He bolted out of bed. She followed suit, her feet tangling with her nightgown on the floor. She picked it up, yanking it over her head. He cursed softly as he fumbled with his clothes. When she reached to light the lamp, he stopped her.
“Don’t alert them.” He grabbed the poker by the hearth. “Stay put until I come to get you, understood?”
Before she could argue, he was on the move. She heard the slight protest of door hinges, the stealthy pad of his footsteps fading.
The wind wailed. Her heart thundered. Was that the creak of a floorboard?
THUD. A man’s shout. Crashing sounds.
She dashed for the stairs, descending as quickly as she could in the dimness. The front door was open, the wind banging it against the wall. Sounds of combat came from the parlor, light flickering beneath the closed door: movements of a brawl in progress.
Sweet Heavens, I have to help Rhys. I need…a weapon.
She ran down the corridor to the kitchen. Inside, she headed straight for the cook stove, her hands closing around the handle of a cast iron pan. Hefting it up, she rushed to the door that connected the kitchen to the parlor. Inhaling, she shouldered it open a crack.
Two brutes held Rhys pinned to the opposite wall. He struggled, but they held him fast. A third villain advanced toward them. His back was to her, but she could see the glint of the blade in his raised hand.
The blighters were ganging up on Rhys. Onherman.
Instinct took over. She charged through the door and straight at the man with the knife.
“Leggett, behind you!”
At his comrade’s shouted warning, the villain spun around…too late. Her weapon was already in motion. She glimpsed Leggett’s yellow-toothed snarl the instant before her pan struck home.
She hit him squarely in the face. The contact reverberated up her arms.
With a moan, he crumpled, his blade skittering across the floor. She stared down at the blood pouring over his visage.Blooming hell, did I kill him?
“I’ll get the bitch! You hold this bastard.”
The voice pierced her shock.
“Run, Maggie!” Rhys roared.
Her head snapped up. By the wall, Rhys was scuffling with his remaining captor; a brute built like a brick house was bearing down upon her. She quickly raised her pan.
“I’ll use this again,” she warned. “Don’t think I won’t.”
Her attacker’s eyes roved over her nightgown-clad form. His smile made her stomach twist. “After I teach you a lesson, I’m going ’ave my fun wif you.”
He lunged at her. She dodged, but he grabbed a hold of her sleeve. He tore it viciously, exposing her right arm to the shoulder. Seeing the predatory lust in his eyes, she swung the pan with all her might.
He caught it, yanking it from her grip. Before she could run, he had her bodice in his fist. He pushed her backward, the back of her knees hitting the settee. He toppled her onto the cushions.
“I like my bitches wif bite.” He grabbed her bared shoulder in a bruising grip. “Let’s see what you’re ’iding ’neath that—”
“Get your hands off of her!”
Eyes lit with unholy fury, Rhys caught her attacker in a flying tackle. He landed on top, plowing his fists repeatedly into her assailant’s face. Just as he gained the upper hand, the bastard’s comrade grabbed him from behind. Frantically, Maggie scrambled to her feet, looking for her weapon—when another movement caught her eye.
In the doorway, a newcomer.
“Jeremy?” she croaked.
Her brother took instant stock of the situation. If Goodes had one talent, it was spotting trouble. His gaze shot from her ripped nightgown to the blood-soaked brute on the floor to the two remaining bastards ganging up on Rhys.
Anger blazed on Jeremy’s face. Tossing aside his bag, he barreled into the fray with a war cry. He ripped the man off Rhys’s back, making the fight even. Just in case, Maggie ran to pick up her pan…and not a moment too soon. The villain she’d knocked out sat up, holding his head.
