A Scandal Most Daring

by Rebecca King

  “Do that again and I will cut you where you stand,” he warned.

  Tahlia’s stomach churned as his fetid breath swept over her, but she refused to be cowed by him. She knew that his other hand still held her now stolen necklace so unless he had a third hand somewhere he couldn’t possibly be in a position to cut her. Fuelled by the man’s evident stupidity, she began to fight harder.

  “You are getting nothing of mine,” she bit out.

  When he leaned toward her again she began to slap randomly at his face. Her bag hit him loudly against the side of his head, and made him groan in pain. Relieved that she had found a way to fight him, she screamed as loudly as she could and continued to slap at him with renewed vigour. Over and over, she whacked his hands, his face, his head, his shoulders, and any other part of him she could reach. When that didn’t seem to have much effect on him, she slapped harder and harder. The sharp sting of her fingers hitting his flesh made her finger ends tingle but she didn’t dare slow down. He tried to dodge her flailing fists, but she refused to stop.

  “You will not get anything of mine,” she bit out. When that didn’t appease her anger, or force him to leave, she began to hit him with her bag.

  “Stop it, you crone,” he snarled.

  It was only when the solid clunk of her heavy bag hit him, and he cursed roundly as he clutched the side of his head, that she remembered the heavy iron key inside.

  “Take that, you oaf,” she snapped in outrage as she swung at him again and was rewarded with another thunk of key striking flesh.

  The man snarled in rage.

  Sensing he was about to get nastier, Tahlia tried to lunge toward the road, but became disorientated and confused. She was lost. Was she lunging toward the other end of the alleyway? Where was the road? She couldn’t see it. Her fear was palpable as her panic grew. She knew that getting back out onto the main street would mean survival, but she had no idea which way to go. If she got this wrong, she would go further into the alley and heaven only knew where she would end up then. She would be completely at this thug’s mercy, and would probably never be found.

  The thought of one very small boy waiting for his mama back at home swept into the forefront of her mind. With a renewed surge of determination, Tahlia began to kick, swing and slap as fast as she possibly could. It was impossible for this attacker to lunge for her again and his stance quickly turned into one of defence.

  When no rescue appeared, she screamed as loudly as her voice would go.

  “Help!”

  She stopped temporarily when a stinging blow slammed into her cheek. It was so hard, so brutal that it stole her breath as effectively as the assailant had stolen her jewels. Stars danced behind her eyes. She stumbled against the force of the hit. Tears pooled in her lashes as she gasped for breath. Stunned, she blinked and willed herself not to fall to the floor.

  “Gimme yer bag,” the man demanded more loudly.

  “Go to Hell,” she snapped.

  The blistering curse that met her ears was horrifyingly loud. The attacker grabbed her shoulders with cruel shoulders, holding her steady against the wall. Pinning her in place with one heavy arm across her chest, he grabbed her wrist in a ruthless hold and tried to yank her bag out of her hand.

  She refused to let go.

  “No,” she gurgled.

  “Give it,” the man ordered.

  When she didn’t, he began to drag her toward what she presumed was the back of the alley. Desperate, she slapped her bag against his wrist, but when that wouldn’t work she bit into the grimy fingers clawing into her shoulder.

  He immediately yowled in pain. His restraining hold eased enough for her to wrench herself free. When he tried to grab her again, she lifted her bag and swung it at the grasping hand, trying desperately to dodge his hold. If she had the breath left to scream she would have done, but she didn’t. Her energy had started to wane along with her anger. Fury was rapidly being replaced with soul deep fear. That began to feed the helplessness that left her scared, confused, and considerably weaker than her opponent.

  In one last attempt to find a way out, she opened her mouth and screamed.

  “Help!”

  “Shut up,” the man snarled and lunched toward her.

  She tried to dodge him only to find her path blocked by someone else. A swift flurry of moment by her side flashed past her so suddenly that she fell against the wall. It took her a moment to realise that someone had arrived to rescue her.

