The Countess' Lucky Charm by A. M. Westerling Page B

manoeuvre.
    “Give Petey a kiss, cutie.” The sailor leaned toward her, wet lips mere inches from her face. She almost gagged on his rancid breath.
    “No!” She struggled against the man, pulling on the rail in an effort to lean away as far as she could.
    “Oho, I like ‘ em with a little fight.” Petey grinned and tried to kiss her again.
    Frantic, she managed to gain enough space to kick him in the ankle. At the blow, the sailor loosened his grip a fraction, giving her the opportunity she needed. A swift knee to the soft flesh at the apex of his legs and Petey doubled over with a grunt.
    “That’ll teach ye to bother me.” Satisfied with her handiwork, she stepped back.
    “ Ye’ll rue the day you crossed Petey Malone,” he gasped, still hunched over. He swiped at her with one hand. The other arm he still held protectively over his middle.
    “I kin take care of meself .” She took another step back, out of the sailor’s reach. “Next time, it shan’t be such an easy blow.”
    Her warning must have worked, for Petey’s eyes widened and he dropped his arm.
    It took her a second or two to realize that Petey’s eyes were not on her, but rather focused behind her, over her left shoulder. Surprised, Simone turned around.
    Disbelief surged through her, followed by joy at the sight of Temple, stone-faced and with murderous intent in his eyes. He had come to her rescue, as if she were a real lady.
    Temple reached forward and grabbed the man by the throat, holding him at arm’s length. “I suggest you apologize to Lady Wellington.”
    “She ain’t no lady. She ain’t nothing but street trash. Ye can’t blame a sailor for taking a little fun when he can have it,” the man whined.
    “Apologize or else.” Temple’s threat took tangible form and hung in the air between them like a sinister shadow. The two eyed each other until finally, Petey looked away.
    “ Beggin ’ yer pardon, my lady,” he spat out, a dull flush staining his weathered cheeks. It was obvious the man was not happy about the apology.
    “I accept your apology on, er , my wife’s behalf,” Temple growled. “Now take yourself off and be about your business.”
    The sailor couldn’t resist a parting shot as he limped away. “ Yer a fine one to talk. She ain’t yer wife. Ye’ve been sharing her bed for days now, when are ye going to share with the rest of us?”
    Temple said nothing, although the sudden clench of his jaw showed the other man had hit a nerve. He waited until Petey disappeared from view, then swung about to face Simone.
    “Are you all right?” The anxiety in Temple’s eyes warmed Simone like the sun peeking through on a chilly spring day. No man had been concerned about her before. No woman either for that matter, although occasionally Mrs Dougherty would fuss about Simone’s comings and goings.
    “Aye, it were nothing,” she replied.
    “It was nothing,” he corrected gently.
    “It was nothing,” she repeated. “Nothing I haven’t managed before.”
    Stern-faced and silent, he nodded.
    His harsh features daunted her. Had she done something wrong? “I didn’t really hurt him.” Her voice trailed away and she clasped her hands together.
    Unexpectedly, a grin split his face. “I daresay you handled yourself like nobody’s business. Where did you learn that little trick?”
    “I saw a thing or two out and about on the streets. But Mrs Dougherty taught me that one. She were, no—was—worried about me. She didn’t like me being a pickpocket.”
    “Oh?”
    “Aye. She said with my looks I should try and better myself. I tried, really, I tried but….” She stopped and shrugged her shoulders. “Beggar woman? Bar maid? Whore? None of that appeals to me. Kitchen help? Housemaid? I don’t come from your world, my lord. Growing up in a workhouse and with no references, do ye think I could find myself a position in a fancy house? And if I did, then find myself with a bun in the oven because I caught the eye of