Another fist rained down on me and I ducked. It continued on its trajectory into the other man’s face, knocking him to the ground. At least they were somewhat inept assailants.
“Then why the hell are you hitting them with the bleeding umbrella?” On further inspection, it was obvious she had managed more than a few hits on at least one of them. He was bleeding from his stomach and the side of his head. He was the more unsteady for it, and I aimed a blow at the wound on his stomach. It earned me a devastated grunt.
“It was tucked under my skirts.” I heard athunkfollowed by a groan behind me. I spun in time to see that she had made it to her feet. The taller man collapsed at the waist. It seemed she’d hit the man’s kidney with the umbrella.
The aforementioned knife was tucked uselessly in her hand.
“Keep the umbrella. Give me the damn knife!”
“Oh!” She had enough sense to give it over, handle first. Now that we were armed and standing together, the men eyed us wearily.
She had caused a fair amount of damage with her makeshift weapon. The man holding his bleeding side was unlikely to forget her if he survived.
The slightly less injured one struck with very little warning, but I caught the slight dip in his shoulder and met his fist with the knife. He yowled in pain and pulled away, damaging the hand further.
His compatriot joined him in his cries when she whacked him about the knee. He was on the ground writhing. She’d broken it then. Good.
This was our opportunity. We would likely win if the fight continued. They were badly injured, and she was a crack shot with an umbrella.
Or we could run. I didn’t fancy waiting to see if they had friends. I grabbed her hand and tugged her away from the scene, urging her into a run.
We turned down the nicer side streets, doubling back every so often to be sure we weren’t followed. Finally, we reached my office and the little apartment above them. Fortunately, I managed to retain my keys in the scuffle, and I ushered her inside and out of the night.
I finally released her hand when we reached my door at the top of the stairs. My hands shook as I fought to get the key in the lock. When I managed to open the door, I gestured her in front of me, then I pressed the door closed with my back.
She stood stark still in the center of my entry. Her arms were wrapped around her waist. The umbrella lined her side, supporting her, keeping her upright. The golden glow of her skin was gone and in its wake a sickly pale.
“Are you injured?”
“What?” she asked, her tone small and far away.
Shock then. I grabbed her by the shoulders and directed her into the chair by the hearth. I tugged the umbrella from hergrasp and nestled it against her knee. She would want it within reach.
That she allowed me to take it without protest was proof enough of her distress. Her shuddering form was unnecessary evidence.
I pulled away to light the fire. When that task was completed, I retrieved a blanket from the bedroom and wrapped it around her still-trembling body.
I had seen men in shock on the battlefield. I don’t think she would appreciate my usual method of reviving them.
No, a sharp crack on the cheek was not likely to please the marchioness. Quite frankly, I was somewhat afraid of her wrath if I displeased her.
My instinct was to make her tea, but I preferred coffee and my selection was pitiful. It would take time to heat the kettle as well.
I puttered about the kitchen, keeping an eye across the open room. My selection was truly pitiful. Kit and I typically dined together in the evenings. In the mornings, I often broke my fast at my desk.
I managed to procure a loaf of bread and some butter. I did not wish to overwhelm her, lest she be sick, so I ignored the cheese and dried meats.
I checked the last cupboard, desperately hoping for something edible to appear by magic. My prayers were answered in the form of drink rather than food. Whiskey.
I poured a finger into a teacup and brought it to her. I had to press it into her palm and curl her fingers around the cup before they responded.
“Whiskey. Kit left it, so it’s likely terrible, but it’s all I’ve got. Unless you’d like tea?”
She took a mindless sip with none of Kit’s usual fanfare.
“I’ve got bread as well if you think you can eat something? It might help with the shaking.”
She straightened a bit. “Do you have any cheese?” With the request, her tone returned to something of the usual warmth and vibrancy.
