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And then he moved straight at the man with the cudgel who lifted it and lunged forward to meet him. Giles spun round, kicked, high and hard, and the knife went spinning from the other man’s hand. He slashed with his own, sending the footpad reeling back clutching his chest an
d Giles closed with his snarling companion, who brought the club down on Giles’s shoulder.
Laurel slapped her hand over her mouth to cut off the cry as Giles buckled at the knees, then turned the fall into a roll, crashing into the attacker, knocking him off his feet. After that, it was quick. As the thud of running feet grew louder behind her Giles had the man face down, his arms behind him in a lock that was not allowing him to as much as twitch.
The glade filled with men, it seemed to Laurel, dazedly taking in the fact that Giles was not only unhurt, but had fought with a focused, skilled ferocity. She pulled herself together and pointed out her struggling captive to one of the two gardeners who had arrived, armed with sickle and hoe. He hauled the man to his feet while the other went to help Giles secure the other two, producing enough garden twine to truss half-a-dozen footpads. Two gentlemen were also there, one who looked like a visitor, the other she recognised as the manager. They both ignored Giles, the gardeners and the footpads, hurrying to her side instead.
‘No, no, I am perfectly unharmed. Do assist Lord Revesby.’ She batted away the smelling salts held under her nose, declined the offer to be carried to the hotel and caught the manager by the arm. ‘Send for the constables and a magistrate at once!’
‘Of course, of course.’ The man ran off, leaving the other gentleman, who seemed more sensible now he was not attempting to revive her, and the gardeners to haul the offenders off.
‘Tell the constables I will call and give them my account as soon as I can,’ Giles called after them, then, the moment they were alone, he turned on Laurel. ‘You told them you were unharmed. Is that true? Yes? Thank God. And what the devil were you thinking of? I told you to run and get help, you could have been killed.’ He towered over her, dishevelled, bleeding from a cut on his cheek, exuding anger.
‘Run and leave you?’ she demanded, as furious as he, suddenly. ‘I never did that and you know it. You taught me to fight after the time Jerry Hopkins, the miller’s son, and his cousin were drowning those kittens and I tried to stop them and they pushed me into the mill pond. You pulled me out and you beat them both and then you taught me what to do if anyone attacked me. And I did, too, although I didn’t get the chance to kick him where it hurts like you said to do. I stabbed him with a hat pin though.’
‘Kick him where... I told you to do that?’ Giles took her by the shoulders and stared down at her. ‘Hatpin. I have never been so scared in my life as when I saw you were still there. Laurel, there were four of them.’
‘I know. You were wonderful, Giles.’ She reached up and touched the skin close to the cut on his face—it was already bruising.
‘No lady should see such—’
‘Idiot,’ she scolded. ‘I am Laurel, not some lady with the vapours.’ Then she was in his arms, her body tight against his, his mouth hot on hers and her hands were burrowing into his hair, her fingers feeling the elegant curves of his ears, the brush of that strand of hair that had always fallen into his eyes, even when he was a boy, even now with his expensive, modish crop.
It felt right to be kissing Giles and the taste of him was familiar now after just that one kiss, here in the heart of the Wilderness. She wanted him, she realised as the blood sang in her ears and her heart thudded against his. His skin smelt of sweat and anger and crushed grass and she wanted him more than she ever had.
She would say yes, because surely she could not feel like this, he could not be kissing her like this, if there was not something very special between them.
‘Lady Laurel!’
Giles spun her round, pushed her behind him as he turned to face whoever it was who had spoken. Dizzy, disorientated, Laurel clutched at his shoulders as she leaned against him, panting a little. Her bonnet had fallen off at some point in the battle, she realised, and her bodice was half-undone, her breasts straining against the flimsy covering of her chemise. She had not been aware of Giles unfastening anything, but he must have done or the hooks had ripped free when she had wielded that branch...
‘Ladies, you will excuse us, but this is a private conversation.’ He sounded furious, even as he kept his voice at a polite conversational level.
‘Conversation?’ It was Lady Druitt. ‘We saw you coming into the Wilderness—most unwise, Lady Laurel, I must say—and then there was screaming and we saw those men being dragged out. Naturally we hastened in here. Lady Laurel, kindly remove yourself from behind Lord Revesby. This is all shocking, quite shocking.’
‘Lady Druitt, Mrs Atkinson.’ Laurel somehow got her bodice fastened and stepped out from the shelter of Giles’s broad shoulders. Both of the ladies had their friends clustered behind them. The ladies stared avidly, creating an agitated chorus of shocked gasps and tutting. ‘There is nothing shocking whatsoever, unless it is that the management of the Gardens had a nest of footpads skulking in here. They should have broken glass on top of the wall—a child could climb it. Thank you, but I have no need of your...assistance. Lord Revesby acted with courage and despatch.’
‘Of course you have need, young lady! Have you no shame? What have you to say for yourself, Revesby, luring Lady Laurel in here and then exposing her to such violence?’
‘That you have just interrupted a proposal of marriage.’
Laurel put her hand on Giles’s arm. Through the fine woollen cloth she could feel him vibrating with anger. He was still primed with aggression after the fight and then there had been that passionate kiss and she suspected that if there had been a man with this flock of clucking hens he would have hit him. As he could not lash out physically at women Giles was keeping hold of his temper with ferocious will.
‘Which one can only hope has been answered in the affirmative,’ said Lady Druitt. ‘Your poor father’s health when he hears of this—’
‘My father the Marquess,’ Giles said, subtlety reminding them that they were all comprehensively outranked, ‘will be delighted to hear that Lady Laurel is to be his future daughter-in-law.’
Laurel opened her mouth to protest that she had not yet agreed, then closed it again. They were completely cornered. She could refuse Giles only at the expense of a scandal that would ricochet around Bath like an exploding shell. Phoebe’s position as her hostess would become impossible. She would have to go back to Malden Grange in disgrace, back to being the dependent spinster stepdaughter. There really was no choice. And besides, now her hand was forced she felt a surge of relief. This was what she wanted. Giles, whether or not he loved her.
‘Naturally I answered in the affirmative,’ she said coolly. Inside she was shaking, but she was going to back Giles up to the hilt. The way he had moved to shield her, instantly, without hesitation, the way he had fought for her was worth a thousand words. ‘Lord Revesby is a gentleman of honour who would never presume to kiss a lady to whom he was not affianced. If you would excuse us, ladies? My aunt, Lady Cary, is waiting in expectation of our good news and I would not have her hear about the incident with the footpads from any other source.’
What was Mrs Atkinson smirking about? It was not a very pleasant smile, not the expression of someone whose dear friend was about to hear welcome news, more the smug, knowing look of a conspirator. Surely the ladies had not all followed their progress around the Gardens in the hope of snooping on a scandal? Perhaps Mrs Atkinson was not such a good friend as Phoebe thought.
Laurel swept out of the Wilderness with Giles at her side, a gracious smile plastered on her face. As they passed the ladies he stooped and picked up her bonnet.
They stayed silent until they were outside, then Giles walked swiftly around to the side, out of sight of the main lawns. ‘Hell and damnation,’ he muttered. ‘We both look as though we have been in a riot. Associating with me is hard on your hats.’ When she laughed, perhaps a little shakily, and tied her bonnet ribbons, he said, ‘Laurel, you are quite unhurt, aren’t you? You wouldn’t lie to me?’
‘I would never lie to you, Giles. I am shaken, I will admit, but I have not as much as a scratch.’
