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“Now gentlemen,” Apollo drawled, standing slowly, “you know I haven’t made myself presentable. I’m not used to so many visitors this late at night. Ridley, why not send your cronies away and you and I can settle this over a nice cup of tea.”
Both Tyne and Leech attacked at the same time. Tyne aimed a blow at his head from the left while Leech ducked in and went for his middle from the right. Apollo caught Tyne’s fist on his upraised left arm. His right was still not working properly, but he was able to elbow Leech in the face, sending the smaller man flying into the wall. Apollo half-turned to Tyne and backhanded the man with his left fist. Tyne staggered but remained upright, and Apollo was just about to follow with a kick when he realized his peril.
He’d lost track of Ridley.
His feet were yanked out from under him. Apollo’s head smacked the stone floor and for a moment he knew nothing but ringing light. When next he looked up, he saw Ridley, still holding the chains that bound his feet.
Leech staggered over, hand cupped over his bleeding nose, and kicked Apollo in the face. Apollo raised an arm—moving far too slowly, something was wrong—but Leech kicked him again, this time in the ribs. There was pain, but it was muffled somehow, and that should be causing him alarm, he knew. Apollo tried to curl into himself, protect his vulnerable middle, but Ridley yanked on the chains again, pulling his legs straight. Leech had his cudgel now, and was lifting it—
Ridley grinned, his hands fumbling at the half-opened falls to his breeches. “We’ll shut your mouth good and proper this time.”
No.
True fear sparked at the back of Apollo’s mind and he lurched up, butting his head into Ridley’s middle. The guard fell on his arse, yelling. Apollo thrashed, kicking, hitting anything he could connect with.
Something slammed into his head.
He glared blearily up. Leech’s goddamned cudgel. He’d take the thing away and beat the guard with his own weapon, by God.
Tyne stepped on his throat. Apollo’s lungs heaved. Once. Twice.
No air.
Thrice…
Blackness descended.
THE MORNING SUN dappled the forest floor beneath his feet as Maximus tramped along the next day. He’d risen early, restless without his usual exercises in the London cellar. His work was in the city and he had an itch to return to it.
Courting a woman for marriage was a trying business.
Belle bumped her head under his palm as if in sympathy. Percy and Starling had already ranged ahead, but Belle liked to stay by his side.
Well, usually, anyway.
Her narrow ears suddenly perked and she was off, bounding gracefully through the underbrush. He could hear the other dogs yipping in greeting.
Ridiculously, he thought he could feel his heart beat faster. Despite their antagonism, despite her threats to his equilibrium, he wanted to see her, and right now he wouldn’t examine why.
In another few steps he made the clearing with the pond and looked about. He could see the dogs milling a quarter way around the pond—even Bon Bon was there—but he couldn’t yet see her on the path.
And then he did see her and arousal went straight to his cock.
Artemis Greaves was in the pond, as graceful as a naiad, her skirts bound up at her waist, standing thigh deep in the sparkling water.
How dare she.
He strode swiftly around the pond to stand at the shore nearest to where she was wading. “Miss Greaves.”
She glanced at him and if anything looked displeased to see him. “Your Grace.”
“What,” he said softly but dangerously, “are you doing in the pond?”
“I would have thought that obvious,” she murmured as she began moving toward the shore. “I’m wading.”
He gritted his teeth. The closer she came to shore the more milky white leg emerged from the water. It was soon apparent that she was bare from just below the juncture of her thighs all the way to her narrow feet. Her skin glistened in the morning sun, pale and vulnerable, wholly, terribly erotic.
As a gentleman he should look away.
