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Too short.
“It is you.”
Startled, Juliet fell down onto her heels and spun around at a male voice. A man she didn’t recognize looked down at her. Blond hair slicked back with pomade. Gold pocket watch. Eyes the color of mud that were set too far apart. Clothes that fit well, though stretched over the paunch of his belly. Wealth.
And close. Too close.
Her gut dropped. The open door of the carriage blocked her escape to her right and he’d positioned himself at an angle that didn’t give her a clear shot to run.
Not that she needed to run. The man was clearly confused.
She set her most charming smile in place and looked up at him. “Forgive me, I do believe you are mistaken as I don’t recognize you, sir.”
The right side of his lip curled. “You don’t? I recognize you. You work at the Den of Diablo in London. I’ve watched you there, for hours, charming men. You are something to look at.”
Her head snapped back. They wereclose to three hundred miles from London.And he recognized her?
She looked blankly at him. “The den of what?”
He chuckled, a slimy sound that dripped over her head, her shoulders. “That isprecious,but we both know who you are. You’re Madame…” He snapped his fingers several times as his mouth opened and closed, a gaping fish. “Madame Juliet. That is it. There was never an opportunity to request your services before, but as you are here and I am here, I’ll take you for the evening. I cannot imagine there’s much business for you in a fine establishment such as this.”
As painful as the smile burned on her face was, she kept it in place. “Sir, I do not wish to be rude, but you truly do mistake me for someone else. Please excuse me.” She moved forward, using the back of her hand to push past him.
He stepped to the side, cutting off her escape and grabbing her shoulders. “That’s ‘my lord’ to you and I’ll not be discarded by a whore such as yourself.” The curl of his lip turned rabid.
Without thought, the motion practiced so thoroughly it was smooth as butter, she lifted her right leg and pulled her dagger, setting the blade of it under his ballocks.
Her smile never wavered.
“As I said, sir, you are mistaken. You will remove your hands from my person.”
“You little whore. You think you can—”
She flicked the blade up a notch, curtailing his words. “I don’t think, I know I can slice off your ballocks with one flick of my wrist.” She abandoned the smile, the pull of her lips fierce as she seethed. “And you may torture—pummel me after—but I will always have your manhood. Yourcouillessliced to ribbons. You care to try me on this score, my lord?”
His fingertips tightened into her shoulders.
Juliet coiled and in the next instant, the man flew to the left, out of her vision as a hand clamped onto her wrist.
Clamped and then slammed her forearm onto the blur of a knee.
Her blade tumbled from her grip, dropping to the ground.
The blur wasn’t the man attacking her. Evan.
Evan appearing out of nowhere.
Letting her wrist go, the blur of him darted to the left, his fist swinging. Knuckles met jawbone, crunching, and the pompous jerk flew backward to land in the muck next to the carriage.
“Leave the woman be, ye worm.” Evan moved to stand over the ass, both fists clenched. “And you say anything about this to anyone and I’ll find you and finish smashing your face until ye look like the shriveled ballocks I just saved from the blade.”
Holding his jaw in place, the man flailed to his feet and staggered away, his free arm swinging at them. “You cocksucker, you can keep your cheap whore, you Scottish bastard. She’s nothing but afucking sluttystrumpet.”
The words ringing in her ears, Juliet scooped up her blade from the ground and charged, rabid to finish what she’d started.
Until her feet flew out from under her, swinging up into the air.
Evan had plucked her off the ground, the iron bar of his arm wrapped around her waist.
