He made a fist in reaction, his face screwed up in fury as he swung out. Reuben tried to stop it, but he was too far away. Didn’t matter. Miss Allen had been prepared.
“Very well,” she said as she straightened up. “I won’t help.”
He didn’t blame her. The one he did blame was Sammy, who was glaring at the disaster all around him.
“Let her go, Sammy. This isn’t your affair.”
“They paid me to keep the watch off ’em.”
“Then I suggest you get them out of here before the watch shows up.”
“But they want her.”
Reuben broke. It wasn’t a conscious decision. Normally, he felt the fury coming on. Normally, he allowed himself toappearas if he’d snapped. It added to his reputation throughout London. This time he really did. He went from calm to red-visioned fury in the blink of an eye.
He punched Sammy hard enough that the man’s head snapped back. His grip on Miss Spalding loosened and she was quick to crawl out of the way, but Reuben barely noticed. He was too busy punching his friend bloody.
How dare he send a bastard after Iseabail?
How dare he consider giving her over to these arses?
How dare he put his hands on her?
How dare he? How dare he? How dare he!
If Sammy fought back, Reuben didn’t notice it. He also didn’t hear anything but the roar of blood in his ears. But he did feel small hands on his arm pulling him back.
He rounded on the annoyance only to see Iseabail holding up her hands to stop him. She was saying something he couldn’t hear. And while his breath heaved in and out, eventually her words became clear.
“This doesn’t help!”
It bloody well did! His blood was pounding, his fists aching, but the need to pummel the bastards who threatened her beat through his brain and body. He wanted to fight! He wanted to—
“Please,” Iseabail was saying. “We need to leave. The watch is coming, and I don’t know what they’ll do to me.”
“Not a bloody thing,” he returned. Except he knew that wasn’t true. She was Scottish. She’d stabbed a man who was whimpering on the ground. There was a crowd of onlookers and gawkers. The watch would want to blame someone for this mess, and it would likely be her.
“We need to get you back to the countess’s home.”
“Yes.” She looked to the side. “Lady Rebecca, can you make it home by yourself?”
Who?
A young girl stepped out from behind a tree. Oh yes, that girl. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks rosy, and her expression shifted between shock and admiration. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, my maid and I should go.”
“Yes, you should,” said Iseabail. “Right away.”
The girl bobbed her head but didn’t seem like she would move. It was the maid who had more sense. She grabbed the girl’s arm and hauled her back. A moment later, they were all but running in their haste to leave.
“It’s our turn now,” said Iseabail. “Come on.” But she didn’t leave. Instead, she squatted down and grabbed the papers from where Reuben had dropped them. Then she looked at Miss Allen, who was still looking down at the blood that soaked the dirt from the howling man’s wound. “Leave him, Sadie.”
“It needs to be cleaned and stitched.”
“So did his wife after he beat her, but he left her to die instead.”
Sadie’s brows rose. “He’s like that, is he?”
“They are all are,” Iseabail returned grimly.
