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Unsure what was truly going on, Marguerite knew it was wise not to get involved. Whoever these people were, whatever they wanted from him, they brought danger, and it would be foolish to get herself involved in any way. However, that said, she just couldn’t leave him to fend for himself. From the look of things, this fight could go on all night if someone didn’t do something.
Huffing impatiently, she threw a dark glare at the carriage driver, and uncharacteristically swore in disgust. She looked around in search of something she could use to help him. When she turned around, to her horror, she came face-to-face with the Count.
“I should leave them if I were you,” he began, his voice almost bored. “You and I have something to discuss.”
Marguerite shook her head. She had no idea where he had just come from but hadn’t realised he was there, and wouldn’t have known he was so close-by if he hadn’t spoken to her. She rubbed her arms with an air of vulnerability. It was difficult to know what to do. Her gaze fell onto Jeremy and his attackers.
“Are you not going to do something to stop them?” she demanded.
Her gaze flickered to the looming bulk of a black carriage which had started rolling slowly toward her. She knew immediately that it was the Count’s carriage and threw him a warning glare.
“I am not going anywhere with you,” she snapped.
“I wouldn’t advise you to run,” the Count taunted. “My men will have no trouble catching you.”
“They look a bit busy at the moment,” she replied dryly with a nod to two of his ‘men’ who were now unconscious and in the gutter.
Jeremy was putting paid to the third and last man standing before him with surprising dexterity. Mentally applauding him, Marguerite faced the Count.
“I am leaving here, but I am going with him, not you,” she declared flatly. “Try to force me otherwise and I will report you to the magistrate for kidnapping me.”
She mentally winced when she realised how ridiculous that sounded. If she was kidnapped, she wouldn’t be able to report it to the magistrate. Thankfully, the Count didn’t appear to notice, or at least didn’t pick her up on it.
“What makes you think he can be trusted?”
Marguerite snorted. “What makes me think you can be trusted?” she demanded. “I shouldn’t be surprised if it comes to light that you are a crook. You are certainly a fraudster. You might have half of London fooled right now but you don’t fool me. Whoever you are, you are ruined once word gets out that you are not Russian after all, and are certainly not a Count. Nobody will ever allow you through their doors again. You will be forever branded one of the fraudsters who almost got away with it.”
She knew from the pure evil that swept over the Count’s face that she had struck home and revealed far too much of the truth. His eyes flashed with anger. For a moment she wondered if he was going to lift the cane he was carrying and strike her with it. It actually came off the floor but, after a few inches, he sucked in a huge breath and all-too-carefully lowered it back down again.
“I am done listing to you babbling nonsense,” the Count snapped dismissively, once again hiding behind his Russian persona. His face was cruel. “I should be careful how many insults you throw at me, my dear. I am not the kind of man you should cross, you know.”
“You don’t frighten me,” she snapped bravely but immediately regretted her words when his lips curled into a sneer of utter contempt.
The man is a lunatic, she mused. A very clever lunatic I’ll grant you, but a lunatic nonetheless.
The Count didn’t respond. He looked at something down the street. Marguerite didn’t even get the chance to look over her shoulder before she was grabbed from behind and her captor started to drag her unceremoniously down the street.
“Put me down,” she screamed as she clawed at the arms of the burly thug trying to get her to the carriage.
“This way,” the Count ordered the man swinging her around as though she weighed nothing at all.
“Let go of me.” Her desperate gaze locked on to Jeremy, who was now trading heavy blows with renewed determination. She had no idea if he had seen her or not because he hadn’t taken his eyes off the man he was fighting.
“Jeremy!” Marguerite screamed.
“Oh do shut up,” the Count sighed.
“Bring her this way,” the Count ordered his thug. He signalled to the driver who flicked the horse into a faster walk to meet them further down.
“Unhand me, you oaf,” she demanded as she planted her feet firmly on the ground and hauled herself backwards with as much strength as she could muster.
Thankfully, Jeremy suddenly landed a blow to his attacker’s jaw that made him slump to the ground without a murmur.
“Jeremy!” She screamed again, her gaze locked on him.
Joe mentally swore and counted heads as he raced toward her. He knew that as soon as they got her into the carriage they would be gone and woe betide anybody who stood in their way. Marguerite was likely never to be heard from again. She would either be drawn into London’s seedy underworld and trapped in a sordid world of vice she would never be able to escape from, or she would re-appear in several weeks’ time - dead. He couldn’t bear the thought of either of those things happening to her. The prospect was far more disturbing than he had ever believed possible. His aversion to the possibility of Sayers getting his dirty hands on her was so terrifying that Joe redoubled his efforts to reach her.
Seconds later, he sighed with relief when he saw Marcus round the corner at the end of the road and race toward them. Now that backup was available, Joe turned his attention to the man Marguerite was attempting to kick.