  She watched in astonishment as her rescuer launched himself at the assailant so speedily that the man didn’t get the chance to see what was coming. The men stumbled into the darkness, and were immediately swallowed by the smog. Tahlia heard the dull thud of flesh hitting flesh as her rescuer tackled the mugger to the ground, and winced at the brutality of it. A snarl of rage came from one of the men who were now grappling on the floor but she couldn’t see who. In fact, she couldn’t see much of anything apart from writhing bodies, and the occasional fist.

  Unsure what to do, Tahlia kept her back to the wall, and screamed.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The urge to flee was so strong that Tahlia physically trembled with the need to run. But she couldn’t leave the gentleman to fight the mugger on his own. Not after he had raced to her rescue the way he had. If anything happened to him because of her she would never forgive herself. It was unconscionable to simply abandon him. Unfortunately, the smog seemed to have grown thicker as the morning had progressed and was so bad now that it was almost impenetrable. She couldn’t see anybody walking past on the street she could summon to help.

  Before she could scream again, a heavy weight slammed into her legs. Her eyes grew wide when she looked down and watched the two men wrestling for supremacy. Thankfully, she couldn’t see much beyond shifting shapes, but she could hear every bone crunching thump accompanied by the occasional moan of pain. Neither man seemed willing to surrender and rolled this way and that as they fought.

  “Stop! Stop!” Tahlia pleaded desperately, but suspected they couldn’t hear her amidst the hoarse growls and dire threats.

  A metallic tinkle by her booted feet drew her attention. Her heart raced when she spied her necklace the man had snatched off her mere inches from her toes. Grabbing it before it disappeared again, Tahlia dropped it into her pocket and glared defiantly at the men.

  Her rescuer had managed to gain the upper hand now, and had reversed their positions so that the mugger was now beneath him. The ruthless force of one of the blows he rained down upon the assailant was staggering. Tahlia stared at them in disbelief. The battle was nothing short of ferocious. It was clear to Tahlia that her rescuer was the stronger, tougher, and more brutal of the two, but the mugger refused to surrender.

  “’Ere get off,” the man snarled when her rescuer grabbed him by his shirt and began to haul him to his feet.

  “Steal from a woman, would you?” The rescuer snapped as he gave the mugger a rough shake. “Hand it all over.”

  “I ain’t got nothin’,” the man protested.

  Tahlia froze when she heard the voice that had haunted her dreams for the last three years. For as long as she lived she would never forget those husky tones. They belonged to the very last man in London she wanted to see: Connor Humphries.

  She peered through the smog at the shadows on the ground to try to get a better look. Surely her mind was playing tricks on her. It couldn’t possibly be him – could it? She couldn’t say, and momentarily forgot about her fear as she stepped forward to try to get a better look at him. Before she could move, Connor leapt to his feet and hauled the mugger upright by his shirt.

  “Stand up and fight,” Connor growled.

  The younger man suddenly found himself slammed mercilessly against a brick wall beside Tahlia. Connor grasped the man’s shirt in one fist and pushed hard against his chest to keep him in place while he patted the man down. Before he could demand the jewels back, the young man began to twist and squirm to break free. The solid
fist which landed on Connor’s jaw made his head swim and unbalanced him enough for the young lad to gain the freedom he was after. Seconds later, he had vanished into the fog. The only sound of his presence was his booted feet scraping against the brickwork as he high-tailed it over a wall somewhere in the darker recesses of the alley.

  Connor cursed fluidly as he watched the man disappear. He briefly considered going after him so he could deliver him to the magistrate, but Connor had work to do elsewhere. Mindful of that, he turned to leave and only then realised that a woman, the victim, was still in the alley. Cursing himself for having forgotten about her, he stepped forward.

