She darted into the dining room for the second time flanked bythree breathless maids and one pale-faced footman, taking a spot at the far end of the table while they caught their breath. The ruffian stumbled into the room, glaring at them.
“This ends now,” the man growled.
“I beg to differ, sir,” Alyssia shot back. “This only ends one way, and that’s with you at the gallows!” Stopping here might not have been the wisest choice, but at least she wasn’t alone anymore.
They were deadlocked. The man blocked the door. Unless he moved, they couldn’t make one.
“Don’t do anything foolish,” she whispered to the servants.
They each nodded, their gazes locked on the blackguard.
Giles, where are you?
Even if he fought Zeus himself, she believed he could win. These ruffians were just following orders. But the two of them were fighting for something much more. Their lives. Their love. Deuced vengeance!
The faux duke must really be relentless and hasty.
Why else would he make choices that would make vehement enemies of men like her father and the Marquess of Knoxley?
That man inched forward. “Your husband is dead by now,” he said tauntingly. “You are all alone.”
Alyssia’s mouth went dry. For one awful heartbeat the image he painted—Giles crumpled, lifeless—blossomed in her head. Her world narrowed to that single, terrible picture.
Do not fall for it, Liss, she heard his voice in her head.
I won’t, she said back firmly.
“No,” she said to the man. “He isn’t.”
To her horror, he pulled a pistol from inside his jacket. “I saved the best for last, wench.”
Oh, God. Help.
“Don’t worry,” she said to the servants at her side. “Giles—”
The intruder jerked as if yanked by an invisible cord, then toppled face-first with a heavy, graceless thud, slamming against the table onhis way down.
A voice drawled from the doorway, breathless and dark, “Did someone say my name?”
Giles!
“Intruders are dropping like apples from trees,” her husband remarked, his hot eyes finding hers.
Relief slammed through her so hard her knees nearly forgot to keep her upright. He stood framed in the doorway like death’s own herald, knuckles split and slick with red, and his cheek blossoming in a vicious purple, one eye already puffing sinisterly. Blood traced thin, dark lines down the stubble of his face.
A tall man entered the room behind him and snorted. “I remember droppingyourapple and tying him up.”
Alyssia could breathe again, but the breath came sharp. She rushed toward Giles without thinking, hands hovering over the dreadful marks on his body. There were too many, and every bruise felt like her fault. Every bead of blood looked personal. And it deuced well was. He was herhusband.
“Liss,” he gritted out. “Did you rush down here injusta robe?”
She thought the first thing he’d do was scold her, not this. She glanced down and started at the gaping neckline, and a newfound mortification crashed into her like a boulder. She was naked beneath the robe! Fortunately, it covered most of her, but damn well still. Heat flooded her face. She snapped the robe closed, retying the sash so tight she nearly lost the ability to breathe.
Trust her to wage war in nothing but her husband’s robe.
She didn’t have time to inspect her husband any further. Heavy boots pounded down the corridor. Alyssia flinched, instinctively pressing closer to Giles. He shifted to shield her, arms instantly enveloping her.
“Stand down!” a loud voice barked. “Bow Street!”
