Black spots of terror scudded before her eyes.
She staggered backward, encountering the hard wall of Marchand’s chest, as the two men swiftly rounded the table.
The pistol was still trained on her.
“I’ll just ’ave yer wee bag, miss,” said the man with the gun. “And you there, big guv, ’and over yer walking stick if ye dinna want a hole in yer ’ead and turn out yer pockets. I can tell by jus’lookin’at ye that ye’ve got a beauty of a watch, so don’t even think of ’iding it from us.”
Later, Ginny would remember what happened next mainly as a series of distinct sounds, and not even loud ones, which somehow made it all the more terrifying.Crunch thud grunt crash thudthud.
It was over in seconds.
Marchand had rammed an elbow into one man’s throat while chopping his walking stick up beneath the forearm of the man pointing the pistol and kneeing him in the groin. The pistol went flying and the thugs buckled.
The finalthudswere the sound of two grown men hitting the dirt from a standing position.
That sound reverberated through her as she stared down. A scream congealed in her throat.
Her knees turned to water.
Marchand seized her elbow before she collapsed. He bent to sweep up the thug’s gun. He tucked his walking stick beneath his arm and managed to lock the gun with one hand. Then he swept his arm around her, holding her close to his body, and steered her wordlessly, swiftly back up the path. Leaving the two would-be thieves moaning in a litter of broken crockery.
Chapter Eleven
Marchand furiously shoved his newly acquired pistol into his inside coat pocket. He might as well hurl it into the shrubbery. It was an old and cheap stick and odds were good that bastard wouldn’t have even gotten off a shot if he’d managed to pull the trigger.
His skin was still all over ice.
That bastard had aimed it at Guinevere’s heart.
Those thugs were very, very lucky Marchand hadn’t done murder.
He realized he was rushing Ginny when she stumbled; he curled his arm around her more tightly to steady her and slowed his pace. She was trembling. It sent a fresh wave of fury through him and a nearly painful surge of protectiveness.
He reserved most of the fury for himself.
What bloody good were any of his instincts if they dissolved in the face of a girl’s doe-eyed entreaty?He’d known better.
What was happening to him?
She’dknownhe could not say no to her.
He didn’t like that at all.
And he didn’t likeonebit being played. For she had indeed played him.
And now here they were.
Just below his feet something small and bright nestled in the grass nearest the stone path snagged his eye. He swiftly bent to pluck it up and tucked it into his pocket as they passed. Miss Woodville didn’t seem to notice.
When at last they came upon a bench close enough to the main street to hear carriage wheels clattering over cobblestones, he stopped. “Sit,” he suggested quietly.
She collapsed onto the bench.
He removed the pistol from his coat pocket, snapped it open, dumped out the powder and shot, and dropped it in the shrubbery.
Then he shrugged out of his coat and settled it over her shoulders. It all but engulfed her.
She immediately burrowed in and gripped it closed in her fist.
