Thirteen Years Earlier
Keep moving. Act confident. Do not let them see your fear.
Charlie repeated the mantra as she navigated the dark labyrinth of Marseille. In her haste to escape her guardian, she’d left behind her map and couldn’t find the docks she was looking for. After several turns, she ended up in an abandoned alley that ran into a brick wall. She turned around…and found her path barricaded.
Sailors, three of them. On ship leave and soused.
“Lost, luv?” The wiry fellow in the middle spoke with a Cockney accent.
Panic prickled her neck at the opportunistic glint in his eyes, but she maintained a calm demeanor. In her twenty-one years, she’d dealt with her share of predators.
“Not at all,” she said glibly. “I am meeting some friends at the restaurant around the corner. They are waiting, so if you’ll excuse me…”
She made to move past them, her panic turning to terror when the largest sailor closed a beefy hand around her arm, yanking her so that her back hit his front.
“No need to hurry off,chérie.” His French accent oozed into her ear, and she cringed when he ground his aroused member against her. “We’ll give you all the company you need.”
One of the others sandwiched her against his comrade. She acted on instinct, jerking her knee up into his groin. He doubled over, but the bastard behind her kept her restrained. When he gagged her with his hand, she bit him. The brute swore, tearing his hand away, and she screamed for help.
The third assailant slapped her. Pain stunned her senses. Through the ringing in her ears, she heard a new voice.
“Release the lady,” the deep tones commanded.
Dimness masked the newcomer’s face, but his silhouetted figure was tall, lean, and powerfully built. His wide shoulders stretched his linen shirt, and his trousered legs bulged with sinew.
“Mêle-toi de tes affaires,” the French sailor spat.
In a lethal blur, the stranger moved. He beat the sailors to a pulp, and they stumbled off whimpering, their tails between their legs. Then he came to her, stepping into the moonlight…and her heart quickened. It was as if something within her came alive. Recognition hummed through every fiber of her being. Her blood rushed and her heart thumped madly against her ribs.
It wasn’t just that this man was beautiful, which he most definitely was. His face deserved to be immortalized by a sculptor, the symmetry of his bones lovingly chiseled by nature. No stone, however, could capture his raw male energy. His thick, dark hair gleamed with health, the open vee of his collar revealing his corded throat. Normally, such outrageous masculinity would put her on edge. But the stranger did not seem aggressive. Rather, he looked…concerned?
“Clearly, the blackguards picked the wrong lady to meddle with.” He smiled slowly, the hard line of his mouth relaxing into a sensual curve. “Are you all right, miss?”
Transfixed, she managed a nod. “I am, sir. You have my gratitude?—”
“It was a trifling matter and my honor to assist.” He said it like he meant it. Then he bowed. “Apologies, I have forgotten my manners. Sebastian Courtenay, Marquess of Fayne, at your service.”
An English lord. With the smile of a poet and battle prowess of a knight.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord.” She hoped her curtsy would pass muster. “I am Charlotte Danvers. My papa was the late Earl of Bembridge. He…” She chewed on her lip, uncertain if she should share how alone in the world she was. “He, um, passed away last year.”
“Condolences, my lady.” In the silvery light, the color of Fayne’s eyes was difficult to discern, but his sincerity could not be mistaken. “I presume you are here with friends, then, and have gotten separated. May I escort you to your destination?”
How would Fayne react if she told him that her only “friend” in the world was her guardian, Sir Patrick Swainey, whose lecherous advances had led to her current flit? What would the marquess say if she shared that she’d laced Swainey’s port with a sedative this eve and run away with a valise of essentials and the money she’d managed to filch from him? That her plan was to buy passage on a ship to somewhere, anywhere, and start a new life working as a governess or secretary?
No man has ever proved worthy of your trust. What makes you think Fayne will be different?
“I…I am not certain,” she said haltingly.
“Not certain if you want my assistance? Or not certain if you can trust me?”
Surprised by his acuity, she admitted, “Both.”
“Do you like seafood?”
She blinked at the non sequitur. “Um, yes. I do.”
“There is a bistro on the next block that serves an excellentbouillabaisse.” He held out his arm. “Will you allow me to take you to supper whilst you come to a decision?”
