Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

As Agatha neared the next crossing, a prickle of heat swept her skin. The unusual sensation caused her heart to race again. Afraid someone was following, she peered behind. But there was no movement, no disturbance or dark form stalking toward them.

Nell’s fanciful imagination had indeed gotten the better of her. Agatha squared her shoulders, stepped off the curb, and onto the street.

A hand closed upon her elbow in a bruising grip. Agatha shrieked right along with her maid. A greasy, cold hand slapped tight over her mouth, muting her cries for help. A man’s arm wrapped tightly around her waist—forcing her hard against a large body. She tried to pry herself free with her fingers but was hoisted into the air. She swung her feet, kicking out at the man who held her until someone else captured her legs. Held captive like a trussed lamb, Agatha was carried deeper into Berkley Square.

“Git her purse,” a gravelly voice urged.

The hand over her mouth slacked, and another fumbled at her wrist.

She bit down as hard as she could.

Her toes touched the ground as her assailant cursed. But instead of releasing her as she’d hoped, Agatha’s attacker changed his grip, winding an arm about her neck and squeezing.

“Do tha again, and I’ll let you have a taste of something else of me, ye vixen. Sommat I’ll enjoy more tha you will. Be still.”

Terrified, she obeyed the command. She didn’t want to provoke them so far that they’d fall upon her like ravenous beasts. Perhaps if she stopped fighting and gave them what valuables she had, they’d let her be. She hoped Nell did the same. Agatha whimpered her agreement.

A grubby, toothless face appeared before her from the mist and she shrieked in surprise, recoiling against her captor.

Behind her, the brute chuckled. “He isn’t a pretty sight, is he?”

The other man cackled, but then ripped Agatha’s reticule from her wrist. Toothless stuffed it down his gaping shirt front and reached toward her chest. Agatha whimpered again, desperate that Toothless not lay his hands upon her.

The arm at her neck tightened, lifting her chin until she had to stretch to remain touching the ground and keep breathing. “We git our payment one way or tuther. Ya got plenty to satisfy me without touching ya scrawny hide. There be a chain about her neck. Git it, too.”

Rough fingers slid up Agatha’s chest and her necklace was snapped from her neck. Her eyes watered as the rough fingers returned to bite cruelly into her breasts.

Toothless leaned close. “You’ll come ta like tha, missy.”

The air to the right of her whooshed, and a loud male groan of pain rang through the square. Was Nell fighting against her attacker? She’d hardly believe the girl capable of defending herself. But if she was, then there might be hope for them both. Agatha fought against the hands that held her as more grunts echoed through the square.

But then all fell silent. Agatha’s attackers turned to face the threat, dragging her with them as a shield. “This one’s ours. Be off with you,” her attacker warned, pulling her against his chest, but stepping behind the toothless man for protection.

The square remained silent.

Toothless turned to them, uncertainty clear in his movements.

Her assailant shuffled and then backed away as a dark arm appeared from the mist to wrap around Toothless’ throat. He disappeared into the mist, a desperate gasp of breath the only indication that he was still near.

Then nothing. Silence. Toothless didn’t reappear, but a loud thump echoed around them.

Agatha whimpered as the brute holding her tightened his grip on her neck. He shuffled back a few steps, turning her every which way as he sought the location of Toothless’ attacker.

Another loud crack broke the silence. The brute holding Agatha stiffened, and then she fell, slamming hard into the ground. A heavy weight fell upon her and she scrambled away, rising to a crouch quickly to see what was happening.

The sounds of fighting grew louder. She couldn’t see more than the blur of dark shapes coming closer then disappearing again as fists hit flesh. Agatha didn’t know which way to turn. Nothing made sense in the gloom. She scrambled to the left and ran her hands over the ground, feverishly searching for a weapon she could use to defend herself.

Just as her fingers closed over a thin, hard stick, a loud thump signaled the demise of one of those fighting. Agatha curled as small as she could and clutched the stick with both hands.

