And then they were both on the ground.
Dirt flew in his eyes, causing him to momentarily lose sight of the knife at the same time he bent the villain’s arms unnaturally. The man grunted, and then spit, and then wrapped his legs around Mantis’ waist to unbalance him.
It was precisely what Mantis needed, and in the next second, he was straddling the bastard, pressing his assailant’s grubby hands into the ground.
Blackheart retrieved the knife.
“Who sent you?” Mantis demanded. The man turned his head and spat again. There was something familiar about him. Likely he’d fought him off at Vauxhall. “Is someone out to avenge my father? Tell me who sent you.”
His question was met with silence. Mantis applied more pressure on the man’s wrists, nearly enough to shatter bones. “Answer if you ever want to use your hands again.”
“Nothing to do with Lord Crestwood,” he grunted.
“Then who?”
More bodies hurled at them from out of the brush, and turning, Mantis loosened his hold when a fist connected with one of his eyes. Seeing the flash of yet another knife, he twisted the man’s arm just as one of his cohorts piled onto the two of them.
Mantis smelled the blood, as did the others, who scrambled away as quickly as they appeared. Blackheart’s men would take chase. They would catch most of them.
But when Mantis sat back on his knees, he swore. The weight of the second fellow had plunged his attacker’s knife into the man’s own chest. The unfocussed gaze staring up at him was unmistakable.
He’d get no more answers out of this one.
He could only hope one of the other men knew who was behind the attacks. Because if they had nothing to do with his father, that meant someone had wanted him, Mantis, dead, for some other reason.
The Perfect Waltz
Mantis exited onto the front step of Crest House just in time to watch Felicity’s father’s carriage draw to a halt. They had been invited to arrive early so as to join Mantis, Crestwood, and his stepmother in the reception line.
By tomorrow at this time, Mantis would be a married man.
He curled his shoulders forward inside the tightly fitted jacket Cornell had ordered for the occasion, and then fidgeted with the embroidery edging his scarlet waistcoat. He might as well have pilfered the garments from Greystone’s wardrobe.
This particular ensemble was only slightly less elaborate than the apparel laid out for him to wear tomorrow morning. His wedding day.
Standing before a church full of people was not something he’d normally be willing to do. Returning to his father’s house for the prewedding ball wasn’t something he’d been keen on either.
But for Felicity.
He would do anything.
A footman had hopped off the back of the carriage and was pulling down the step. Mantis, however, beat him to open the door.
Brightley exited first, glanced curiously when he caught sight of Mantis’ eye, which was swollen and purple, and then assisted Lady Brightley behind him. Mantis shuffled his feet impatiently.
He’d managed to visit her only twice since they’d inspected the townhouse together, and her mother, most unfortunately, had been present for most of both occasions. But for all of about seven minutes, he’d not been allowed to be alone with her.
But it had paid off. She was safe.
Lady Brightley moved away from the step, finally allowing Mantis to lean into the carriage to take her hand.
Air whooshed out of his lungs for the second time that afternoon.
Only this time…
It was due to the astonishing revelation that this woman… was going to be his wife.
Her scarlet gown, which accentuated her pale, swan-like neck and delicate face, hinted at the passionate nature she hid from the rest of the world.
