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Oddly, his mundane pleasantry confirmed all of Emeline’s worst fears. She looked out the carriage door at the rain-grayed waters of the Thames. If they got onto a ship with Thornton, they weren’t likely to survive the journey. But at the moment they had no choice. Thornton nodded to the men on either side of her.
“Move on,” the scarlet-coated henchman to Emeline’s right grunted. He wrapped sausagelike fingers about her upper arm, no doubt leaving grease marks. He was slightly the shorter of the two and sported a frayed tricorne. Mr. Thornton must not pay him well, because his boots were nearly all holes and a grimy big toe poked through the leather on one.
Emeline smiled tightly at Rebecca, trying to give her a bit of courage, before gathering her skirts. She stepped out of the carriage and into the rain, the thug’s hand still on her. The second thug followed. He was a tall, stringy man with enormously long arms and thinning gray hair. He hunched his shoulders and stood mute as Mr. Thornton descended with Rebecca.
“Now,” Thornton said, smiling. He smiled at everything. “Let’s hurry. There should be a boat waiting to take us to The Sea Tiger. I’m sure you ladies will want to get out of the rain. If we—”
But he didn’t finish the sentence. Rebecca pulled abruptly from his grasp, ducking to the side and behind the tall, balding henchman. For a fraction of a second, Mr. Thornton didn’t know where to point the gun, and it wavered. Then he grinned that horrible grin and brought the barrel around, pointing it at Emeline’s belly.
She froze. There was a long moment in time as she watched him wink and steady his aim, knowing that she was about to be killed.
And then she wasn’t.
Samuel ran out of nowhere and threw himself against Thornton’s gun arm, deflecting his aim. The gun exploded, sending chips of cobblestone into the air. The tall, balding henchman leaped at Samuel, grabbing him from behind, and all three men went down in a writhing heap of desperate arms and legs. Rebecca screamed and pulled at the balding henchman’s coat. The scarlet-coated thug let go of Emeline’s arm, but before he could move, she brought her heel down on the toe that poked through his boot. The man howled and lashed out. Emeline saw a burst of white stars as his hand connected with the side of her head, and then she found herself on the ground, lying in a cold puddle of water.
“Are you all right?” Rebecca gasped beside her.
“Samuel,” Emeline whispered. He was under all three men now, almost hidden by the legs kicking him, the arms hitting him. They would beat him to death before her very eyes if she didn’t do something.
There were no pieces of wood, no stones to pry up. All she had was herself, so Emeline used that. She scrambled to her feet and ran at the awful little man and his henchmen. She clutched a head of hair and yanked. The man she was holding—one of the henchmen—shouldered her aside. Emeline staggered, almost falling, but got up again. She threw herself, kicking, shrieking, clawing, at the bodies attacking Samuel. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rebecca pummeling the back of one of the men, her fists small and puny. The rain mixed with hot salty tears on Emeline’s face, and she was half-blinded, but she wasn’t going to give up. If they killed Samuel, they would have to kill her, too.
Her slipper connected with Mr. Thornton’s rump, and he twisted to look at her with a comically astonished expression. Samuel took advantage of the other man’s distraction and punched him in the face. Mr. Thornton’s head snapped back, and he rolled to the cobblestones, a hand outstretched to break his fall. He made to get up, and Emeline stomped on his outstretched hand, feeling quite pleased when something snapped beneath her heel.
Thornton screamed.
Behind Emeline, a gunshot exploded.
“Good God, Emmie, I had no idea you were so bloodthirsty,” a male voice said.
Emeline looked up and saw Jasper descending a carriage with a footman behind him. The footman had a gun in each hand, the right one smoking.
Fear and exasperation overflowed all of her good manners. “Jasper, don’t be an idiot. Come help Samuel at once!”
Jasper, not surprisingly, looked startled. “Right you are, Emmie. You two, get off Mr. Hartley. Slowly, now.”
The thugs glanced at each other glumly and got to their feet, backing away from Samuel. He lay so still, the rain beating on his pale face.
Emeline rushed to him, terribly afraid. “Samuel.” She’d seen him punch Mr. Thornton, but now he didn’t move. “Samuel!” She knelt on the filthy, wet cobblestones and tenderly touched her fingertips to his cheek.
He opened his eyes. “Emeline.”
“Yes.” It was insane, but she couldn’t keep from smiling at him in the rain, with hot tears trickling down her cheeks. “Yes.” God only knew what she was saying, but Samuel seemed to understand.
He turned his head and kissed her palm with bruised lips, and her heart rejoiced.
Then his gaze sharpened and he looked behind her. “Have they got Thornton?”
He started to sit up, and she put her shoulder under his to help him. “Yes, Jasper has it all under control.”
In fact, the footman was tying the two henchmen’s hands to Mr. Thornton’s carriage while Rebecca held the guns. Jasper had hold of Mr. Thornton.
“What shall we do with him now?” Jasper asked. He looked like he was holding a piece of offal.
“Toss him in the river,” the footman growled over his shoulder, and Rebecca smiled at him.
“It’s not a bad idea,” Samuel said softly, and Emeline had never heard his voice so cold.
Mr. Thornton laughed. “What for?”
