“Bloody hell, Francis,” said the man in the hat, “you’ve terrorized her, and why I am not surprised. You are a bane to all women. Allow me.” He swooped toward Tessa, his arms outstretched. “Come on, then, love. Up you go.”
And now Tessa did scream.
She yanked from their hold and scrambled over the bench, backing into the sharp needles of the hedge. “Please,” she gasped, “you are too close. I beg you.”
“Familiar words, no doubt, Nevil,” said one of the men. This was met by laughter and a round of whistles. One of them lost his balance and fell on the bench. Tessa pressed herself more tightly into the hedge.
She was just about to launch herself to the right, to skirt the corner of the pergola and make for the pathway, when she saw a flutter of movement inside the dim pergola. It was just a flash, an arc of blackness, blacker than the night. It came and went so quickly, she thought it was her own hysteria playing tricks.
But suddenly the laughing man called Nevil was jerked backward—one moment he reached for her, the next he was gone. The snorts and snickers came to a sudden hiccup-y stop.
One of the young men shouted, “What the bloo—”
His exclamation was cut off when a forearm lashed out from behind and clamped down across his throat. The young man went bug-eyed and scratched at the arm around his neck.
Joseph.
Tessa’s husband had materialized from the night. First she saw his arm, which wrapped around the neck of the young man; next broad shoulders and chest. When Joseph’s face came into the light, Tessa saw a mask of rage. She let out a sob of relief and dropped onto the bench.
“Tessa, are you harmed?” he called out.
She shook her head.
“Tessa?” he repeated, his voice urgent.
“No,” she said, staring at her hands. “They’ve done nothing. I was frightened. It was silly. You should let him go.”
“Let—merc—go...” said the man held by the neck.
Tessa slapped her hand on the bench, mortified by the scene she had caused. “Please.” She looked up. “Let him go.”
Joseph released the man and he dropped to the ground on a gasp. Joseph rounded on the others. When he spoke, it was in a voice she had never heard. Raw, loose, the dialect of a common man. “Take another step toward her, no,look at heragain, and I’ll sink a knife into your neck before your next breath.”
“Careful, sir, no harm meant,” said one of the men, edging away.
“Just trying to be of service,” said the other man.
Joseph ignored them and moved to the bench. “Tessa?” He hovered above her but did not reach out. His posh voice had returned. “Tell me what happened?”
She shook her head. “They are harmless,” she said hoarsely. “Let them go. They did nothing.”
“Harmless, mate,” repeated one man, working with the others to haul their gagging friend to his feet.
Joseph ignored him, staring at Tessa. “You’re crying.”
“It’s nothing. Please...” She wanted the men gone. She wanted to be alone with Joseph. She saw her hat on the ground and she reached for it, but her hand shook. She grabbed the bench and closed her eyes.
Joseph eased beside her. “Tessa, what can I...?” he whispered cautiously.
It was her undoing. She fell against him, burying her face into his neck, grabbing handfuls of his coat. His arms went around her and she sucked in a breath.
Over her head, he growled, “Bugger off.”
Tessa heard scrambling, gutturaloofs, and retreating footsteps. She clung to Joseph with a fierceness of a survivor on a raft, eyes squeezed shut, breath held. She listened, straining to hear the last crunch of gravel, a stray curse, a snicker. Joseph said nothing. He held her and rubbed circles on the small of her back.
When the pergola was quiet at last, Tessa allowed herself to breathe again. A torrent of relief and anger and fear came out in gasps and gulps. Next, tears. She wept against his chest.
“Shh,”Joseph said softly against her hair. “I have you. Tessa,shh. I’m so sorry. This is my fault. It was stupid of me to leave you alone. Forgive me—please forgive me. But please tell me you are unharmed? What did they—?”
