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She shrugged, shifting to look forward again. “Am I right?”
“The truth of the matter?”
“Please.”
“You’re correct. The home I grew up in consisted of my grandfather, my younger brother, and a slew of my male cousins.”
“What of your mother?”
“Died in childbirth giving birth to us. My brother, Gilroy, and I are twins. My father died of consumption when we were eight.”
“No female cousins? No aunts?”
“No and no. Maids and Cook. Though none of them spoke often. And I imagine we had a nursemaid, though I have no recollection of her.” His hands shifted on the leather of the reins in front of her. “Does my lack of manners bother you?”
“Not at all—it’s refreshing, actually.” Her hand lifted, smoothing strands of her hair back along her chignon. “Men like to tiptoe about their words around women—our ears and our constitutions are far too delicate to hear what men are truly thinking. They come into the Den with that façade fully set in place. A façade that disappears after the third or fourth drink, depending on who is pouring that night.”
She looked back to him with a smile on her face and Evan was overcome with the urge to tap the tip of her delicate nose.
What the hell was that? He didn’t tap noses.
His hands remained firmly in place on the reins.
“I like directness, Evan. And you’ve been nothing but direct with me and I appreciate it.”
“So you appreciate my rudeness?”
She laughed, shaking her head. “I never said you were—”
Her words cut off as the horse suddenly reared at a flash of a man in black cutting in front of them.
Juliet flew to the left, hitting hard against his forearm and her body slipped down between his arm and the horse, falling to the ground.
A grunt flew from her as she hit hard dirt and he jerked the reins to the right, moving the horse’s flailing hooves away from crushing her.
By the time the horse was settled and far away enough not to trample Juliet, the man dressed completely in black with a scarf across his face had yanked Juliet up from the ground, wrapping an arm around her as he set a blade onto her neck.
Evan was off the horse in an instant, charging.
“Stop—I’ll slice her neck, I will.” The blackguard jerked Juliet hard onto his body, sending her feet flying out from under her.
Evan skidded to a stop, dirt and dust spewing into the air about him as his hands rose to calm.
Blast. Too far away.
He refused to look at Juliet’s face. Just the man. Just his eyes. Reading intention.
His intention was desperate.
The man backed up a step, dragging Juliet with him. Then another. Another.
What was he going to do—drag her into Bicester at knifepoint? Into the woods? There was no reasonable end here.
His toes itching, Evan shuffled forward. Closer. Closer.
“Stop—stop or her blood will spill,” the man spat out through the black cloth covering the lower half of his face.
Just as Evan was about to lunge forward and knock the blade away from Juliet’s neck, a rock blasted across his left temple. A big rock.
