The ringleader gave a contemptuous grunt of laughter. “Who’s going to make me, pretty boy? You?”
Gideon raised a completely steady hand. Clear wintry light gleamed on the polished barrel of his pistol.
“Aye, very nice.” The ringleader cast a derisive glance at the gun even as his cronies sidled out of the way. “You forget there’s four of us.”
“If I kill you, I imagine your friends will lose their thirst for blood.” He sounded careless, unafraid. Charis’s heart leaped at his reckless bravery. “Make no mistake, if you don’t let the lady go, I will shoot.”
Her paralysis faded as she sucked reviving air into her lungs. At last her fingers closed firmly on her gun.
“Not if I get a chance first,” she said hoarsely. She brought her weapon up. The gun was perfectly balanced and sat in her hand like an extension of her arm. “Step aside.”
“Shit, where did that come from?” one of the sailors muttered, backing farther off.
“Is the girl worth the risk?” Gideon asked almost casually, keeping his gun raised.
For one horrible instant, Charis glanced between the ringleader and Gideon. The sailor’s expression warred between bravado and self-preservation, and his Adam’s apple moved up and down in his thick throat. Gideon’s shoulders tensed, and his jaw firmed with purpose. His aim didn’t waver. She couldn’t doubt he’d shoot if he had to.
The brute must have reached the same conclusion. His piglike eyes flickered, and the tension drained from his heavy body. “Oh, bugger it, take the slut and welcome you are to her. Her slice isn’t worth a friggin’ bullet.”
“Sarah, come here.” Through the buzzing in her ears, she heard the ice in Gideon’s voice. “You’re safe now.”
Her gun suddenly seemed heavier than stone. Her hand wobbled as she lowered it. On legs that felt no firmer than jelly, she stumbled up the alley to stand beside Gideon. She desperately wanted to reach out and touch him, but his powerful self-containment kept her hands by her sides.
“We’re going to walk out of this alley and go our way unmolested.” Gideon didn’t glance at her. His pistol remained pointed squarely at the leader’s chest.
The effortless tone of authority took effect. Not one of the ruffians shifted to stop them as she and Gideon backed off. The few yards to safety felt like a thousand miles. Charis’s heart lodged in her throat, and her skin tightened with every step. Could they really emerge unscathed?
They’d almost made it, had turned to face the street when Charis heard an angry shout behind them. “Hell’s bells, mates! There’s four of us and only bleedin’ one of him. Let’s give the bastard what for!”
A crash of booted feet behind them.
“Run!” Gideon shouted. “I’ve got the gun. I’ll be all right!”
Charis lifted handfuls of greatcoat and sprang into a wild dash. She ignored the way her body screamed agony at the sudden dash.
But they’d left their escape too late. The thugs surrounded them at the mouth of the alley. Charis came to a juddering stop, her heart jamming in her throat.
“Stay behind me,” Gideon snapped, stepping between her and the closing circle of brawny sailors. The rough, flushed faces promised retribution, violence and pain.
Shaking, she pressed against the wall. Her blood pounded so loudly, she hardly heard the bustle from the crowded street so close.
“You’re making a mistake.” Gideon sounded as if the men posed no threat at all. He still held the pistol, but she guessed he was reluctant to shoot in case he hit someone in the street.
“No mistake, my hearty.” The ringleader’s swaggering confidence returned. “We’ll take our fun with you, then it’s the wench’s turn.”
“I think not.” Although she couldn’t see his face, she knew he smiled.
She opened her mouth and shrieked as loudly as she could. The shrill sound bounced between the narrow walls.
“Gideon.”
She strained upward to see. Akash loomed at the entrance to the alley. Next to him, Tulliver. Thank God. They must have been close enough to hear her.
The sailors dived at the newcomers. The world exploded into a fury of hard fists and boots and grunts of pain.
The violence transported her to the horrific afternoon when Hubert had hit her. She ducked her head and cowered against the clammy bricks. Black edged her vision as the battle raged around her. Trembling, she clutched her sprained wrist to her chest and prayed for the nightmare to pass. She squeezed her eyes shut and fought a powerful urge to vomit.
