out.
She was more than she presented herself to be. More than he—or the world—gave her credit for. And it was his fault she was
hurt. He should never have shown those damn letters to Charles.
Leo wiped his thumb over her brow, clearing it for the moment. “We need to get this seen to immediately.”
“It’s just a head wound. They
do
bleed. I’ll be fine once it stops.”
“Perhaps…” Arm still locked about her waist, Leo glanced over his shoulder. All of his servants were still standing, but they
were clearly the worse for wear. One of the footmen had found his wig and was beating it against his leg, sending up a cloud
of powder. The other was clutching his arm, a grimace turning his face into a mask.
A crowd had begun to form; coaches and sedan chairs built up behind them as their owners disembarked to goggle at the scene.
A sudden disturbance ran through the gathering horde, and a familiar silver-headed man sauntered forth like a champion come
to save the day.
“Sandison,” Leo said with relief. “Please do me the favor of seeing Mrs. Whedon home. Mrs. Whedon”—he swung her up into his
arms and nodded to Sandison to lead the way—“you can trust Mr. Sandison as you would myself.”
“So not an inch further than I could push him,” she said with a brave attempt at a chuckle.
“As you would myself,” Leo repeated, giving her an extra squeeze for reassurance. “I’ll be with you as quickly as I can. Have
Sandison send for a surgeon. No arguments.”
She blinked, eyes huge, as though she were still trying to make sense out of the evening’s events. Leo placed her in Sandison’s
coach and stooped to rest his head against hers, nose to her ear, lips briefly brushing the corner of her jaw. That simple
promise was all he could give her in haste.
Knowing she was as safe as he could make her, Leo clapped his friend on the shoulder and waded back through the crowd to the
scene of misery his cousin had created.
“Aren’t you a fright.” Anthony Thane stood like the mountain he was in the center of the street. He took a pinch of snuff
and surveyed the wreckage rather like a traveler viewing some impressive foreign vista.
Leo yanked his cravat loose and passed it roughly over his face. No amount of laundering would save the frill of ruinously
expensive lace, so he might as well make use of it.
“It’s a certainty that blood and hair powder don’t mix.”
“Very helpful, Thane.” Leo scrubbed at his face one last time and thrust his cravat into the pocket of his coat. “Am I reduced
to a minor horror? Yes? Excellent. I see the night watchman has arrived, for all the use he’ll be. Can you handle him while
I see what can be done to clear the road? I don’t think I’m prepared to be polite at the moment.”
Thane spun on his heel and marched off in the direction of the watchman, who stood with his club dangling from his hand, a
look of pure shock upon his face.
“Tompkins?” Leo called for the coachman. “How bad?”
“I’ve had to put the gelding down, my lord. Joseph’s arm is broken, and Hamul has a nasty cut down his ribs. Oh, and the coach
door is ruined. Other than that, I’d say we acquitted ourselves quite nicely.”
CHAPTER 7
V iola accepted Mr. Sandison’s proffered handkerchief and held it to her temple. The edge drooped, obscuring her vision. The
blood was already drying, the tightness on her skin distracting with each and every breath. Her hand shook as she pressed
the linen more firmly in place.
She’d shot a man. She’d never shot at anything but the pips on playing cards, and tonight she’d shot a man, maybe even killed
him. It had been absurdly easy. Seemingly unreal. Lord Leonidas had leapt from the coach, gun in hand, leaving the pistol’s
mate glinting in its secret box.
It had been in her hand before she’d even realized she’d reached for it…
As the coach rumbled into motion, Vaughn’s friend opened a
She was more than she presented herself to be. More than he—or the world—gave her credit for. And it was his fault she was
hurt. He should never have shown those damn letters to Charles.
Leo wiped his thumb over her brow, clearing it for the moment. “We need to get this seen to immediately.”
“It’s just a head wound. They
do
bleed. I’ll be fine once it stops.”
“Perhaps…” Arm still locked about her waist, Leo glanced over his shoulder. All of his servants were still standing, but they
were clearly the worse for wear. One of the footmen had found his wig and was beating it against his leg, sending up a cloud
of powder. The other was clutching his arm, a grimace turning his face into a mask.
A crowd had begun to form; coaches and sedan chairs built up behind them as their owners disembarked to goggle at the scene.
A sudden disturbance ran through the gathering horde, and a familiar silver-headed man sauntered forth like a champion come
to save the day.
“Sandison,” Leo said with relief. “Please do me the favor of seeing Mrs. Whedon home. Mrs. Whedon”—he swung her up into his
arms and nodded to Sandison to lead the way—“you can trust Mr. Sandison as you would myself.”
“So not an inch further than I could push him,” she said with a brave attempt at a chuckle.
“As you would myself,” Leo repeated, giving her an extra squeeze for reassurance. “I’ll be with you as quickly as I can. Have
Sandison send for a surgeon. No arguments.”
She blinked, eyes huge, as though she were still trying to make sense out of the evening’s events. Leo placed her in Sandison’s
coach and stooped to rest his head against hers, nose to her ear, lips briefly brushing the corner of her jaw. That simple
promise was all he could give her in haste.
Knowing she was as safe as he could make her, Leo clapped his friend on the shoulder and waded back through the crowd to the
scene of misery his cousin had created.
“Aren’t you a fright.” Anthony Thane stood like the mountain he was in the center of the street. He took a pinch of snuff
and surveyed the wreckage rather like a traveler viewing some impressive foreign vista.
Leo yanked his cravat loose and passed it roughly over his face. No amount of laundering would save the frill of ruinously
expensive lace, so he might as well make use of it.
“It’s a certainty that blood and hair powder don’t mix.”
“Very helpful, Thane.” Leo scrubbed at his face one last time and thrust his cravat into the pocket of his coat. “Am I reduced
to a minor horror? Yes? Excellent. I see the night watchman has arrived, for all the use he’ll be. Can you handle him while
I see what can be done to clear the road? I don’t think I’m prepared to be polite at the moment.”
Thane spun on his heel and marched off in the direction of the watchman, who stood with his club dangling from his hand, a
look of pure shock upon his face.
“Tompkins?” Leo called for the coachman. “How bad?”
“I’ve had to put the gelding down, my lord. Joseph’s arm is broken, and Hamul has a nasty cut down his ribs. Oh, and the coach
door is ruined. Other than that, I’d say we acquitted ourselves quite nicely.”
CHAPTER 7
V iola accepted Mr. Sandison’s proffered handkerchief and held it to her temple. The edge drooped, obscuring her vision. The
blood was already drying, the tightness on her skin distracting with each and every breath. Her hand shook as she pressed
the linen more firmly in place.
She’d shot a man. She’d never shot at anything but the pips on playing cards, and tonight she’d shot a man, maybe even killed
him. It had been absurdly easy. Seemingly unreal. Lord Leonidas had leapt from the coach, gun in hand, leaving the pistol’s
mate glinting in its secret box.
It had been in her hand before she’d even realized she’d reached for it…
As the coach rumbled into motion, Vaughn’s friend opened a
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