Page 27 of Bella Darcy is on the Run

"Then for once in your life, do exactly as you are told."

The first man took another step forwards, and George moved before he had time to think better of it, driving his fist hard into the man's jaw and catching the second across the ribs with his elbow in almost the same movement. He barked at Clara to run, and to her credit she did not hesitate. She seized Bella's hand and dragged her towards the street, skirts gathered in her fist as they made for the mouth of the alley.

For one glorious second George thought they might actually make it, but then a third man stepped from the darkness and Bella stopped abruptly, jerking Clara back so that she cried out and nearly collided with her. The newcomer caught Bella around the waist before she could turn, and her scream went through George like a blade. He lunged towards her, only for the first man to recover enough to seize him from behind. George threw his head backwards, heard a grunt of pain and twisted himself free just as Clara launched herself at the man holding Bella. She did not fight like any lady's maid George had ever encountered. Her knee came up hard and vicious, and the man folded with a strangled noise, releasing Bella at once.

George shouted at Clara to run again, but one look towards the far end of the alley told him the position had worsened. Another man had appeared there, broad-shouldered and blocking the only easy escape, which made four of them now. Four bloody men against the three of them, and George knew at once that they could not get away cleanly. Clara seemed to understand the same thing. She looked at Bella, then at George, and he told her to go. She ducked beneath the arm of the man still bent over in pain, gathered her skirts almost to her knees and tore away into the darkness of the town.

One of the men swore and made to follow, but George caught him by the collar and hauled him backwards. That brief distraction cost him. Something hard struck the side of his head, sending pain bursting through his skull and forcing him down onto one knee. Through the black spots filling his vision he heard Bella call his name, and when he managed to look up he saw her rushing towards him. A hand closed around her arm before she could reach him.

George forced himself upright, blinking until the alley steadied around him. "Do not touch her," he growled.

The man holding Bella laughed and tightened his grip. "Not worth spending the energy on a slip of a girl, Captain. Even a fancy one like this bit o’ muslin."

"She is nobody to you," George said, fixing Bella with a look that he hoped conveyed one very simple instruction. Do not speak. For once in your life, do not speak. Her nostrils flared in immediate offence, which was not encouraging.

The first man wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and glanced between them. "Who is she, then?"

"No one."

Bella's head snapped towards George. "Excuse me?"

He nearly groaned. "Miss Bennet, I strongly advise you to allow me to do the talking."

"I am hardly no one."

"For the love of God."

"And my name is not Bennet."

George's head turned sharply towards her. "I beg your pardon?"

He closed his eyes for one brief, despairing moment while the man holding her gave an interested laugh. "That so, miss?"

Bella lifted her chin. Even dishevelled, with her hair half falling down and her fine cream gown streaked with dirt beneath her pelisse, she somehow managed to look down her nose at a man who towered above her. "My name is Arabella Darcy of Pemberley, daughter of Fitzwilliam Darcy and great-niece to the Earl of Matlock. Unhand us both at once, unless you wish to face the consequences."

George opened his eyes and looked at her in disbelief. "Oh good Lord in heaven, woman. You have an uncanny knack for saying exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time."

The men looked at one another, and this time even Bella seemed to realise that she had said something she ought not to have said. George could almost see the calculation taking shape between them as they pieced together the potential value of their prize. Bella swallowed, the colour beginning to leave her face, and for the first time since she had opened her mouth George thought she might finally understand the danger she had created.

The first man's smile returned, but the crude amusement had gone from it. "Well now," he said. "Seems we ain't caught ourselves some wandering little doxy after all."

George started to move forward, but the man nearest Bella drew a knife and he stopped at once. The first fellow's smile widened as he looked between Bella and George. "A Darcy of Pemberley, with the Earl of Matlock for a great-uncle." He gave a soft whistle. "Sly is goin’ to be very interested in you."

Chapter Fourteen

Bella scuffed her slipper against the dirt floor of the small room. The silk was utterly ruined. She had the faint thought that she ought to have put on her sturdier half-boots before leaving the house, before wondering why on earth she had followed George at all.

It had seemed so important in that moment to discover what he was about. She had still been breathless from dancing, her emotions all over the place simply from being near him, and then he had retreated so coldly. Now, as she sat huddled in the miserable corner of the room, with its bare stone walls, dirt floor and the only light coming from a narrow window high above them, she began to wish not only that she had listened to Clara's warnings and protestations, but that she had never left Pemberley.

What had she been running from, after all? A comfortable life? People who loved her? A future that was secure in a way most people could only dream of? Yes, she had felt contained and stifled at times, but she had been safe, and now she had landed herself in a situation from which she could see no obvious escape.

She had a horrid image of her family dressed in black, her sisters crying, her father stern and silent and her mother looking utterly broken. She had already caused them so much trouble, and just when they believed her safe, she had let them down again.

A small hiccup escaped her at the thought, and Captain George Harwood turned to look at her with an assessing gaze. His beautiful blue coat was torn and dusty, and there was a purple bruise forming along his cheekbone and around the hollow of his right eye. He had not spoken a word to her in almost twenty minutes and had instead stalked around the little room, for that was what it was rather than a true cell, muttering to himself and testing every inch of the walls and door for some means of escape.

Oh, how he must hate her. The thought brought another wave of tears, and Bella began to sob in earnest.

George walked over to her, shoved a handkerchief into her hand and took off his coat before roughly placing it around her shoulders. "All will be well," he said, but his voice was flat and emotionless, which only made her cry harder.