“Now the odds are even, you bastards,” an unfamiliar male voice growled. “The type of men who attempt to accost women in this neighborhood are vermin with a very short lifespan.”

A sickening grunt signaled someone had landed a good blow, and Agatha cringed as a low moan of pain rang out.

“What I don’t understand,” the speaker continued, “is how you can bear the knowledge that you’re good for nothing but the beating I’m giving you. When you hit the ground, I suggest you stay down. I truly don’t need much more of an excuse to thrash you senseless.”

Another blow sounded, and then two more. After each punch, the groans grew in volume. She covered her ears. There was one more sickening thump, and then the fighting sounds stopped.

She stayed where she was, barely daring to breathe lest attention turn in her direction. Someone large moved around in the fog, but she couldn’t tell who. She tightened her grip on the stick. A muffled groan and scuffling some distance away hinted that her attackers had quite given up in the face of this unknown brawler’s intimidating presence .

“I’d slink away too, you worthless excuse for men,” the deep voice muttered from close by. Agatha jumped as the sound grated along her nerves. She’d never heard such masculine aggression before.

“Accosting women? Come into this square again and be prepared for more than bruises. You know, maybe you should come back. I’m still of a mind to beat better manners into you.”

The distant sounds quieted, but the stranger moved around in the dark park, his boots shuffling across the earth. Agatha shivered, more wary of this one man than the two villains combined. There was something strangely familiar about the way he talked while trouncing her two attackers. It wasn’t so much the words he spoke, but the way he said them sent shivers racing across her skin.

“Now, where did you go? You had better come out before they come back. Devil take it! Where did I drop my cane? It should have been right here. Have you picked it up?”

Agatha bit her lip to stop herself from answering. She had a cane in her hands. That explained the smooth wood. She inched her fingers along the shaft until she found a solid, cold metal head. That was good. That could hurt. She adjusted her grip so she could use it if necessary.

“Are you still not going to speak to me?” The stranger blew out a loud breath. “I had hoped we could get around this little problem, but not even risking life and limb will please you now, will it? You have the cane, don’t you? And you’re planning on clobbering me with it? I suppose I do deserve a good beating from you, but do you think we could do it somewhere more private?”

How did he know she had the cane? She was all alone in the dark with a strange man who could read her mind. Even the fact she had a weapon in her hands did not make her feel very confident. The attack had completely turned her around.

And there was Nell to worry about. She needed to find out what had become of her maid. Had she managed to escape and return home for help?

Silence stretched between them.

“Did they hurt you?”

The concern in the stranger’s voice surprised her. She started to stand, hopeful that her pale gown was still hidden beneath her darker cloak, keeping her invisible to the stranger. When she was upright again, she took a tentative step backward.

Gravel crunched beneath her boot. She froze.

“So, you’re not hurt. You just don’t want to talk to me.” The stranger groaned as Agatha took another step back. “You do know you’re going the wrong way, don’t you? Your house is to your left. And another thing, what the devil are you doing out here alone? A foggy evening is not a safe place for you. Actually, when I think of it, nowhere is particularly safe for you, especially alone. What were you doing walking home without a proper escort? Your grandfather will be livid when he finds out.”

Agatha froze as she tried to place the bitter voice. It was familiar, but she’d never been introduced to someone as cheerless as this. She had to get away.

“Agatha, stop, or you will hit the—”

“Ow!” Pain sliced through her head as she encountered something hard. She clutched her head with one hand and the tree with the other, letting the cane slip through her fingers.

“Tree,” he finished. “Are you still upright?”

“Yes,” Agatha supplied angrily, appalled by her clumsiness.

“She speaks! I think I need to sit down, but perhaps not in the middle of Berkeley Square. Your friends might come back at any moment, and they may bring reinforcements.” Gravel crunched as the speaker drew closer. “While defending your person is my greatest delight, my knuckles already sting quite a bit. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to apply my boxing skills. Although, I must say, they were not very sporting about it. I don’t believe they know the rules of proper behavior. Two against one is hardly fair. At least my arrival at your side improved the odds, but I should have caught up to you sooner. Forgive me.”