Bodies hurtled close, then lurched away in the fight’s chaotic dance. Gideon brushed against her. She recognized his scent before she opened her eyes and saw him swing into the fray again.
The shouting crescendoed, became more confused. The brawl spilled out into the street. At a distance, she heard someone yell for the town watch.
“Miss Watson, let me get you out of here.” The calm voice emerged from the pandemonium.
With dazed eyes, she turned to look into Akash’s face. He was disheveled but had suffered no obvious injuries.
Disappointment scourged her that it wasn’t Sir Gideon. She blinked to dispel the foolish reaction and managed a brief nod. Akash took her uninjured arm and, shielding her with his body, drew her onto the street.
The scene was a wild melee. Difficult even to spot the original combatants in the milling crowd.
“Sir Gideon?” she gasped, digging her fingers into Akash’s sleeve.
He glanced down quickly with a smile so carefree, it astonished her. “He’s fine. Never better.”
She scanned the heaving mob and spotted Gideon. With his height, he was hard to miss. He swung punches with an abandon that left his opponents staggering. His face was brilliant with elation, a dazzling exhilaration she’d never seen in him before.
She staggered to an astonished halt.
He’d shown her nothing but gentleness. Yet the man she watched now took a savage delight in violence. She desperately wanted to despise him—she’d always loathed brute force, even before Hubert’s assault. But looking at Gideon, she couldn’t help but respond to the display of unfettered male power. He moved with a smooth beauty that was almost mechanical, like a perfectly calibrated engine doing what it was designed for.
Her breath caught in her throat at how glorious he was. Every drop of moisture dried from her mouth, and her blood ran hot in her veins.
This new Gideon frightened her. But she couldn’t deny he thrilled her too.
The brief awareness shattered as Akash lunged forward to deflect someone who grabbed at her. For a horrified second, she stared into the reddened eyes of one of the sailors. The man faltered under Akash’s blow and fell cursing.
“Miss Watson, don’t just stand there,” Akash snapped, and wrenched her through the heaving crowd.
She stumbled and just avoided another blow aimed at her head. She couldn’t see Tulliver in the throng. Pray God he was all right. To her left, Sir Gideon dispatched with casual competence anyone who dared approach.
A man snatched at her injured wrist. She choked back a scream. Pain shot a red-hot blast up her arm. She screamed again as Akash struck her assailant down without a moment’s compunction, his aquiline face severe and expressionless.
Akash turned back to her and spoke almost roughly. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said, although her wrist burned with fiery agony. She pressed it to her breast and let Akash tug her toward the edge of the crowd. He dragged her into a deeply recessed doorway, where the cacophony marginally diminished.
“Are you sure you’re unharmed?” He was breathing heavily as he gave her a hard look.
“Yes.” She stared out at the street with utter dismay. “This is all my fault.”
Akash’s silence signaled agreement. The doorway was wide enough to accommodate both of them without touching. He released her and leaned against the stone doorframe, studying her with unfathomable brown eyes.
She frown
ed in confusion. “Don’t you want to help Sir Gideon?”
Akash shook his dark head. “He’d prefer I kept an eye on you.”
Her bruised ribs twinged as she made a convulsive movement toward the street. “He could be killed.”
A smile curved Akash’s mouth. “The man who can kill Gideon Trevithick hasn’t been born. Don’t worry, Miss Watson. He’ll live to chastise you for your rashness in running away.”
Something in his easy confidence settled her choking panic. “I had to go,” she said sullenly, guilt twisting her belly.
“Utter rot,” Akash said amiably. He darted a look outside. “Ah. At last. The watch has arrived. Peace will soon descend upon the streets of Portsmouth.”
It took surprisingly little effort to quell the brawl. Most participants just melted away into the alleys. Gradually, Charis’s heartbeat slowed. Heady relief bubbled in her veins.
Until she observed Gideon speaking to a well-dressed man, who clearly counted as the authority in town.
