Page 80 of Lady Arabella’s Reluctant Hero

Had he killed before? She had no idea.

Not for the first time since that dreadful night at the inn, she was reminded of just how little she actually knew about this man.

She closed her eyes…

And heard footsteps.

They were fast and coming from behind them.

Her eyes flew open. There was a blur of movement, and a sharp cracking sound she would never forget. Then Pierce was wrenched away from her and Pierce and his attacker were on the ground.

The knife skittered across the path into the dark.

Despite the shadows, she could make out both men wrestling in the grass. Pierce and⁠—

John.

He had Pierce by the collar and his fist connected with Pierce's jaw. Then Blackwood's men were there, appearing from the shadows as if they'd been conjured, and Pierce was pinned and it was⁠—

Over.

Just like that. It was over.

She was shaking. Her mask hanging off one ear and her hands trembling so badly she couldn't make them stop.

But it was over.

John got to his feet. His knuckles were bleeding and his hair was wild. And when he looked at her⁠—

She had the sudden urge to weep. Not with relief or even fear, but from regret. The worry in his eyes, the genuine concern as his gaze swept over her, assessing her for injuries…

She swallowed hard, but it was no use. The tears made her throat painfully tight.

Blackwood's men hauled Pierce upright. He was bleeding from his nose and lip, and though he snarled and raged⁠—

He was caught. Trapped.

It really was done.

"Get him out of here," John said, without looking away from her.

They took Pierce. And then it was just her and John.

"John," she started. Her voice cracked and she hated it. "I had to. Lucy— He sent a note⁠—"

John crossed the space between them and pulled her into his arms, crushing her to his chest. His arms were strong and his body warm. And as she burrowed into him, she couldn't remember the last time she'd ever felt so safe.

"I'm sorry." Her words were coming in bursts between embarrassingly loud sobs. "I— I couldn't tell you. If you'd followed, he would have⁠—"

"I know," he whispered into her hair. "It's all right, my love."

Despite his words, she kept going. She couldn't seem to stop. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I lied about Edgmond, and my father, and all of it. I lied because I couldn't⁠—"

"Shh." He lifted one hand to cup the back of her head, his voice low and soft in her ear. "Arabella. Stop. It's all right."

She sniffed, trying to stop the tears. But it was no use. His hand stroked her hair. "It's over, my love. It's all over."

He kept stroking her hair and whispering soothing words, until finally, at long last, the tears came to an end.