Catherine’s heart lurched. “Then we must follow.”
“No.” Benedict’s tone brooked no argument. “We cannot take you there. Whitechapel is no place for a lady. It is hardly even safe for men the likes of us.”
“Then I will go alone.”
Catherine threw open the carriage door and set her foot on the cobbles before they could stop her. “Tell me in which direction it is.”
“Catherine…” Jeremy started.
“I am a Duchess!” Catherine snapped.
“Your Grace,” Benedict said in a conciliatory manner, “you are dressed for dinner, and that is what you will be in that place.”
“I don’t care. I will not leave him there! Either you accompany me, or you will allow me to go alone.”
They yielded, muttering curses, and followed when she ascended back into the carriage. Soon, the carriage had to be abandoned, its wheels too wide for the twisting lanes. They continued on foot, the air thick with the stench of refuse and cheap gin, shadows watching from every alley.
When it happened, it was swift.
Three men stepped out before them.
Their eyes glinted as sharply as the blades they carried.
Another closed in from behind.
Benedict shoved Jeremy in front of Catherine while he put his back to hers so that she was sandwiched between the two men.
“Purse and rings,” one of the ruffians snarled.
“We’ll have the dress too,” said another.
“Unacceptable,” Benedict spat.
“We’re not asking, guv,” said the first ruffian, his eyes never leaving Catherine’s bosom.
Jeremy raised his fists. Benedict set his feet as though expecting a sudden rush from their attackers.
Neither was armed.
The net closed around them. Catherine sought the words that might extricate them, but knew there were none. These men would not bow and back away if she announced herself a Duchess. They did not care for her rank or that of the two gentlemen with her.
Fear turned her insides to ice. It froze her muscles and her mind...
Then a man broke through from the shadows.
He arrived like a thunderclap. He drove through the ruffians with terrifying force, every strike precise, merciless. One fled, then another. The last remained, dazed, cornered by the violence he had just witnessed.
That man’s eyes widened.
“General…” he whispered hoarsely.
Her eyes honed in on the face of her savior.
Aaron?
The ruffian straightened, resignation etched on his face.
“Kill me, guv. But I can help you, I knows the man who took the Dragon from you. Stabbed you in the back some say! They all think you’re dead. I can help you, guv!”