She shrank behind Akash. Renewed fear ate at her. Dear God, had she come so far only to fail now? If the authorities took her in charge, she’d be on a direct path back to her stepbrothers.
Akash glanced at her briefly. Gideon didn’t look at them at all. He was once again the contained, courteous man she’d first met. The fight’s wild berserker might never have existed. In a fever of nerves, she watched as Gideon pressed a wad of banknotes into the man’s hand, then turned away.
A few curious onlookers hung around, but everyone else had gone on their way. Charis still couldn’t see Tulliver. She’d faced rape and death, yet no trace remained of her ordeal apart from the blood and mud on the street.
“Wait a moment,” Akash said when she made to leave the doorway.
Three well-dressed men strolled toward Gideon. One stopped, stared, and let out an exclamation of delighted surprise. “By gum! It’s the Hero of Rangy whatsit.”
Gideon paused at the first loud hail. Charis had a clear view of his face. So often, the sheer beauty of his features made it difficult to read his expression. Now she couldn’t mistake how the blood drained from his cheeks and his brows contracted. He looked annoyed and on edge.
Hunted.
“Oh, hell,” Akash breathed at her side, tensing.
The man who greeted Gideon turned in open excitement to his two companions. “You know who he is. The cove the King just knighted. Lasted a year in some filthy hole in India. Bravest fellow in the empire, Wellington called him.”
His mouth stern with displeasure, Gideon retreated along the street toward Charis and Akash. He was close enough for her to hear him say in a forbidding voice, “I’m afraid you’ve made an error, sir.”
The man advanced, his hand extended. “Dash it, man! There’s no error. Your sketch is in every newspaper from here to John O’Groats, I’ll warrant. Anyway, I cheered you in Pall Mall when you and the cavalry rode by on your parade of honor.”
“You don’t…”
“Let me shake the hand of the Hero of…What was that heathen place they had you locked up? Some benighted name no Christian can get his tongue around.”
“Rangapindhi,” one of his companions said with audible enthusiasm. “By George, it’s a privilege to meet you, sir. By George, it is!”
The fuss attracted notice and quickly another crowd built up. But this time, it clamored with approval.
Wearing a coldly aloof expression, Gideon stood stock-still in the midst of the noisy mob. He looked like he had nothing but contempt for the congratulatory throng. His jaw was set, his lips thinned, his eyes veiled. He could never be less than handsome, but his frigid demeanor and stilted gestures repelled human warmth.
“Where in God’s name is Tulliver?” Akash muttered beside Charis.
“I haven’t seen him.” Charis craned her neck to observe Gideon. Curiosity and confusion warred in her mind. She thought she’d begun to understand the man who rescued her in Winchester. It turned out he was as unknown as the wastes of Greenland.
His admirers didn’t seem to mind Gideon’s lack of welcome. They shook his hand and clapped him on the shoulders. All to a man looked at him as if he’d just stepped off Mount Olympus.
Wheels clattered on cobblestones. A moving carriage forced people out of the way.
A familiar carriage with a familiar driver.
“About bloody time,” Akash said savagely, and wrapped an arm around Charis. “Come on. Run. And keep your head down.”
He didn’t need to tell her. She had no wish for anyone to see her face. She scuttled at his side, floundering to keep up with a man who made no allowance for her shorter legs or her injuries. The mad dash stirred all her fading aches into sharp agony, so her head rang when she finally reached the carriage.
Akash flung open the door and tossed her inside. She landed against the seat with a jolt that sent pain slicing through her. She stifled a cry and fisted her hands as she fought the giddiness. A breath hissed through her teeth. Another.
The worst of her dizziness ebbed. Ignoring her discomfort, she slid across the seat to press her face to the carriage window.
Both men were so tall, it was easy to locate them. Through the joyful hordes, Akash pushed his way toward his friend. Gideon retained that frozen, remote expression, but he didn’t break away from his devotees.
