Page 46 of An Extraordinary Lord

So very much!“What I want is my pardon and for you to—”

“To let you kiss me.”

He’d twisted her words, the same way he was twisting an aching knot low in her belly. “That isn’t it at—”

He grazed her earlobe with his fingertip, and a shiver sailed through her, proving her a liar. “So why aren’t you?”

She caught her breath at the simple question. Whywasn’tshe? Her mind spun like a whirlwind but was unable to latch onto any viable reason except for a truth she didn’t want to face. That she would never mean anything to him except as a help in stopping the riots.

“Kiss me, Veronica,” he murmured. Each word pulsed a ghost pain from his lips that hadn’t yet been brought against hers. “Let go,” he urged her breathlessly. “Let go of whatever is holding you back and surrender.”

He turned his head slowly each way to glance at the knives she still clutched in her hands, so hard that her fingers ached. Her heart pounded wildly in a heady mix of apprehension and anticipation, so fiercely that she was certain he could feel it even though their chests weren’t touching.

“Let go.”

His velvety voice wrapped around her with its temptation. He was the devil himself, come to claim her soul… Yet she opened her hands, and the knives fell away to clatter against the stones at their feet.

With a pleased smile, he whispered against her mouth, “Now surrender.”

A whimper of capitulation rose from her throat—

An explosion reverberated through the streets. The ground shook, and a flash of light pierced the darkness in the street beyond the end of the alley.

Veronica startled with a gasp. Merritt grabbed her to him and protectively shielded her between his body and the wall. Their racing hearts beat off the seconds until they were certain the attack was over.

She lifted her head from his chest. “What was that?”

He glanced over his shoulder into the street as the noise from the riot increased, and he let out a curse. “A declaration of war.” He looked back at her, staring longingly at her mouth as he ordered with an aggravated breath, “Stay here.”

He ran out of the alley toward the explosion.

Stay here?Absolutely not!

She snatched up her knives and raced into the street after him, only to halt in her steps. Her mouth fell open at the sight of the crowd—no, not a crowd. A complete mob. Uncontrolled. Violent.Good God.

This was nothing like what she’d seen of the riots before. Men, all in their twenties and thirties and armed with hammers, shovels, pikes, and clubs, moved through the streets seemingly without reason or focus. They randomly destroyed whatever they came across…barrels, crates, shutters, windows, lamps. There were no leaders at the front to direct the crowd or keep them moving forward, no shouts or rallying cries that gave cause to their protest. Their sole intent was to harm and destroy. Directly in the mob’s path, flames from the explosion leapt high into the night and engulfed the building adjacent to the Bank of England.

A chill slithered up her spine as unbidden memories of Portugal and the wars flashed before her eyes…scenes of death and destruction that had no purpose except to lay carnage to the land, of men who took gruesome pleasure in butchery and demolition. The similarities between tonight and her last days in what had once been her homeland struck her like a slap. She remembered how the men who’d ridden in advance to terrorize the villages and countryside had given way to the armies, which in turn had given way…to hell.

Cold perspiration beaded across her forehead despite the hot flush of her cheeks, and her heart pounded so strongly that her chest hurt. She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t move. All she could do was stand there, watching and reliving those last horrible moments before her mother—

“Look there!” someone cried out near the burning building. “A soldier with a sword!”

Panic swirled through the crowd as one by the one the rioters spotted Merritt, who had raced toward the burning building to make certain no one was trapped inside. Their surprise turned to rage, and shouts and curses rolled through the mob. A group of men waved their weapons in the air and started toward him.

A desperate need to protect him flared inside her. Defying his orders, she raced toward him and straight into the heart of the riot.

“Merritt!” Calling his name so he would know she was behind him, she pulled her sword from its sheath. She wheeled around to face the advancing group and positioned herself between him and the men. “We have to get out of here!”

“There might be people trapped inside.” He shielded his face against the heat with his left arm and started toward the door. “I have to check.”

And get himself killed in the process. If the flames didn’t do it, then the mob would. “No one’s inside. Look at the windows! If anyone were inside, they would be at the windows, calling for help.”

The men hurried closer, their anger at Merritt—and now also at her—flaring with each step. She brandished her sword and cut a swathe through the air in warning. She wouldn’t hesitate to strike them down.

“We have to leave—now,” she pleaded. The men would be upon them in moments. She and Merritt were too greatly outnumbered this time to fight them off, and these men wouldn’t frighten away like the ones in the alley. “Merritt!”

He lowered his arm and stepped back from the building, still staring up at it, still searching its façade for any sign of anyone who needed his help. Finally, he turned to face her, and the overwhelming relief that blossomed in her chest nearly undid her.