Page 40 of Lyon on the Loose

“You think so highly of yourself, but we still found Charlotte Lavoisier,” Roland countered. “Your lies were soon uncovered.”

Sutton spat to one side. “Only because that soft wench decided to talk. Women don’t always know what’s good for them. Now—that’s enough of your gab. If you don’t shut that mouth of yours, I’ll rearrange your handsome features, so the ladies run away in fear.”

The rogue’s voice had hardened, and his body tensed as he tightened the final knot binding Roland’s feet.

It was now or never.

Lissy’s palms were slick with moisture as she seized the club; it felt far too light for what she needed it to do. Uttering a scream worthy of a banshee, she swung it up and brought it down on Henry Sutton’s head with every ounce of strength in her body.

Sutton collapsed like a felled ox.

Lissy dropped to her knees beside Roland, trembling violently, trying to convince her lungs that it was safe to breathe again.

“Oh, my goodness—how badly are you hurt? What did he do to you?”

Her fingers fumbled with Roland’s bonds, while she struggled to speak around the nausea roiling in her stomach. “I had no idea he was such a wicked—”

“Save your breath, my sweet. I’m pretty much still in one piece. We need to make sure our perpetrator doesn’t escape.”

Grateful though she was for his reassurance, it distressed her more than she could ever have imagined seeing Roland injured and bleeding on the floor. She renewed her efforts to untie him, and soon he was free. She sat back on her heels, panting with effort and distress.

Roland pressed a hand to his bleeding temple. “This will have to wait,” he said, wiping his fingers on the black shirt of his executioner’s costume. “First, I must secure Sutton.”

“Let me help.”

“No offense, but I suspect I’m better at knots than you. Why don’t you fetch Hugo and the burliest of your footmen, so we can ensure this cur does not escape?” His face was ghostly white, and a pulse throbbed at his temple, but his voice remained steady.

She watched as Roland took up his own discarded bonds and tied them firmly around Henry Sutton’s limp arms. She ought to run for help but dreaded leaving Roland when she knew he was injured.

“I’ll shout for help.”

“Do you really want to ruin your mother’s party? If we can get Sutton out of here without anybody knowing, it would be best all round. Besides, I don’t think my poor head could cope with you shouting.”

“Nor mine,” came the muffled voice of Henry Sutton.

Roland immediately produced a large handkerchief and stuffed it into Sutton’s mouth. “That’s enough from you. The next time you speak, it will be in front of the magistrate.”

Lissy heaved a sigh of relief. At least she hadn’t killed Mr. Sutton—no matter what crimes he’d committed, her conscience could not have borne it. She hadn’t enjoyed clubbing him, but with Roland in such danger, what else could she have done?

She shot Roland an agonized look, struggling to convince herself he now had the situation under control.

“Very well—I shall fetch help. If you’re certain—”

He nodded. “I shall sit on our captive, to make sure he doesn’t go anywhere. Hand me that club, my love—just in case it’s needed again.”

The man beneath Roland twitched violently, then lapsed into stillness and let out a low moan. Roland raised his eyebrows at Lissy and gestured toward the door again.

She couldn’t help it—even though someone could have come in at any moment, she leaned forward, grasped the collar of Roland’s black shirt, and kissed him urgently.

“Interesting,” he remarked, after returning her kiss with equal fervor. “I shall have to get myself wounded more often if this is to be my reward.”

“Don’t talk nonsense.” Lissy tried for sternness, but her cheeks felt warm and her lips slightly bruised as she pulled away and got to her feet. Sutton emitted a soft groan, and his head lolled—all the fight had been knocked out of him.

Roland’s grin as she reached the door heated her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and her knees felt weak. How could a single look do that to a person?

Feeling as flushed and foolish as a green girl, she retrieved her fan and fluttered it madly in front of her face.

There had been so much promise in that look, and she had felt her heart unfold like a rose coming into bloom. Surely, he didn’t look at every woman he knew that way? Surely, that heated promise was intended just for her. She had to hope so, because she couldn’t imagine ever kissing another man the way she had the indomitable Mr. Roland Chetwynd. Or enjoying it so much.