She couldn’t hear what Akash said to Gideon over the hubbub. She saw Gideon turn and head with jerkily precise movements toward the carriage. With visible reluctance, the crowd parted before him. Voracious hands stretched out to pluck at his clothing, delay his departure, compel his attention. Doggedly he continued his automaton-like progress.
He climbed in and sat opposite. He didn’t speak. He didn’t look at her. He didn’t appear to know she was there at all.
Akash slammed the door on them.
“Aren’t you coming with us?” she asked frantically. Suddenly, Gideon seemed a frightening stranger.
He shook his head. “I’m staying to see to the horses. I’ll follow in my own time.”
There was a burst of patriotic cheering outside. Someone started to sing “God Save the King.” Clearly the locals were still stirred up at having a celebrity in their midst.
The celebrity straightened and shot Akash an angry glare. “For Christ’s sake, let us go.”
“God keep you, my friend. I’ll see you soon.” He stepped back and sent Charis an elegant bow. “Miss Watson. Your servant.”
Before Charis could respond, Tulliver whipped the horses to a pace dangerous in town streets. The lurch of the carriage nearly threw Charis from her seat. She clutched at the strap and stared bewildered at her companion.
He looked ill. As though he suffered intolerable pain. With a shock, she realized the set expression was endurance, not disdain.
Automatically, she stretched out to take his gloved hand. “Sir Gideon…”
“Curse you, don’t touch me!”
He wrenched out of reach. But not before she felt his desperate, uncontrollable shaking.
Four
Through the suffocating miasma, Gideon knew he’d frightened the girl. But conscience was a dim whisper against the screaming demons in his skull. He clutched his head with shaking hands to silence the howling devils. It didn’t help.
Nothing ever helped.
His sight failed, turning the girl’s face into a pale blur. His throat was so tight, he choked. He sucked a shuddering breath into lungs starved of air.
She said something. He missed everything apart from the end. “…get Tulliver.”
He forced himself to concentrate, pressed words to stiff lips until sound emerged. He didn’t want Tulliver. Tulliver would drug him, trapping the monsters inside his head.
“No.”
He sucked another breath through grinding teeth, even as thick darkness closed in.
“No Tulliver.” Then what he prayed wasn’t a lie. “This will pass.”
Words worn threadbare with repetition.
; Perhaps one day the nightmare wouldn’t pass. The constant terror of that prospect made fear congeal like greasy soup in his belly.
I’m not insane. I’m not insane.
His gloved hands clawed at the worn leather seat as he battled for clarity. For control. For calm.
The demons were too strong. Horrible, shrieking phantom images rioted in his mind.
I’m in England.
I’m safe.
I’m free.
The litany failed. What freedom could he claim when grisly specters haunted his every moment?
“Please let me get Tulliver.” The girl swam toward him through murky water. At the last minute, he realized she meant to rap on the roof and stop the coach.
“No!” The word emerged as a croak.
Speech was so damned difficult. He wished he was alone. But what couldn’t be cured must be endured. The old aphorism, his nurse’s favorite, helped him to cobble together an explanation. Even if every word cut his throat like broken glass.
“Tulliver will give…laudanum.”
Opium hurled him into whirling oblivion. The dreams the drug brought threatened to send him mad indeed.
She frowned. “If it eases you…”
“No!” he all but screamed.
The girl recoiled. Good God, let him muster some control. He snatched another breath and fought to calm the frantic gallop of his heart.
She stared at him out of great, wide, terrified eyes. He loathed it when his personal…idiosyncrasies inconvenienced others.
Vaguely he told himself to assure her she shouldn’t be afraid. He wasn’t dangerous in this state. Unless she touched him. Thank Christ, after that first tentative attempt to offer comfort, she’d kept her hands to herself.
What had he meant to say? Thought was elusive and fleeting as wisps of mist.
That’s right. Tulliver. He set his jaw and spoke in a low, harsh tone. Quickly, before will failed.
“There’s nothing anyone can do. The best…” He stopped to fight back the caterwauling devils. “Please ignore me.”
“That won’t help.” Even through swirling chaos, he heard the firmness in her voice.
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