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“Let my wife go,” he demanded coolly, walking into the light.

The Duke of Loxchester’s coachman descended from the front seat of the carriage and pointed a pistol at the thugs.

“She isn’t your wife,” announced the one with the eye patch.

The one who wasn’t holding her launched at the duke’s coachman, who fired a shot. But the shot went astray. The thug swung his arm and his knife glistened in the light of the streetlamps. The duke’s coachman ducked and drove his fist into the man’s stomach. The man doubled up but rammed the coachman with his body, driving him into the wall of the building. There was a loud crack of bone.

One of those holding her ran to his associate’s aid, and they both turned on the duke. But despite being outnumbered, the duke held both men at bay, delivering one punch after another. The thug who still held her stared, distracted, so she stomped on his foot and drove her elbow into his stomach.

She wrenched her arm free and turned to find the other two thugs lying on the ground.

The thug who had gotten the jewelry box had just recovered from her attack and was about to grab her again, his face vicious in the lamplight, when a tall shadow fell over him. The duke caught the thug’s arm and sent his mighty fist into the man’s jaw. The man staggered back, then when he got his balance, he backed up even more. He didn’t attack again. Instead, he made a large circle as he ran. The duke darted towards him, but the man was faster. He jumped onto the driver’s seat, cracked the whip, and his two horses neighed and were off.

Emma only jumped back as the coach darted past her.

She was free.

Free from Sir Jasper.

She caught the duke’s eyes. He stood there, looking like a gladiator trapped in the clothes of a duke. He stalked towards her. And she felt her legs carry her to him. Before she could say a word, one arm was around her waist, the other around her neck.

They came together as though they had always belonged together, as though they were truly husband and wife.

He held her in his arms, looking her over.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“No, I’m just shaken,” she said, melting from his touch.

Her carriage was wrecked, and Jack lay unconscious on the ground. She couldn’t really go. Unless he’d let her. Should she ask him?

But she’d just stolen from him. He wouldn’t want her anyway.

She noticed a light bruise on his cheekbone. “Are you all—” She cut herself off as she felt something warm and wet under the palm of her hand, which lay on his shoulder. She looked at it, and even in the dim light of the gas lamps, she could see it was dark with blood.

“You’re hurt!” she cried as she broke out of his hug and turned him to the side to look at his shoulder. A deep cut oozed blood. She couldn’t leave now. First, she needed to see if he was all right.

“We must get you help,” she said. “Oh, goodness! Jack!”

The duke and his coachman, Oliver, dragged the unconscious Jack into the carriage. Quickly, Oliver unhitched the two horses from the fallen carriage and tied them to the back of the duke’s carriage. It was a miracle neither had broken a leg, and Emma was grateful for that small mercy. With every minute that passed, her stomach churned with worry for the duke and for Jack. Both were hurt because they had protected her.

The duke asked Oliver to come back with a few men to retrieve the broken carriage later, and they were on their way.

9

Sebastian lay on his bed, his shirt off as Emma sat by his side, wiping the blood from his shoulder. The cut throbbed, but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered but having this woman safe and by his side. Her eyes were wide; she was probably still in shock from the events of the past hour.

He felt like he might die when he saw her in the clutches of those thugs, being dragged away.

She had run away from him. She had stolen from his mother. But what did he expect? He’d driven her to it with his abhorrent behavior. He’d made her unhappy because that was what he did.

And still, he couldn’t help but want her. How pretty she was in the homey, warm light of the burning fireplace. The green of her beautiful eyes was the color of soft moss, a blush colored her high cheekbones, and her rosy lips were slightly parted. Those lips that had felt so good and soft against him, the lips he craved to claim again.

But it wasn’t just her beauty that brought lightness into his chest. It was her. She had stood so strong and proud at the market in Clovham. And today, she had just gone through what must have been the most traumatic experience of her life, and yet here she was, not crying or whining, but calmly and efficiently taking care of him.

“Why did you do it?” he asked. “Steal? Run away?”

She stopped moving and threw a guilty glance at him. “I’m very sorry. I planned to pay you back once I found a position as a governess.”