  Connor’s world suddenly slammed to a halt, and then began to swim alarmingly. He tried to steady himself by fixing his gaze on her. He daren’t blink in case she disappeared. Could it really be her? He willed his world to settle. It took a while before realisation dawned that it was her. He would recognise her anywhere; even after three long years apart. She was scarred into his soul; and was such a large part of him that he only really existed without her. He certainly hadn’t lived. He had been more a shadow of a man, coasting through life, wondering what might have been.

  He daren’t hope. He had tried several times over the last three years to find her but to no avail. Outwardly, no trace of emotion showed on his face as his gaze roamed searchingly over her. Inwardly, he was a seething mass of emotions that were difficult to comprehend. So many thoughts crossed his mind; so many emotions battered his beleaguered senses that he wasn’t sure what to think.

  “Tahlia?”

  Tahlia turned her attention from the spot in the smog the attacker had disappeared into. She had never been so grateful to see the back of anybody in her entire life. Now, she wasn’t sure what to do. One problem had vanished yet another had arrived.

  “Good God, it is you,” he breathed as he came to a stop before her.

  “Yes, it is me,” she whispered a little defensively.

  While the wall at her back didn’t offer her any form of security, it did help her remain upright. Her knees were shaking so badly she knew that if she tried to take a single step she was likely to fall flat on her face. Words remained unspoken. At the moment nothing seemed appropriate.

  “How are you?” He winced when he realised how ridiculous that particular question was.

  She has just been mugged. How do you think she is? He thought sarcastically.

  “I am sorry,” he muttered awkwardly. Tugging at his ear, his gaze wandered over her. He tried to convince himself that it was to make sure she wasn’t hurt, but his careful scrutiny was more personal than that. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No,” she whispered tentatively. “I am a bit shaken, that’s all.”

  Now that is the understatement of the century, she thought wryly.

  Everything within her was shaking with fear, trepidation, and shock, and it wasn’t just because of the mugging.

  The memory of the fight she had witnessed hovered hauntingly before her. While she was appalled by it, the sheer brutality of it didn’t seem to have fazed Connor. He appeared completely unperturbed as he shifted closer. It made her wary of him. He seemed like a total stranger to her now, and it was enough to make her keep her distance from him. He certainly wasn’t the man she had grown close to in the ballrooms of the ton three years ago. That man had been smooth, debonair, and extremely charming. This man was someone completely different; hard, watchful, dangerous, and a little sinister. The Connor before her now was the epitome of masculinity. So much so that she was a little in awe of him, not least because he was so wonderfully good-looking. At the moment he was staring intently at her, and it was more than a little unnerving.

  She shivered and wrapped her hands around her elbows. She had forgotten how tall he was. His sheer size seemed to fill the alley around them to the point that it felt a little claustrophobic. It was almost painful to have him so close. She thought she had forgotten what it had felt to be with him, but now that he was before her she knew she hadn’t. It was impossible to move; to think. Even breathing became difficult. Everything within her was suspended in this moment of time where nothing else existed but them.

  Connor fought the urge to shake her until she told him where she had been, why she had left London, and where she was staying now. Over the last three years he had had most of his colleagues trying to find out where she had moved to. They had all come up empty handed. Her uncle had refused to even discuss her with anybody. When Connor had spoken with Henry Gillingham personally, Henry had suggested that Connor get on with his life and leave Tahlia and her ruined reputation alone. Since then, it hadn’t mattered how much Connor had tried, he hadn’t been able to discover even which part of the country she lived in. Once thing was certain, she didn’t live in London anymore.

  He had to wonder why she was back. Whatever the reason, now that she was here he wasn’t prepared to let her go again.

  “Tahlia,” he breathed in part accusation. “Where in the Hell have you been?”

  Tahlia stiffened and tipped her chin up defiantly. The harsh tones of his voice irked her. She glared at him. She wished now she had left him to fight the attacker and gone on her way. As it was, it was too late to leave. Manners dictated that she thank him for his efforts in saving her.

