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Her eyes snapped to him, and those plump lips parted in disbelief. Pink rose in the lady’s face, painting her cheeks. “Reginald!” she gasped.
The three ruffians turned towards him. Reginald glanced at them, trying to determine how much of a threat they were. One man was well into his middle age. He had thinning brown hair and held a knife. “Well, you must be the Marquess,” he said.
Had Marcella told them that? Reginald couldn’t imagine why she would have. So how did this man know who he was? “You have me at a disadvantage,” Reginald said coolly. “Who are you?”
“John,” he replied, smirking.
Reginald glanced at Marcella. The hem of her riding habit was stained, and she looked disheveled, but unharmed as far as he could tell. Reginald clenched his fists and stepped boldly forward. “And your favorite pastime, John, is harassing young ladies, is it?”
“A profitable one, you mean,” he sneered.
“John,” said his companion, a slight fellow with red hair. “Don’t tell him anything!”
John rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t matter what I say, Benjamin. He’ll be dead in a moment.”
Reginald straightened his back as the men approached him. Benjamin and John had fixed their attention firmly on Reginald. The other member of their group—a large man with thick, dark hair—glanced briefly at Marcella. Reginald’s blood roared in his ears.
The lady herself stood still, looking as though she was too terrified to even move. Or perhaps, she was merely remaining still and quiet in an attempt to keep from being noticed.
Reginald bent his knees and shifted his stance, making it stronger. “Well, boys,” he said, “I hope you’re ready. I’m not like any Marquess you’ll ever meet.”
The large, dark-haired man struck first. As his fist barreled towards his face, Reginald raised his forearm. The blow landed against his forearm, sending a dull pain thundering through his arm. Reginald aimed a punch to the man’s gut, striking with such force that the man stumbled back.
Benjamin tried to sweep around behind Reginald, but he was faster. Reginald seized the man’s arm and forced it behind his back, pulling hard. Benjamin shouted in pain. John swept in with his knife flashing and his teeth bared.
Everything seemed to fade away in the fight. Reginald punched and kicked and fought, and his pulse quickened. He vaguely noticed that the large, dark-haired villain fell back and landed hard onto the street. But Benjamin and John were still fighting, and between the fists and flashes of the knife, Reginald caught glimpses of Marcella’s panicked, horrified face.
Reginald’s fist struck Benjamin in the jaw, and the man stumbled back, falling to the ground. John growled. “You’re finished!” he shouted.
The man swung wildly with his knife. Reginald seized his arm, the knife blade coming within inches of his face. The handle struck the side of Reginald’s head, and he pulled hard on John’s arm. The two of them tumbled onto the ground, and the knife skittered away.
Pain burst down the side of Reginald’s jaw, as John struck. Reginald grappled with the man, trying to gain an advantage, but John was clearly no stranger to fights. He punched and kicked like some savage creature, and they rolled around together on the street.
“Reginald!” Marcella exclaimed.
His head snapped towards her, and Marcella kicked the knife towards him. The blade flashed against the dark road and came to a stop mere inches away from him. Acting on instinct, Reginald wrapped his hand around the knife’s handle and seized it. He plunged the weapon into the belly of his assailant. John gasped and scrambled back, holding a frantic hand over the quickly forming spot of blood. He bolted and wove through the alleys, fleeing as fast as he could.
Reginald remained on the ground for a moment, his breath coming in heavy pants. Marcella hurried to his side and sank to her knees beside him. “Reginald?” she whispered, her eyes wide. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
He grunted and forced himself up, putting his weight on his forearms. “Fine. I just need a moment.”
Marcella laughed in relief. She cupped his face with her hands and gazed at him as if seeing him for the first time. Her chest heaved so heavily that Reginald thought her creamy breasts might escape the confines of her habit. It was an image so lovely that he nearly forgot the terrible, strange situation they’d found themselves in.
If he hadn’t seen her at the beginning of the fight, Reginald might’ve assumed that this was all some wonderful dream where the elegant lady came to his aid, but her hands felt real.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“For you,” she replied. “Of course. I—I wanted to apologize and tell you how wonderful you are. You left because of me, and I just—I knew I had to come and make amends. Even if you can’t forgive me, I knew I still had to try because I love you so much.”
She looked so beautiful surrounded by the lamps that Reginald could resist her no longer. He gave Marcella his answer by curling his fingers into her hair and pressing his lips against hers. She gasped into his mouth, and Reginald felt as if he was being consumed by fire. Every part of his body warmed with her touch, and he hungered to touch her even more. He wanted to trace his fingers along those lovely curves, to grasp her firm breasts between his hands, and to deliver those practiced ministrations between her thighs which always made the lady quiver and gasp.
But it wasn’t the time. He broke their kiss, and Marcella kept her face close to his. Her cheeks were flashed and her eyes bright. “Reginald!” she gasped.
“I forgive you,” he murmured. “If you forgive me.”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Of course. I want nothing more in the world, my dearest Reginald.”
Reginald heard a groan, and he climbed to his feet. Benjamin had stumbled up, and Reginald immediately placed himself between the ruffian and Marcella. “Now,” Reginald said. “You are going to tell me preciselyhowyou knew I’m a Marquess, and you’re going to explain why you threatened this lady.”
Benjamin nodded. “We—we only threatened the lady because we thought she might know where you were. We weren’t going to hurt her. We knew that a lady like her must’ve been with you, and she said she came from Hurrow…”
Reginald raised an eyebrow. “You were after me, then?”
“Yes, yes—of course—I told them it was a bad idea, that we shouldn’t get involved with the lady. But they wouldn’t listen. Please, Sir—”
“A lady?” Reginald asked.
Marcella leaned closer to Reginald, so near that her shoulder brushed against his arm. “What was the lady’s name?”
Benjamin gulped. His eyes darted around the street, as though he expected someone to leave from the shadows and attack him. “Her name was Blaire Danvers.”
