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The boy suddenly seemed to realize he was not alone in the alley. Eyes huge, he looked up. He stumbled to a halt. His face paled.

A woman’s voice carried from the street. “Pip? Where did ye go?”

Concern sharpened her words. How easily Dominic imagined Gisela in such a situation, calling for Ewan who had disappeared from view. Dominic’s mouth flattened. He was not a parent, but no man could be immune to a mother’s worried voice. Peasant or lady, when they feared for their children, all women were equals.

Dominic glared back at the lout. Smug triumph glinted now in the man’s eyes. A warning cry seared through Dominic’s anger-hazed mind. The thug intended to draw blood. Despite the child standing so near. Despite possible risk of injuring the boy.

“Run away, son!” Dominic shouted to him. “Go!”

“Mama,” the child whined. His eyes welled with tears as he glanced from the men to the ball lying close to Dominic’s boots. His dirty face clouded with indecision. He seemed torn between what was wise and what he wanted.

“God’s teeth,” Dominic muttered. He’d never forgive himself if the boy got hurt.

Geoffrey wouldn’t forgive him, either.

Swallowing bitter disappointment, Dominic stepped away from the lackey, just as the blade of a knife glinted in the man’s hand. Dominic darted back, his boot heel thudding against one of the broken crates.

“Pip?” A woman stepped into the alley. Her gasp echoed. “Oh!”

Spinning on his heel, the thug faced her. Then, he shoved the blade into his belt and sprinted past.

“Mama.” The boy rushed toward his mother. Wailing at an earsplitting volume, he buried his face in her patched skirts.

Dominic dragged a hand over his face, wiping away the oaf’s spittle. His emotions were wound so tight, he felt like yelling, too. That release of pent-up emotion would be most welcome.

However, he’d have another opportunity with that lout. He would make certain.

Dominic stooped and picked up the ball. The woman had swept her son up into her arms. Cooing to him, she hurried back to the street. Safe in the sunlight and crowds, she stopped and hugged the little boy tight.

Dominic approached her. “I believe this belongs to your son.” He held out the toy.

Bewilderment registered on the woman’s face, weathered from long days toiling outdoors. “Milord.” She tried to drop into a curtsy, but he waved a hand. With a shy nod, she took the ball. “Thank ye.”

Turning his face out of his mother’s skirts, the boy beamed.

Dominic smiled back. He could not help it. The child’s delighted grin was immensely… gratifying.

One day, his own son would look upon him so.

He shook aside the peculiar thought. Such notions held no purpose when he had a great deal to do—above all, send a missive reporting his progress to Geoffrey.

Nodding to mother and child, Dominic spun on his heel and strode away.

Smoothing a hand over her gown, Gisela opened her shop door. A gust of late afternoon air swept in, swirling over the freshly swept planks. She inhaled a slow breath, savoring the smells of the living town. How she’d hated spending her day shut inside, cloistered to the outside world, enslaved to her commission for Crenardieu.

Soon, she would no longer be forced to any man’s will.

She cast a careful glance about her premises. Twice she’d swept the floor to be sure no threads remained. She had even moved the table and wooden stool, to be extra certain. Dominic would discover naught out of the ordinary.

He will never know I lied to him about the silk, she reminded herself. However, he will know the truth about Ewan. That, I cannot keep a secret from him.

A hot-cold shiver trailed through her. She crossed the room and, with sweaty hands, placed the broom back in its usual corner. Aye, she would tell Dominic. Today. When they had a quiet moment to talk. She’d come to the decision that afternoon when her only companions were needle and thread. No matter how difficult the truth might be, Dominic deserved to know.

Guilt gnawed, along with intense anticipation. Was it fair of her to tell him and then vanish? Nay. He would resent her. Mayhap even come to hate her. Gisela’s eyes burned, for the thought of hurting him in such a way made her soul weep.

You know there is no other choice, Gisela. Not if you want to protect Dominic from Ryle’s viciousness.

Again, the memory of Ryle’s contorted face barged into her thoughts. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block him out, but his violent roar echoed in her mind, followed by the sharp pain of his dagger piercing her flesh. Shuddering, pressing her hand to her scarred breast, she fought to defeat the memory. Fought, with her strength of will, as she should have fought that evening, if only she hadn’t been so weak.