The regret in the stranger’s voice startled her. Whoever he was, he sounded as if he believed he had a responsibility to protect her. Well, that was certainly untrue. She didn’t need a man in her life. Not anymore.

“I hate to rush you, but we really should get you home,” he said. “We don’t want anyone to hear of this escapade, do we, precious ?”

Precious.

Only one man had ever called her that .

This time, Agatha trembled for an entirely different reason. She did know this rambling gentleman. She just hadn’t heard him speak recently. And he’d changed; his voice was now so devoid of its usual warmth that she hadn’t recognized him at all. Where had the gentleman hailed as the most charming lord of London gone?

Agatha slumped against the tree, mostly to keep from flinging herself into the deceptively safe haven of his arms. He could lie for a living and still be seen as a charming innocent. “Oscar! You cannot be here. You promised to stay away.”

His footsteps drew closer. “I never did promise. How could you think I’d let any harm come to you?”

A dark outline appeared before her and then he was there. Oscar Ryall, Viscount Carrington, filled her vision until she saw none but him. Hands—strong, firm, and terribly warm—wrapped around Agatha and pulled her from the safety of the tree. She shuddered as she was settled against the fine linen and brocade covering Oscar’s body.

“I have you now, precious. I have you.”

Agatha lifted her face away from the warmth of his chest. A quick pant of breath crossed her cheek before Oscar attempted to claim her mouth. She turned her face aside. “You cannot.”

Shifting her hands between them to push away from his body, Agatha ignored the familiar rush of longing to wrap her arms tighter about him. She’d missed him. She’d missed the charming liar far too much.

But the cold rush of reality sobered her. He was a man engaged for an advantageous match. He was to marry an heiress. A woman hailed as a diamond of society. By comparison, Agatha had no place in Oscar’s life except for a sordid one as his mistress.

Oscar groaned, attempting to drag her close again. “Change your mind.”

His ardent whisper brought tears to her eyes, but she pushed against his embrace until there was some space between them. “I cannot be your mistress.”

Oscar’s fingers closed about her hands and trapped her firmly in place. “Please.”

Agatha shook her head and tried to extract her hands from his grip. But he curled his fingers about hers, lacing them together as he had done so often.

The tears in her eyes fell at the familiar gesture. “You know it’s impossible. I cannot be the woman you want.”

“The woman I want is you. Exactly as you are. How can you deny us our only chance for contentment?”

Agatha took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She’d had a lot of time to consider her past behavior, to see that she’d been swept away by an unbecoming lust and lulled by the intimacy of frequent proximity. She should have taken greater care with her heart and kept him, a man far above her station in life, at arm’s length.

But she’d been foolishly smitten by his charm and had missed the obvious signs that they had no proper future together. Oscar held opinions that were so very different from hers. He’d wanted her to warm his bed, but didn’t want to marry her. Why would he? He lived a charmed life, dined among the best circles in London, and frittered away his time with meaningless pursuits.

To her horror, she’d discovered his goal had always been to marry to better his estate, to marry a daughter of a peer and elevate his family in his rarified world. Marriage to a merchant’s granddaughter hardly fit in with his grand schemes.

He must have been vastly amused with her feeble resistance to his seduction.

She pressed her hands to his chest and shoved hard. “You ask me to fulfill a role that is held in low regard. I will not be your mistress. I would become a pariah in society. I won’t risk being denied the right to work with the orphans if rumors of my fall were to spread. Thanks to our past familiarity, I already have a somewhat questionable reputation. But I won’t give up the chance for a meaningful life because you cannot take no for an answer.”

Oscar stiffened. “You spend too much of your time thinking about those damn orphans.”

Agatha pressed the point of her finger into his breastbone. “And you, my lord, think of nothing at all and no one but yourself. You do exactly what is expected of you, instead of what you should. Now get out of my way. I’m going to find my maid.”