Josephine screamed.
CHAPTER 37
Everythinghappenedsofast,and yet she could remember every detail vividly. As if time had frozen and every action took longer to complete. A movement out of the corner of her eye, the pasha regaining consciousness, turning to face them, producing a pistol, aiming it at Michael’s back.
She acted on pure instinct. There was no time to think, no time to fear or hesitate. The man she loved, who had risked everything to rescue her, was going to be killed in her arms by the man she loathed most in this world. Her body acted without conscious thought, grabbing the pistol tucked into Michael’s waistband.
She had never fired a weapon before, but her hands seemed to know what to do. Full of desperation, a scream exploded out of her as her finger pressed the trigger. The pistol kicked in her hand, the shock reverberating all the way up her arm to her shoulder.
A loud explosion. Or were there two? She couldn’t tell. Wood splinters rained over them, and the pasha collapsed back onto the floor, a big red stain blooming on his chest, his hand slack around the handle of his pistol. His sightless eyes staring up.
The gun fell from her nerveless fingers as Michael frantically scanned her, his hands moving up and down along her body.
“Are you hurt? Were you hit by the bullet?”
Words were beyond her at the moment, so she simply shook her head. At that precise moment a torrent of uniformed men poured into the room.
Seeing the pasha’s body and assessing the situation at a glance, their leader turned to Michael to demand explanations.
She simply huddled further into Michael’s great overcoat, sliding her arms through the too-large sleeves, frantically pulling the sides closed, acutely aware of her nakedness. When she thought of the way he had found her. Tied, defenseless, exposed… scalding shame permeated through her, but she steeled against it. It would have been much worse had Michael not acted so swiftly. Had he not provided the cover of his greatcoat, all these men would have witnessed her degradation. Instead, only the man she loved had.
Actually, she didn’t know what was worse.
Michael was talking to the men. He seemed to be recounting the events, but his words escaped her. One of his arms remained around her shoulders. Hugging her to him. Her only lifeline to reality at the moment. Offering comfort and warmth and security. Despite this, tremors shook her body. She couldn’t stop them. Once again, her body was acting on its own.
She had killed a man. She didn’t regret it. Would do it again in a heartbeat. But, oh God. It was still hard. The pasha’s face seemed to threaten her even in death.
She was grateful when, after a few last words to the officer, Michael lifted her in his arms and strode out of the cabin.
His arms were her fortress, her security and comfort. But still she shook, unable to do anything but cling to him as he walked through the ship. She caught a glimpse of Lord Hartfield and Mr. Wang talking to John.
Lord Brentworth intercepted them. He and Michael exchanged a brief recounting of the happenings that ended with Brentworth assuring Michael he would tidy things up here.
Down the gangplank he carried her while she clung to him, grateful to be away from the cursed ship. Carefully, as if she were something fragile, he deposited her into a coach. It wasn’t his coach—her mind cataloged the details detachedly—but it was certainly just as luxurious.
She thought he would leave her now and huddled into a corner of the vehicle. But he jumped in after her and took the seat opposite, rapping on the roof of the coach to indicate they were ready to go. The carriage took off, gaining speed rapidly.
“Can I hold you? You are shaking.” His voice was tentative. Apologetic almost.
Did he even need to ask? She was dying for his embrace. Needed it more than she needed her next breath.
“Please. I need you…” Her voice was low. A mere whisper among the rattle of the wheels on cobblestones and the voices outside. But he must have heard her because, transferring to the seat next to hers, he lifted her once again in his arms and deposited her on his lap.
She buried her nose in his neck, inhaling the comforting scent of Michael. She had almost lost him today. In fact, for a moment she thought she had. What if she had been too late? What if, instead of the pasha, it was Michael bleeding on the floor of that cabin? She whimpered and clung tighter to him.
He was alive. It was over. He was here with her.
“Shhh, everything is fine.” His words were a rumble reverberating through his chest and into her consciousness.His big, powerful hands rubbed circles on her back. Soothing. Comforting. “Cry if you need to, love. Fall apart if you must. Whatever you need. I have you now. I’ll never let go.”
“He threatened Edward,” she whispered when she was able to talk. “His men were surrounding the square where Edward was playing. He said he would take him and sell him in a slave market in Cairo if I didn’t go with him willingly.” Her voice broke with remembered horror as she recounted the facts.
“Bastard.” Pure, unmitigated hatred imbued that word. And she knew he felt it. She had never seen Michael as violent, as murderous, as when he barreled into the pasha. There had been fire and vengeance in his eyes. Retribution and punishment in his pummeling fists. “I figured something like that had been the case.”
“You came for me.”
“Did you doubt that I would?”
“I didn’t know if you’d be able… if you would arrive in time.”
