Kiss From a Rogue by Shirley Karr Page A

he wheezed.
    Sylvia hopped to her feet. Only then did he release his grip on her wrist. She turned sideways, her gaze darting between her men and the stranger as he slowly sat up again.
    Tony filled his lungs with air and took in his surroundings. The woman hadn’t been that heavy, and he’d rather enjoyed the unusual perspective, but he didn’t like being at such a disadvantage.
    After a moment of being upright, he stopped seeing two of everything. He eyed the people gathered before him—seven old men plus the young woman in gray. He blinked. They must have hit him rather hard that it took him this long to recognize the pretty widow from this afternoon, the one he’d been searching for. The one he’d stayed behind to pursue. The very same one who’d been sitting on his chest just moments ago.
    What a wasted opportunity.
    She still wore half-mourning, a plain gray gown that had seen better days, with no ornamentation whatsoever. The men surrounding her, however, were ornamented with pistols and daggers, and even a cutlass or two.
    “You’re smugglers.” He shook his head, and regretted it immediately as his vision blurred for a moment. “How could I have been so stupid? Dark and stormy night, deserted inn on the coast…what else could be going on?” He held his fingers to his temples, hoping to ease the throbbing.
    “What are we going to do with him, my lady?”
    The voice was hushed, but Tony recognized the stoop-shouldered speaker as one of the first men who had come into the taproom earlier. Tony looked the group over again, and realized all of them had been in there.
    The widow addressed him. “I’m afraid they mistook you for someone else, sir. How is your head?”
    “Rather have another hangover than this.” He touched the back of his head, found the lump, and winced. His fingertips were now as bloody as hers.
    “Scalp wounds have a tendency to bleed dreadfully,” she said, as though she dealt with them on a regular basis. “Galen, please bring my basket. Mrs. Spencer, could I trouble you for some warm water?”
    Tony followed her gaze in time to see the only other females in the room, the innkeeper’s wife and an ancient matron in the black and white bombazine of a housekeeper, turn and leave. The ruffians in the room shifted, blocking the exit. Though could one call this group “ruffians,” at their advanced age?
    He stood up, his knees threatening to buckle. Only a group of ruffians could have knocked him about so easily. The old codgers did have the advantage of surprise, and had blinded him at the start.
    It was a poor sop to his ego.
    The widow darted forward, her hand under his elbow to steady him. He rested his clean hand on her shoulder while the floor danced a jig.
    Once the floor settled, and the contents of his stomach seemed willing to stay put, he tried speaking again. “Since you say this was a mistake, I’ll just go up to my room if you all don’t mind. We are still at the Happy Jack Inn, are we not?”
    He felt her stiffen, but she didn’t reply.
    “Afraid we can’t let you do that.” The men each took a step closer, forming a semicircle around Tony and the woman.
    “Hayden’s right.” The young woman turned her troubled gaze on Tony. She stood close enough for him to inhale her soft lavender scent, and see flecks of gold in her green eyes. “You’ll need to stay here, at least for a few hours, until we’re, um, finished.”
    “And then what?” Perhaps he’d rather not know.
    She flinched. He felt it. The hair stood up on the back of his neck.
    “Can’t have no witnesses, my lady.” Tony didn’t recognize the low voice.
    She stiffened again, raised her chin. “I said we shall have no bloodshed.”
    Tony looked over at the men, noticing again the abundance of weapons on their persons, thrust into boot tops and belts or sashes at their waist. Harmless old codgers, indeed. “I have no interest in your affairs, good sirs, legal or otherwise. If you are in any