Page 36 of Not a Fine Gentleman

Releasing her, he yelled. “Oi, me corns!”

The first man took hold of her with both hands. “None o’ that, now, or we’ll ’ave to ’urt ya.”

“Release her at once.” Connor’s voice cut through the noise.

“She’s worth a lot o’ money, mate, and we mean to collect,” the portly man huffed as he grabbed Margaret’s arm again.

“She is already my prisoner,” Jackson said, cool and unruffled.

Margaret considered biting her captors, but who knew where they’d been?

“She’s walking about all by herself—she don’t look like no prisoner t’ me,” said the man with the aquiline nose.

“That’s because she knows I will shoot her if she tries to escape.” Jackson pulled out a gun and pointed it at them. “Just like I’ll shoot you if you don’t release her. Now.”

Margaret stopped struggling and focused on Jackson, unable to look away from him and his display of calm strength.

Her would-be captors let out noises of indignation. “Who do you think you are?” one of them demanded.

“I’m a Bow Street constable, and I will arrest both of you—after I shoot you—if you continue to interfere with an officer of the law.” He stared them down, deadly calm.

Margaret shivered—but not in fear. Something about him, so commanding, so strong, touched an elemental spot buried deep within her. She’d never been more attracted to a man.

She was clearly not in her right mind. Momentary madness, perhaps. Effects of her head injury? Residue of the comfort he’d offered her last night when she’d been frightened of the storm?

Connor Jackson was not for her. And he was probably truthful about shooting her if she tried to escape.

Connor cocked the gun. “You have three seconds to comply.”

They protested with, “Wait, that’s not fair—”

And, “You can’t—”

“One.” Connor lifted a brow as if challenging them to defy him.

The portly man let out a growl and released Margaret. The other held on, his mouth pressed into a stubborn line.

“Two,” Connor said.

“Ah, have it your way.” The man threw her arm away from him.

Margaret planted her feet and elbowed him hard in the ribs. He let out an oof and bent over. Before he could react, she moved to Connor’s side.

Wryly, partly for the men’s benefit, she said, “Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.”

Connor’s mouth twitched, but he kept his gaze focused on the two bounty seekers. A sharp whistle and the clatter of hooves signaled the stagecoach’s departure. The two men ran after it, yelling for it to stop.

Margaret smoothed her hair, a pointless gesture. “I believe you were going to feed your poor helpless prisoner?” She smiled sweetly at him.

He un-cocked his gun and tucked it away. “I am a man of my word.”

A second meaning seemed to lay behind his words. At the moment, Margaret cared only about getting breakfast.

As she headed to the door again, she halted. On the outside wall of the inn, a handbill had been tacked up with a crude sketch of Margaret, with the accusing words:

Wanted for murdering the Marquis of Hennessy

£500 reward for her capture