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It didn’t matter that they were in a race for their lives or what was at stake. All she could think of was the firm press of his lips, the delicious scrape of his stubble on her chin, and that dark, sinful flavor that was all his. And his parting remark…what didthatmean? It was some sexual innuendo, it had to be. Cheeks going hot, her core fluttered at the lewd images that flooded her brain.
Stop thinking about straddling him, half-wit, and focus!
Gingerly, she rolled her foot and winced. Curse her sodding ankle! They might have been in a much better position if she hadn’t gotten hurt and slowed them down. And now, they were trapped, and she wasn’t much help, not with a spent pistol and injured body.
Gritting her teeth, Bronwyn scowled. She wasn’t completely helpless! She still had a knife tucked into her boot, if worse came to worst. Looking around, she reached for a piece of wood that had broken off one of the nearby crates and shifted to crouch behind the wall.
She peered over. Thornbury was nowhere to be seen. But she did recognize the man keeping to the shadows with a gun in one hand—the ugly knave from the tavern. A shiver ran through her. He looked mean, and that pistol was cocked and loaded, ready to be used. He wasn’t a hired rogue like the other two men who had chased her. Despite his pugilist face, his eyes had been sharp. Intelligent. He’d known what she’d been there for.
She slid a finger over the folded page in her pocket wondering if one of the names from Thornbury’s report on Sommers’s accomplices included him. Once more the thought shot through her brain. Who had been the leak? Besides her and Wentworth, who else would have known the nature of what she carried?
Or thatshewas the informant.
That man had come straight toward her. He had known exactly who she was, even with her gentleman’s disguise and the fact that he hadn’t seen her leave the carriage house. Someone had described her to him. Someone on theinside.
Suddenly, in a blur of movement that made her gasp, the Duke of Thornbury flew from his hiding place and swept the man’s legs from under him. The gun in his hand skidded across the cobblestones. It wasn’t that far from her. It was a miracle it hadn’t gone off, but perhaps she could even the odds and get hold of it somehow. Thornbury was out of his league with that enormous brute. The two of them rolled in a flurry of fists and grunts. The man had a few stone over the duke and he knew how to fight. He used those ham-sized fists like a prizefighter.
She had to get that gun!
Bronwyn rolled her ankle, which didn’t ache as much though it was still tender, and sucked in a bracing breath. She crept out from behind the wall, only to be yanked back by her hair. Her eyes burned from the sting.
“Where do ya think yer goin’?”
The smell of tooth rot filled her nostrils as an unwashed man restrained her, and she fought not to retch when he pulled her against him. From her angle, she couldn’t reach the knife in her boot, but the piece of wood was right there. Without any hesitation, she inhaled, stood on her injured foot with a shudder, and stomped down on his instep with all the strength she had in her good leg. When his hold loosened, she shoved her elbow back, connecting with his stomach. Bronwyn didn’t waste time in grabbing the wood and swinging it like a cricket bat going for the boundaries. It cracked into the man’s ribs, and he crumpled with a grunt to the cobblestones of the square.
She turned, distracted by a pained shout from where Thornbury and his opponent were wrestling. The duke looked a little the worse for wear, his elbows up trying to protect himself from the relentless assault to his head. If one of those punches landed just right, he would be dead. She had to help him! Where was that gun? Bronwyn peered down at the stones where it’d been last and frowned when she couldn’t see it.
“Looking for this?”
Bronwyn whirled. It wasn’t the man she’d brought down who still lay in the fetal position, groaning and clutching his middle. It was another of the unwashed cretins, and he was pointing the discarded pistol right at her. Heavens, how many of the little bastards were there? She bared her teeth but moved her hands out to the side in reluctant surrender.
“Slow,” he warned her.
The sharp sound of cracking bone filled the air, and her stomach dropped in horror.
Please don’t be Thornbury.
Unable to help herself, she glanced over her shoulder. The duke was standing over the body of the man who was lying insensible on the ground, clutching a wrist that was bent at an unnatural angle. He was alive! Her relief was quick but eclipsed by a gurgle of fear when the man with the gun wrapped his arm around her neck and pressed the cold muzzle into her temple. Her blood turned to pure ice in her veins.
“Bronwyn, eyes on me,” the duke said.
The command was soft but she obeyed. Thornbury held his own gun pointed toward them, but there was no chance of her surviving a shot to the brain at such close range. She couldn’t take the chance to fight her way out of her attacker’s hold, knowing his finger was already on the trigger. One wrong move and he would fire.
Her breath hissed out in shallow pants as terror took hold in the pit of her stomach.
She was going to die.
“Drop it,” the person behind her snarled, using her body as a shield. “Or she’s got a head full of fuckin’ lead.”
That rhymed. The inane thought made a hysterical half-giggle, half-sob rise to her throat. She was about to meet her maker and she wasrhyming. Lord, the idiocy!
“Who sent you?” Thornbury asked in a soft, deadly voice.
“Your mother. Drop the gun or yer ladybird dies right now! Or maybe I’ll kill you and keep her for fun.” His left hand dropped from around her neck to fondle her midriff. She stiffened, revulsion filling her, but didn’t dare move with the gun still in place.
The duke’s eyes narrowed, his face grimmer than she’d ever seen it. Bronwyn had never beheld a look like that come over a man, like Death himself had slid into his soul. A shiver of pure fear coasted through her. Thornbury didn’t look afraid or worried. His flesh could have been made of the ice she’d always accused him of being, but those nearly feral, golden eyes of his burned with lethal promise.
“You shoot her and you die,” the duke said.
