“Excellent,” Daffin replied. He scanned the street one last time, preparing to escort the ladies to the coach that waited in front of the shop.
“We could stop at Gunter’s and get an ice,” Nicole said, rocking to and fro on her heels.
Daffin frowned. “It’s the middle of December.”
“Ice still tastes good when it’s cold out,” Nicole retorted. “It’s better in the winter, actually. It doesn’t melt as quickly.”
“I’m not certain it’s prudent.” Daffin cleared his throat. “Given the circumstances.”
Madame Duval glanced between them and lifted her brows, obviously interested in what the “circumstances” might be, but too polite to ask.
“I refuse to act as if I’m under siege.” Nicole lifted her chin. “You want an ice, don’t you, Regina?”
Regina glanced between Daffin and Nicole. “Ices are lovely, of course. I particularly enjoy the burnt filbert, but I want you to be safe, Nicole.”
Nicole rolled her eyes. “I want you to be safe too, but I refuse to cower. Now, we’re going for ices. I insist.”
Less than twenty minutes later, the coach rolled to a stop in front of Gunter’s on Berkeley Square. Daffin jumped from the coach first, scanned the area, and pulled down the stairs to help the ladies alight.
“Now that we’re here, I’m feeling awfully sleepy,” Nicole announced, stifling a yawn.
“Stay in the coach,” Regina replied. “We’ll get the ices.”
“Indeed,” Daffin agreed. He helped Regina down the steps.
He and Regina turned away from the coach. They waited for a few conveyances to pass before crossing the road toward the confectioner’s shop.
A crack went off.
Daffin dove to the ground, taking Regina with him. He covered her with his body. “Keep your head down,” he whispered fiercely.
He glanced up at the crowd that was forming. A man broke away and ran across the square.
“He had a pistol!” one woman yelled, pointing after the man. “He shot toward the lady,” she informed Daffin, nodding at Regina.
Daffin jumped up and pulled Regina into his arms. He ripped open the door to the coach and handed her inside to a wide-eyed Nicole. “Stay down,” he warned them.
He yelled to the coachman to take them home, then he sprang to give chase to the culprit. If he could catch the bastard, he could put an end to the speculation as to who was after them and why.
By the time Daffin ran the length of Berkeley Square and turned the first corner onto Bruton Street, where he’d seen the shooter run, there was no sign of the man. Daffin scanned the area. His gaze swept every inch of the place, his eyes narrowed and alert. The culprit had been of medium build and height, in working-class dress, including a hat that had been pulled down to obscure his face, but Daffin didn’t know if he was young or old. He didn’t know his hair color or any of his features.
Damn. Damn. Damn. He turned in a circle. The bloody bounder could be anywhere. In any of the store fronts. Hiding somewhere. Or perhaps he’d run down an alley. Or lurked in one of the many sets of mews behind the buildings. For all Daffin knew, the chap lived near here and was already home. Damn again. It would be nothing short of a wild-goose chase to singlehandedly search the area. He needed to get back to Regina and protect her.
Frustrated, Daffin set out back in the direction of Gunter’s. He could only hope the coachman had kept them safe. Sweating from his run, he pulled off his coat and tossed it over his arm. He’d just turned the corner back onto Curzon Street when the duke’s coach pulled to a stop in front of him. Damn it. They hadn’t gone home.
The door to the conveyance opened, and he was greeted with looks of horror from both ladies.
“Dear God, Daffin,” Regina cried. “You’ve been shot!”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Daffin glanced down to see blood seeping from his white shirt. How the hell had he failed to notice the wound to his shoulder? He had felt no pain, and apparently, his dark coat had obscured it. The two ladies quickly helped him into the carriage, and Regina shouted for the coachman to drive as quickly as possible.
As they raced home, Regina examined the wound. It appeared the bullet had merely grazed him, but that didn’t stop the ladies from behaving as if he were in mortal danger. Regina pulled off her scarf and used it to stanch the blood. She pressed the soft fabric tightly against his bare flesh. She was so close her apple scent made his head swim. Or perhaps it was the blood loss. He grinned to himself.
“What are you smiling about?” Regina demanded. Her face was drawn and pale. She looked frightened half to death.
“Don’t worry. This isn’t the first time I’ve been shot,” Daffin whispered to her. “But it’s certainly the first time I’ve had ascarf that’s probably more expensive than my entire set of clothing stanch the blood.”
