Page 34 of The Dueling Duchess

“What do you want—a reward?”

“A thank you very much, Guy, would be nice.”

Her face heated in the darkness. She was being churlish. She had taken a deep breath to say something to him, she wasn’t sure what, when she realized her reticule was no longer attached to her wrist.

“He stole my money!” she shouted, bolting for the alley exit.

“Wait! Where the devil are you going?” he demanded.

Cecile skidded to a halt outside the alley, her head whipping both ways. The thief had paused beside a streetlight and was riffling through her reticule.

“Give that back!” she yelled.

The man looked up, made an extremely rude gesture, and yelled back, “Come get it!” He laughed and returned to his riffling.

Cecile slid a pistol from its holster and took aim.

Behind her, Guy gave a startled squawk. “Good God! You’re not going to actually shoo—”

The loud crack was instantly followed by a blood-curdling howl of pain.

Cecile sheathed her pistol and marched toward where the man was now screaming and hopping up and down on one foot.

“Are you mad?” Guy demanded, trotting beside her as she stalked toward the wounded thief.

“I’m not mad, but I am angry,” she admitted.

“Bloody hell, Cecile! You can’t go about shooting people!”

“I just did.”

He made a strangled sound. “Wait here and I’ll run and fetch your reticule.”

Cecile ignored him. Instead, she took out the second pistol, and called out, “Drop my reticule and get away from it or I will shoot something more critical this next time.”

The man gave a piteous yelp and half hopped, half dragged his injured foot down the street.

Cecile smirked and slid her pistol back into the holster.

“Good God! That was terribly illegal—or didn’t you know that?”

“Why are you still here, Guy? You may go.”

“Oh, may I? You might have killed him.”

Cecile scoffed. “Please. I aimed at the toe of his boot and that is what I hit.”

When they reached the lamppost, Guy dropped to his haunches to help pick up the contents of her reticule. “You’re mad. Completely and utterly mad.” He held out a handful of items. “And why are you walking around by yourself at this time of night?” He pushed to his feet and then helped her to hers before planting his fisted hands on his hips. “Cecile?”

She pulled the drawstring on her reticule, tied it, and then slid it over her wrist and continued on toward the café.

“Where are you going?” he demanded, falling into step beside her.

“To eat.”

“I just came from there—they closed early tonight.”

Cecile scowled. “I’m hungry.” Her stomach growled as if to support her claim.