  “Pardon?” She demanded querulously. “I don’t see how that is any of your concern.”

  Connor’s brows lifted. He cursed the notorious London smog which prevented him from seeing her more clearly. Stepping closer, he watched her shift her weight from one foot to the other and suspected she wasn’t comfortable with him being too close. Her wariness was a reminder of what had just happened. Of course she wouldn’t be too comfortable with men being close to her right now, she had just been mugged.

  Sure enough, she glanced nervously toward the entrance as though desperate to get out of the alleyway. Determined not to let her vanish again, he moved to one side, effectively blocking her view of the exit.

  “Well, thank you for coming to my rescue,” she said somewhat awkwardly, eager to be on her way now that she had respected her manners.

  “You are welcome,” Connor murmured. “I didn’t realise it was you. I heard you scream and just came to help. Muggers usually take advantage of the weather when it gets this bad. Did he hurt you?”

  He didn’t want her to go yet and desperately sought to find a way to get her to stay, at least for a little while longer.

  “Let me escort you home,” he offered before she could answer. “It isn’t safe out at a time like this.”

  “I will be fine, I am sure,” she protested.

  She was horrified at the thought of him escorting her all the way back to her uncle’s house. Unfortunately, when she tried to take a step backward she realised that her back was already against the wall. There was nowhere for her to go. Tipping her chin up, she glared at him silently warning him not to step closer. Her objection to his closer proximity had little to do with fear, though. It was down to the awareness that had started to flow through her already, and he hadn’t even touched her yet.

  “Thank you for your help,” she said woodenly.

  “I am glad I was here,” he tried to smile only to wince when a particularly sore spot on his lip stung in protest.

  While she wanted to make a break for the main street, she noticed that his face was covered in bruises. It galled her that she cared. Feeling anything for this man was dangerous, especially after everything that had happened between them. It worried her that she gave a damn that he was hurt in any way. To realise that she did was enough to reinforce her need to leave.

  “I must go,” she whispered before she did something rash like touch him.

  “Are you staying at your uncle’s house?” Connor stepped back, and escorted her out of the alley. Immediately, she began to relax now that she was free of the confined space.

  “Pardon?”

  Connor studied her closely. He was so immersed in her that he didn’t see a large, burly man
barrel out of the smog toward him until they almost collided. It was then that he realised how vulnerable they were. He glanced around warily.

  “We need to move in case the mugger returns with friends,” Connor warned. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Tahlia gasped and glanced worriedly around them.

  “It’s alright,” he soothed when she physically jumped. All he had done was touch her elbow. It was a reminder of just how scared she had been, and still was.

  “But I have to go the other way,” she protested when she realised they had turned away from the busy road. “My maid is around here somewhere.”

  “I need to get you to your uncle’s,” Connor countered. “I take it that is where you are staying?”

  “Well, yes, but-” Whatever else Tahlia had been about to say was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching them. It was disconcerting that she couldn’t identify which direction they came from because the smog seemed to make everything echo hollowly. Without even realising it, she edged closer to Connor’s reassuring strength.

  “Where are we?” she whispered with a shiver.

  Connor placed a protective hand in the small of her back, and was relieved when she didn’t smack him away.

  At least this wretched smog was good for something, he mused wryly.

  “Damn it,” Connor growled suddenly when something in the fog caught his attention.

  “What is it?” she whispered, wondering what he could see that she didn’t.

  Connor drew her closer to his side.

  “Just stay close to me,” he replied as he assessed the shadows and shapes around them, and tried to judge what, or who, they were.

  Before Tahlia could speak, a short figure lunged out of the gloom toward her. The young lad was upon her before she could do little more than gasp. A hard tug on her purse warned her that this was no ordinary pedestrian; it was another mugger. This was not the same one as before; this assailant was considerably younger, and far more agile. She screamed loudly in protest when he began to tug frantically at her bag. Refusing to allow the oaf to make off with her belongings, she clung on.