“Unhand that woman!”
Will Hart released me abruptly and shoved me against the wall so violently that the breath was knocked out of me. Dazed, my senses reeling, I saw Jeremy Bond racing down the street toward us, the tail of his pearl-gray jacket flying behind him, his rich brown hair flying, too, tumbling all over his head in a mad whirl of waves. Startled, enraged, nostrils flaring, Will Hart curled his hands into brutal fists, his legs spread wide apart as he waited for the onslaught. Bond charged on, moving faster, drawing nearer, and then he leaped into the air and hurled himself at Hart, hitting him with such impact that they both fell crashing to the ground, Hart landing on his back with a bone-bruising thud, Bond on top of him.
“No!” I cried.
Neither man heard me. They wrestled in a dreadful tangle, legs kicking, arms flailing, bodies rolling, Hart on top now, now Bond, his hands caught up in Hart’s hair as he crashed the man’s head against the pavement again, again, each crash making a horrible thud. Hart roared and reared up, raising his body, throwing Bond to one side, climbing to his feet like an outraged bull. Bond wrapped his arms around Hart’s legs and brought the man crashing down again and again as they wrestled in a tangle of flailing limbs, grunting, pounding, rolling this way and that.
I closed my eyes and caught my breath, black wings fluttering inside my head, threatening to eclipse consciousness. I reeled for a moment in a dizzy void, leaning against the wall for support. Then I opened my eyes, stood up straight, and brushed veils of copper-red hair from my face, still out of breath. My shoulders hurt terribly where they had slammed against the rough brick, and I felt as though someone had viciously poked my backbone with a solid steel rod. I panted for a moment, trying to focus, listening all the while to those thudding, thumping, crunching noises.
Both men were on their feet now, both weaving, panting, snarling. Blood poured from a gash over Hart’s right eyebrow. There was a purple-gray bruise on Bond’s left cheekbone. Hart roared, swinging an arm in the air, powerful fist flying toward Bond’s head. Bond ducked, darted, whirled, leaping on Hart’s back, slinging an arm around his throat, falling to his knees again and bringing Hart down with him. Hart gurgled, struggling furiously, his face turning a terrible pink as Bond strained and squeezed, determined to strangle the life out of his opponent. Hart caught hold of Bond’s wrist, trying to pull the arm away, jabbing viciously into Bond’s chest with the elbow of his left arm. The deadly hold momentarily loosened, Hart threw his left arm back and caught hold of Bond’s hair, jerking forward with all his might.
Bond lost his hold and came tumbling over Hart like an acrobat, landing on the pavement nimbly on all fours, leaping to his feet and whirling to deliver a savage kick to the side of Hart’s head as the stunned, still wheezing man tried to climb to his feet. Hart fell back, spread out on the pavement, and Bond leaped onto his stomach, a knee on either side of Hart’s thighs, his hands circling Hart’s throat, thumbs pressing murderously into the soft, vulnerable flesh beneath the Adam’s apple. Hart’s eyes seemed to be popping out of their sockets, and he no longer had the strength to throw Bond off.
“Let go of him!” I cried. “You’re killing him!”
“Shut up!” Bond yelled.
“Jeremy Bond, you let go of him!”
Bond continued to squeeze for perhaps three seconds longer, his vivid blue eyes glittering intensely, his teeth bared, and then he let go. He stood up and stepped back, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling. He looked down at the man stretched out on the pavement, his eyes still gleaming with, murderous intent. Hart wheezed and coughed, awful gurgling noises bubbling up from the walls of his bruised, near-broken throat. After a few moments he managed to lift himself up on his elbow. His vivid pink face gradually began to pale and return to its natural color. His dark, dazed eyes began to focus.
“On your feet!” Bond ordered.
“You almost killed him!”
“Shut up, Marietta.”
I wondered how he had learned my name, but I was far too concerned about Hart to give it much thought at the moment. Hart shook his head a few times to clear it, then slowly, painfully got to his feet. He was so weak he could hardly stand, his knees dipping dangerously. Blood still trickled from the cut over his eyebrow. His lip was cut, beginning to swell. His shirt was torn, one sleeve ripped wide open, and his breeches were torn at the left knee, bruised, bloody kneecap visible.
“Are you all right?” I whispered.
Hart ignored me. He stared at Bond with dark, threatening eyes. “I’m gonna remember this,” he growled.
“Do that, laddie.”
“You’re gonna pay, Bond. Yeah, I know your name, heard her say it. You’re gonna be sorry.”
Bond extended one arm the better to display an audaciously trembling hand, mocking the man with theatrical fear. Hart turned his mouth down, desperately wanting to throw himself into the fray again, caution holding him back. After a moment he turned to look at me with venomous brown eyes.
“You’re gonna be sorry, too, wench. You was just leadin’ me on, never ’ad no intention a lettin’ me ram it in ya. You was just tryin’ to get me to talk, makin’ a fool a me. No woman’s gonna make a fool a Will Hart.”
