“I will be clearer in the future. They are not to help me.”
Damn, the woman obviously planned to continue with her folly. “What would you have done if he had attacked?”
“He did attack!” she shot back. “But I am good with my fists, and I have healthy lungs. If nothing else, I could have screamed and people would have come running.”
False confidence. “Did you know that he always carries a knife? That he could have gutted you before you drew breath?” Heath didn’t usually speak so bluntly with ladies, but she seemed to prefer it.
To his surprise, she didn’t speak. There was no bravado or acknowledgment.
“Miss Allen—” he began.
“Have you seen the bruises left when a woman is choked? Or heard a child cry because her shoulder was wrenched by her father?”
He swallowed. “As bad as that?”
“His wife limps now. He did it so she couldn’t outrun him.”
“Words no doubt spoken in anger. Eddie has a temper.”
She turned to face him. “That makes it better?”
“No,” he admitted. “That makes it worse. Perhaps I should put him into debtor’s prison, but I fear it will make him meaner.”
She shook her head as they turned a corner. “I do not understand any soul who has food and power, and yet expends it on hurting others. They are vile creatures without reason or compassion.”
There was more to her words than she said aloud. She probably knew someone like that and had suffered at his hands.
“Did you become Lady Vengeance in Scotland?” he asked. “To fight against someone?”
She stared at him. “The English ladies gave me that ridiculous name. I simply do what I can.”
Doubtful. No woman became the fighter she was without cause, but he wouldn’t press it. Instead, he shifted her to his other side to protect her from a large pile of rubbish. The smell was bad, but the potential for a footpad was worse.
“Does the countess know of your activities?”
Miss Allen snorted. “The Dowager Countess of Byrning? The woman is too old and too privileged to believe anyone would disobey her dictates.”
“She is your sponsor. These activities will destroy your chances of finding a husband and hurt her in the process.”
The lady sighed. “Her task is doomed. I am already too notorious to marry, even if I weren’t Scottish.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You are handsome and adequately dowered. There will be a man who wants you.”
She actually laughed at that, then turned to face him. “Really? Would you marry me?”
She didn’t seem serious, and yet, he was put in the awkward position of answering. “Miss Allen—”
“Go on,” she chided. And when he didn’t, she had the nerve to poke him in his sternum. “Say it. Say that I am not an acceptable woman for you.”
“You are a completely acceptable woman!” he shot back. “Provided you cease trying to discipline the men of the world.”
“So you would marry me?”
Did she want him to insult her? “You are aware, perhaps, that I am a widower?”
She jolted. “I was not. I am sorry.”
“Thank you. Barbara died in childbirth with my second daughter.” He felt the usual squeeze in his heart at the memory. “I have two beautiful daughters now, aged three and five. And where I might consider you an excellent bride—”
