Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

I zzie was in a state of distraction as she made her way through the gardens. It felt like a tragedy of the first order that she would be parted from Archibald for months on end when she had just found him.

Her thoughts were awhirl and her eyes were blurred with tears, which explained why the attackers were able to sneak up on her so easily.

A hand emerged from the shadows, grabbing her dress where the neckline met the cap sleeve and jerking her around so quickly that she stumbled. She barely had time to scream before a second man seized her from behind, clamping his filthy, foul-smelling hand over her mouth. He trapped both of her arms in his other hand, twisting them behind her back.

She peered at the first man, the one still grasping a handful of her blue silk gown. She realized with a start that he was one of the four men who had attacked her in the park that afternoon.

“Lady Isabella,” he sneered in an East London accent. “At last. You’re a lot of trouble for a slip of a girl. Or, I should say, your friends are.” He leaned in close so she could smell the foulness of his breath upon her face. “But you’re all alone now, aren’t you?”

It happened that she wasn’t entirely alone. Archibald was in the walled rose garden just behind them. Had he heard her scream? It had been more of a squeak, to be honest. That was as much sound as she’d been able to make before the man had clamped his hand over her mouth, but perhaps he had heard it.

More men emerged from the darkness, a half-dozen or more. Even if Archibald had heard her scream, he could hardly be expected to fight them all. But maybe he could run and fetch the… the brute squad. Did London have a brute squad? She wasn’t sure, but there must be someone he could fetch, and—

The sound of a meaty hand slapping around the wrist of the man who held her dress answered her question about whether Archibald had heard her scream.

He had heard, all right.

And his eyes were murderous .

Audible beneath his snarl was the sound of bone snapping, crisp in the silent garden, as Archibald wrenched the miscreant’s offending hand from her person. It was accompanied by the sound of her dress rending, followed closely by a high-pitched scream as her would-be kidnapper stumbled back, his hand flopping unnaturally atop his broken wrist.

The man who’d been holding Izzie from behind let her go, but he wasn’t fast enough. Archibald’s fist connected with his temple with a hollow thump , and he crumpled to the ground.

More men advanced on them from the darkness. Archibald stepped in front of her without the slightest hesitation. One man leaped at him, a knife raised over his head. Archibald caught him with two hands to his chest and hurled him head-first into the garden’s stone wall, which he slid down before settling in a heap on the ground.

Two men charged him at once. He grabbed them, one in each hand, and smashed their heads together. They collapsed insensible on the grass.

The final two attackers froze, then turned in unison and sprinted off into the darkness, followed by the man with the broken wrist.

It would appear that she had been mistaken. Archibald didn’t need the brute squad.

Archibald was the brute squad.

As soon as he had satisfied himself that they were gone, he wheeled around to face her. Gone was the vicious expression he had worn mere seconds before. His eyes held nothing but consternation.

“Izzie!” he cried, framing her face. “Are you all right?”

Before she could answer, a rustling sound emerged from the ground at their feet; one of the attackers was stirring. An annoyed scowl crossed Archibald’s face. Glancing down, he delivered a single sharp kick. There was the thump of his boot, then the more muffled sound of a body collapsing on the grass.

Archibald returned his gaze to hers, his eyes once again anguished. “Did they hurt you anywhere, anywhere at all?”

She meant to answer him, really, she did. But the words that emerged unbidden from her lips were, “That was wildly attractive.”

He blinked at her, confused, then shook his head as if to clear it. “Izzie, darling, are you injured?”

Before she could answer, half of the party came streaming around the corner of the hedgerow, no doubt drawn by the percussive cacophony of Archibald’s fists.

Izzie performed a quick survey of what they would see. At least Archibald had managed to restore his clothing to rights after her departure. But the bodice of her dress had torn when Archibald ripped the attacker’s hand from her person and was now gaping open—not that you could really see anything, as she wore a petticoat, corset, and chemise beneath it.

But still, it was bad. It was very bad. Just the fact that she had been caught alone in the garden with Archibald was enough to ruin her.

Well. Unless one considered the insensible bodies of her four assailants to be suitable chaperones.

She spied her mother in the throng. Clearing her throat, she said, “Suffice to say, Mama, Lady Griselda was right about those men who attacked us today in the park. It would appear that I am the one they are after.”