Page 24 of More or Less a Countess
Violet fell silent at the thud of uneven footsteps echoing on the stone stairs, and she and Bridget both froze at the sound.
“Dinna tell me ye didn’t hearthat, miss,” Bridget hissed in her ear.
“No, I heard it. But where’s it coming from? Behind us, or in front of us?” In the dark, each footstep seemed to bounce against the stone in endless reverberations, and it was impossible to tell from which direction they originated.
“In front, I think. No, behind us, miss!”
“Hurry, Bridget. Up the stairs.”
Bridget crowded into her from behind and tried to push her up the stairs onto Old Queen Street where their carriage was waiting, but they hadn’t gotten more than two steps before an enormous shadow fell over the stairs, and a pair of broad shoulders blocked the light.
They’d gone the wrong way.
“Well, what have we ’ere, then? A couple of doxies, out for a stroll?” A hulking man in a black cloak with his hat pulled low over his face lumbered down the stairs and threw his considerable bulk in front of Violet, blocking her way.
Violet’s heart began to thunder in her chest, but she jerked her chin in the air and gave the villain her haughtiest glare. “Doxies? How dare you, sir? I’m a lady, and I insist you let me and my maid pass at once.”
“Not many ladies about out ’ere, ’specially ladies alone at night, nor whores neither, now that the cockfights ’ave moved on.” The man ran a filthy coat sleeve across his mouth as he leered at Violet. “But if ye came out ’ere to see a cock, I got’s one ter show ye right enough, luv.”
He reached out to grab Violet’s arm, but she dodged his grasp and whirled around. “Down the stairs!” she hissed to Bridget, who didn’t have to be told twice, but spun around and ran straight down the stairs and through the passageway that let out onto Birdcage Walk.
Violet was right behind her, but the man, who smelled to Violet like he’d drank the better part of a bottle of gin, tore after her, managed to snatch a fold of her cloak in his grubby fist, and yanked her back against his chest. “Yer a right pretty little bit, luv, but I’m jus’ after yer coin, so hand over that purse, an’ I’ll be on my way, aw right?”
Purse? What purse? She wasn’t carrying a reticule…
Oh, no. Violet’s blood froze as she realized he could only mean her sketchbook. It didn’t look in the least like a purse, and it had little value to anyone but her, but there was no explaining this to her attacker, who’d grabbed it and was doing his best to wrench it out of her hands.
“Unhand me at once, you villain!” Violet twisted and struggled to free herself from his grip, and Bridget, who was now shrieking at the top of her lungs, attacked the man from behind and managed to land a blow to his shin.
“Damn ye, ye little bitch.” He wrapped one meaty arm around Violet’s waist and sent Bridget reeling with a mighty swipe of the other.
Violet gasped as she heard the sickening thud of her maid’s body crashing onto the cobblestones. “Bridget!”
She clawed at the man’s arm, her fingernails ripping into his flesh, but his hands seemed to be everywhere at once, and he was too strong for her. He pinned her wrists under his other arm and held her down as easily as if she were a kitten. “Right now, ’and it over—an’ I’ll have that cloak yer wearing, an’ yer fancy gloves, too.”
But Violet didn’t hand over a thing. She continued to struggle and scratch and bite until he lost patience, dragged her over to the darkest part of the walkway, and slammed her back up against a wall. “Don’t know why yer taking on so, luv. I’m a’ have ’em all either way, even if I gots to hurt ye to get ’em, so ye may as well stop yer fussing and ’and ’em over.”
He chuckled, and Violet realized with a flash of horror that he was actually enjoying himself. Her stomach heaved both at the thought and the smell of his fetid breath gusting into her face. In one part of her brain she realized Bridget had scrambled to her feet and was tearing across the passage toward the Royal Aviary, and in another she was groping for a memory—something she’d read in a book about the proper way to clench one’s fist to deliver a punch—but her mind went blank when an inhuman screech tore through the air. It sounded like…
Birds?
Violet shook her head to clear the daze, but she didn’t have time to work out the birds because the despicable villain who had her in his grasp wrapped his huge paw around her neck. Panic made her freeze, but before the blackguard could squeeze the breath out of her, a low, enraged voice hissed a string of curses, and in the next moment there was a pained groan, and the hands clutching at her went limp.
The smothering weight that held her pinned to the wall was shoved aside, and Violet’s knees began to buckle beneath her, but before she slid to a heap onto the cobblestones another pair of hands closed around her waist. She instinctively struggled against them, fearing the villain had returned, but these hands were gentle despite their strength, and someone was murmuring soothingly to her, telling her she was all right now, and he didn’t smell like sour gin at all, but like…goodness, he smelled divine, like amber and freshly cut wood—
No. It was impossible he should be here now…
But she knew it was him, even before she opened her eyes and found that silvery gaze swimming in and out of focus above her. “Like mercury,” she muttered in a daze, “or the sheen on a bird’s feather.”
“Miss Somerset.” He was breathless, his eyes wide with alarm. “Are you all right? You’re not making any sense.”
“…don’t approve of blood sports, Lord Dare, especially cockfighting.” It seemed important, somehow, that he know this, and now that she’d told him, Violet let her head fall against his chest with a little sigh.
“I—what?” His grip grew more urgent, his arms closing around her as she sagged against him. “Are you injured? She’s going to swoon,” he warned, speaking to someone beside him.
Swoon?What nonsense. She never swooned. Swooning was for delicate ladies in tight-laced corsets, or dainty, graceful belles, not bluestockings.
It was the last thought she had before darkness overcame her.
