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Hell would freeze first after what that craven rotter put Roxina through.
Shelby stepped into his path.
Nostrils flaring, the man skidded to a halt. Desperation twisted his face as he swung his pistol up, aiming squarely at Shelby’s chest.
“No!” Roxina’s scream pierced the air.
Without a second thought, she flung herself in front of Shelby.
His pulse tunneled hotly through his veins.
She placed herself in deadly peril to protect him.
Dash struck again, locking his powerful jaws onto the man’s arm. The villain shrieked and thrashed violently as he struggled to pry the furious dog off.
His pistol clanked onto the flagstone.
Robyn and Honeybrook pounced, dragging him to the ground. They struggled briefly—a furious flurry of fists and curses before the blighter lay pinned beneath their combined strength and weight.
Then, as if the world had suddenly awakened, the house erupted into movement.
Servants poured outside, armed with whatever they could find—the butler and footmen with pistols, a maid gripping a brass candlestick like a cudgel, the cook brandishing a rolling pin like a cudgel, and another maid wielding a fireplace poker.
The stable boy appeared next, slipping through the chaos with a pitchfork clutched in white-knuckled hands, while the groomsman wielded a shovel as if prepared to bury the bodies himself.
More yells echoed beyond the garden wall, and booted footsteps pounded against the cobblestones.
Several men stormed into the garden.
Swiftly assessing the situation, three assisted Robyn and Honeybrook in restraining the single living highwayman.
Chest heaving, Robyn rose and brushed at the dirt and grass smudging his buff-colored pantaloons while Honeybrook swiped a hand across his sweaty forehead.
“I’ll fetch the constable,” one newcomer said before trotting away.
Shelby sucked in a ragged breath.
It was over—well, at least Desmond no longer threatened Roxina.
Mitchel Danforth’s whereabouts had yet to be determined, however.
Another onlooker took in the grizzly scene and then whistled. “What a row, aye?”
Desmond lay sprawled in the dirt, lifeless, crimson blood seeping into the soil. His reign of terror had ended with a single shot.
His focus riveted on Roxina, Shelby took no time to celebrate the victory.
Trembling and her chest rapidly rising and falling, she stood frozen, wide-eyed and lips parted. She appeared dazed, her expression bewildered.
She lifted her arms as if to embrace him—then seemed to think better of it and dropped her hands to her sides.
“Roxina?” Shelby extended his arms, waiting… hoping.
Praying.
Perhaps, just perhaps, she was ready to admit she felt something for him other than disdain and contempt.
Her breath hitched, and her pert chin quivered.
