Dunkeld, another favor?” John pointed to her.
“Sorry, miss.” Dunkeld shrugged, then placed his hands on her waist and tossed her over his shoulder.
She pounded the man’s back. “Put me down!”
