Page 80 of The Scandalous Spinster

The first guard was unconscious before he hit the ground. Bram grabbed him from behind and tossed him into the wall, headfirst. He was still sliding down the damp stones when Bram stepped over him. Two more men waited at the bottom of another set of moss-slick stairs. One of them leapt to his feet. Bram was gratified to see neither had a musket or a pistol.

Idjits.

He charged, fear and fury propelling him forward. They stood between him and Clara.

They would not stand for much longer.

He met the first guard with a punch to the gut. He choked and stumbled back. His companion was next and nearly as wide as Bram. He cracked Bram in the eye, shaking the rest of his brains loose in his skull. Fortunately, it seemed to shake his vision back to normal as well.

The candles flickered as they fought, throwing shadows, playing tricks. Bram took a glancing blow to the ribs and retaliated with a crack to the man’s jaw. It echoed through the hall, bouncing off the stones. As did his groan of pain. Blood spattered the walls.

Three more hits to jaw, gut, and nose and the second guard fell, eyes rolling back. Bram crouched, rifling through his pockets for the key. When he jammed it into the lock, the man groaned, shifted to stop him. Bram used him as a battering ram and threw him straight into the cave. He landed in a bloody heap at Clara’s feet.

“Why, thank you, Captain Thorn. What a thoughtful gift.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Clara did not give the injured heap of a man at her feet a second glance.

All she saw was Bram.

Steady as a stone, blood in his hair, and bruises on his face. His eyes were savage. They searched her carefully, looking for injuries. She saw the exact moment he noticed the reddening marks on her shoulder. His jaw clenched. “Did he do that to you?”

“One of them did. I’m not sure which.”

“Then they’ll each pay.”

She stepped over the sprawled guard to touch her fingertips lightly to his face. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

“Then I am too.”

“You’re limping,” he roared.

Sybil rattled her chains. Loudly. “As romantic as I am sure this all is, I would dearly love to regain feeling in my left foot. And that cretin there has the key in his right coat pocket.”

Bram looked over Clara’s shoulder. “Hello, Miss Taunton.”

“Captain Thorn, how do you do?”

Clara bent to retrieve the key, but Bram stopped her. “Don’t.”

“He’s unconscious.”

“I’ll trust this lot when they’re dead, and not a moment before.” He fished it out of the right pocket himself and handed it to Clara. “I’ll get the other one. They can rot in here, in the dark, until someone can be bothered to come get them.” He turned to Heloise, Blanche, and Rosalinde. “Ladies, right this way.”

Heloise marched out like a very short, enraged general as Clara unlocked Sybil. Blanche followed. Rosalinde hesitated. “It’s all right,” Sybil said softly. “No one will ever get to you again. Certainly not the marquis.”

Rosalinde nodded mutely.

“Do you remember I told you about my friend Peony? I thought they would send her—no offense to you, Clara.”

“None taken,” Clara sighed.

“Offense very much taken,” Bram grumbled, dragging in the guard from the hall. Blood was drying on the back of his collar.

“Anyway,” Sybil continued, “Peony will teach you to stab a man and how to run so fast he chokes on his own lungs before catching you. And if that’s not enough, you’re going to be very rich again, very soon. You can hire as many bodyguards as you like.”