She hesitated, wondering whether to turn right and weave her way across Great East Street to Black Lion Street, as it would surely be shorter, when the unthinkable happened. Someone slammed into her from behind and tugged hard upon her reticule, as she flailed — and failed — to stay on her feet.
Chapter Six
Screaming, Glynnispitched forward. First her knees and then her gloved palms hit the pavement. With her feathered aigrette falling over her face, she wasn’t even able to catch a glimpse of the culprit.
Shocked and mortified, she remained on all fours a moment, hoping her gown wasn’t torn. And before she could climb to her feet, she heard footsteps running to her. Once again, hands were upon her. She let out another shriek.
“’Tis I, Hargrove,” came his voice, and she relaxed, letting him draw her to standing, and then she leaned against his firm, safe figure.
“Are you injured?” he asked.
Glynnis kept her eyes closed a moment, catching her breath, feeling his warmth, and taking her own measure. Her heart beat fast from the shock of being shoved, and perhaps also from suddenly being in his arms. Then she opened her eyes and pushed away from him, knowing her knees might be bruised, but that was the worst of it. Glancing down, her dress was dirty but not in need of repair.
“Yes, I believe I am unharmed. Thank you for your assistance.” She spoke the words lightly, as if he’d merely retrieved a package or book from the pavement and not her.
When their gazes caught, however, she saw concern. Moreover, angry words spilled from his mouth.
“A cutpurse!” he fumed. “Probably came from London, knowing townsfolk are off their guard when in Brighton.”
She looked at the reticule ribbon still around her wrist and held it up for his inspection.
“Fortunately, there was nothing of value in my purse.”
“Nothing?”
“Merely a handkerchief,” she assured him. “I carried the reticule because I thought it was ... pretty.” Embarrassed at how her voice caught on the last word, Glynnis realized she needed to get to her room and maybe shed a few tears, for the incident had shaken her despite the mild outcome.
Then someone nearby coughed, and she looked past Hargrove to see the woman from the party.
“You will catch your death,” she uttered without thinking, but the gossamer gown left nothing to the imagination. And by the pert breasts with pearled tips, Glynnis would say the woman was feeling chilled despite the warm climate.
Hargrove looked at the Cyprian, too — for Glynnis knew what she was.
“Where do you live?” he asked the rouged doxy.
Glynnis started to draw away. This was no longer her business, and he had more important things to do than deal with her.
