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Beneath her breastbone, Willow’s heart pounded a terrified staccato.
With impressive animal-like reflexes, the aristocrat spun around and veered to the side just in time to avoid the blow. He speared a hard glance her way for a fraction of a second before returning his attention to the two men advancing on him.
Two against one. The measly cowards!
Her blood simmered hot, and without thought to her own safety, she charged forward, brandishing her umbrella like a cudgel. She clobbered the disarmed beefy ruffian upside his wide head with a blow so robust, her umbrella broke with a sickening crunch
“Wot the ’ell?” Clutching his skull, fury contorted his face. He staggered sideways, glaring at her. “You’ll pay fer tha’, you li’l’ slut.”
“Shit.” Swearing beneath his breath, the nobleman planted the second thug an impressive facer. The thief’s head snapped to the side like a clean sheet buffeted by a gale, and blood spurted from his mouth.
Clenching her cracked umbrella in one hand and her heavy valise in the other, Willow gulped. Bile and fear burned her throat, and her pulse raced so fast, she felt the slightest bit faint. However, being of a healthy constitution and stern emotional composition, she dismissed the momentary light-headedness. Swooning was the absolute last thing she was about to do at this moment.
The furious bounder advanced on her; his thick neck sunk into the great mounds of his hunched shoulders. He waved his ham-like fists in wild, violent circles.
Uttering a squeak of stark terror, she hurled the useless umbrella at him.
He swatted it aside as if it were a pesky fly. It clattered at his feet.
She seized her satchel’s handle in both hands and swung with all her might straight at his broad face. The impact was like hitting an unyielding brick wall. The momentum tore her valise from her bent fingers.
With a heavy thud, it plunked to the cobbles.
Her palms stung from the reverberation, and she flashed cold, then hot, then cold again in rapid succession.
Slightly stunned, he grunted and shook his shaggy head. Crimson trickled from his wide, flat nose with its almost pig-like nostrils. Yet, he still plowed toward her, head down, reminding her of an enraged, inebriated bull.
Oh, my God!
What had she involved herself in?
Willow had never behaved so recklessly before. Sticky sweat trickling between her bosoms, she retreated, step-by-terrified-step, her focus glued to the infuriated brute’s face.
“I’ll make you pay fer tha’, wench.” His gaze dropped to her breasts, almost hidden behind her cloak. He licked his fat lips. “You’ll be beggin’ me fer mercy afore I’m done swivin’ you.”
A panic-stricken whimper caught in her throat. She shouldn’t have interfered, but she’d never been one to stand by and watch anyone being attacked, physically or verbally. Instinct had prompted her impulsive actions. And now… Bile and fear burned her throat, and she swallowed.
The man barreling down upon her was twice her size.
How could she hope to escape him?
She dodged to the side, intent on dashing up the lane. A hard jerk to her cloak brought her up short, and her stomach toppled sickeningly.
He held a handful of her cloak in his fist.
“Let me go,” she half-gasped, half-cried, dread constricting her throat.
“Wot you gonna do now, my pretty?” His lewd, satisfied laugh sent prickles scurrying up her sides from waist to beneath her damp arms.
Frantic and no match for his brutish strength, she angled away, yanking at her wrap.
Behind his burly back, the well-dressed cove had laid out the second thief.
His boots pounding hollowly on the stones, the gentleman thundered toward the man terrifying her. He clamped a large hand on the rotter’s arm, spinning him around.
Intent on defending himself, the ruffian released her cloak, and she stumbled backward, off-balance.
Three incredibly fast, well-placed blows to the oaf’s nose, cheek, and jaw had the man sinking to his feet before flopping forward onto his pock-marked face only inches from her feet. Her boots reverberated from the impact.
