The Summer of Wine and Scandal: A Novella by Shana Galen Page B

clearly—there had been too many men—but she knew their breed, their ilk. They were like fat cats who had found a juicy mouse to bat about. They would not allow her to go. She realized they’d been moving closer to her, and she’d been moving back, and the shop and her mother were becoming farther and farther away. She could not allow them to corner her alone and out of sight, or they’d surely have their fun until they grew tired of her and tossed her a few coins.
    She couldn’t allow that to happen. Never again.
    “I think you do know us, little wench. I recognize those blue eyes and that sweet mouth. Show me what you can do with that mouth.”
    “Stop.” She held up a hand. “I don’t know who you think I am, but you are mistaken. I live with my family in Hemshawe. I’ve never been to London.”
    The men exchanged glances. “How do you know the places we mentioned are in London?”
    She’d made an error, and it was her last hope. Now the men advanced on her, the blond pushing her up against the wall and tearing open her cloak. “Look at those tits,” he said, fondling her.
    She slapped his hand away, and he laughed.
    “Let’s see what else she has to offer.” Mutton Chops lifted her skirts with the end of his walking stick.
    “Get away from me!” She kicked out, narrowly missing the fair one’s balls.
    “Oh, you’ll pay for that, bitch,” the blond said. “Hike her skirts up,” he told his friend. “I want her first.”
    “No!” She fought him, using all her strength to try to free her arms, but he was too strong. She kicked and writhed until Mutton Chops smashed the walking stick into her legs and then her belly.
    She coughed and would have bent in two if the blond one had loosened his grip. Instead, his hand dove into her bodice, ripping the material and exposing one breast. He squeezed her hard, while the other rucked up her skirts.
    “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”
    Caro’s head jerked up at the new voice, coming from the direction of the apothecary shop. The light was dimmer here on the side street, but she would have sworn it was Lochley and his friend Gage.
    “Find your own whore,” Mutton Chops said. “This one’s ours.”
    “I suggest you unhand the lady now,” Lochley said, his voice tinged with malice, “or you’ll never have need of a whore again.”
    Caro lowered her head, allowing her tousled hair to cover her face. She was equally relieved and humiliated to see him. Tears stung her eyes at the shame.
    “This isn’t a lady,” the blond said, holding her wrists fast to the wall.
    “I beg to differ. I know the lady, and this is the last time I will ask you to unhand her before my friend and I inflict bodily harm.”
    “You don’t know her very well,” Mutton Chops said. “She works at The Pleasure Den in Drury Lane—or at least she used to. I don’t remember her name, but I remember rogering her.” He gave her a once-over. “I remember it well.”
    Caro closed her eyes. She wished she were dead. She wished a hole would open up and swallow her so she did not have to stand on the street with her breast and all of her sins exposed to four virtual strangers.
    But that was not the worst of it. The worst of it was that Lochley was one of the men, and now he saw her for who and what she really was. He’d walk away from her in disgust. Or perhaps his honor would compel him to help her, but there would be no more afternoon talks by the stream or sweet kisses when they parted.
    A long, long silence descended. “Be that as it may,” Gage finally said, “the lady does not look like she is interested in your rogering at the moment. Release her, or I will be forced to take action and summon the constable to take you into custody for accosting a woman on the street.”
    With a grimace of disgust, the blond released her. Caro immediately crouched down, pulling her dress up to cover her breast and closing her cloak. She huddled against the wall, her head