Head lowered, hair dipping over his brow, Jeremy Bond moved slowly toward Hart with fists balled, ready to swing again. Hart backed off, in no shape to take another beating.
“Move along, laddie,” Bond said. His voice was low, laced with menace. “Be quick about it, too, if you don’t want me to finish chokin’ the life out of your worthless body.”
Hart glared at both of us for a few moments, and then he turned and walked painfully down the street, limping visibly. Bond watched until Hart had turned the corner, disappearing from sight, and then he sighed heavily, brushed unruly brown locks out of his eyes and looked at me. His coat was torn, his fine boots deplorably scuffed, his breeches stained with dirt. His black and white striped satin waistcoat was ripped in two places, and the blue silk neckcloth was all askew. The bruise on his cheekbone looked nasty indeed, and I noticed that his knuckles were scraped.
“Well?” he said.
“You’ve ruined everything!” I snapped.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I had him eating out of my hand! I had him exactly where I wanted him! If you hadn’t come along I’d have found out everything!”
“Jesus!”
“You had to come charging in like—like some demented knight on a white horse and spoil all my plans!”
“I don’t believe this. I don’t believe it. Talk about gratitude!”
“No one asked you to interfere!”
“I see a great brute mauling you like a crazed animal, and I’m supposed to saunter on by without a how-de-do. What exactly did you think you were doing, lass?”
“That’s none of your bloody business!”
“Keep it up, just keep it up. In a minute I’m going to slap you so hard your ears will ring for a week.”
“You lay a hand on me and I’ll bite it off!”
“God, you’re gorgeous!”
“You look like a—a bedraggled gypsy! Your hair is damp and falling all over your head. Your clothes are filthy and torn.”
“That’s supposed to be my fault?”
“Just leave me alone, Mr. Bond. Just leave me alone.”
“I’ve no intention of leaving you alone. I intend to stick close by your side till I see you safely home. The rate you’re going, you’ll start a bloody riot before you get two blocks.”
“You’re not going anywhere with me. If you so much as—”
His vivid blue eyes flashed. He stepped over to me and seized my arms and shook me for a good two minutes, shook me so hard my head bobbed, my hair whirling in every direction. When he let go of me I gasped, but I dared not lash out at him as I longed to do. I wanted to cry, and I wasn’t at all certain I wouldn’t start sobbing at any minute.
“You’re no gentleman,” I said lamely
.
“Do something with your hair, for God’s sake. You look like a witch.”
“Go to hell.”
“A gorgeous witch, though, I’ll grant that. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I said, brushing hair back with my hands. “Now will you please leave me alone.”
“What was that all about?”
“I told you, it’s none of your business.”
“Want me to shake you again?”
“Don’t you dare, you—you cad.”
Jeremy Bond smiled, delighted to be called a cad. It was an utterly dazzling smile. A strange exhilaration filled me, a wild, bewildering, totally uncalled for feeling that curiously resembled joy. I finished straightening my hair, brushed my skirt and adjusted the bodice, trying to pull myself together. Bond straightened his neckcloth and smoothed down his waistcoat and flicked dirt from the elbows of his jacket.
“My suit’s ruined,” he remarked.
“I’ll see that you get a new one!” I snapped.
“I haven’t let a woman buy my clothes since—oh, since I was twenty-five years old, maybe twenty-six. You let ’em buy your clothes, let ’em pay your rent, and they start thinking they own you. Now,” he continued, “are you going to tell me what that was about or do I have to choke it out of you?”
“He was—he works with the man in the navy blue coat, the man you saw watching me at the market. They’re planning something—something sinister, I’m sure. He found me very—appealing, and I decided to play on that and get him to tell me what they’re up to.”
Jeremy Bond shook his head, dumbfounded. “Jesus,” he repeated.
“I knew exactly what I was doing, Mr. Bond, I assure you.”
“You intended to sleep with the brute?”
“Of course not! I intended to take him to a bar and—”
“And ply him with liquor and get him to chatter his head off, and then you thought you’d just sashay out of the place and be on your merry way.”
“That’s precisely what I planned to do.”
“Of all the stupid, harebrained, numbskulled, idiotic ideas! Couldn’t you see the lout was an animal?”
“I can handle myself, Mr. Bond. I’ve had quite a lot of experience with men—all kinds of men.”
“I don’t doubt that in the least.”
“I don’t think I care for your implication, Mr. Bond.”
“I don’t give a bloody hoot. If I hadn’t come along when I did, that hulking brute would have pulled you into the nearest alley.”
“I had everything under control.”
“Like hell you did. I don’t intend to argue. Come along now, I’m taking you home, and if you so much as look like you’re going to give me trouble, I’ll bash your head in.”
‘You’re so very gallant,” I said acidly.
He seized my wrist and gave it a savage tug, moving briskly down the street and forcing me to totter along behind him. Every time I tried to pull free he jerked my arm viciously. I stumbled along, my heels tapping on the pavement with a crazy rat-tat-tat. When we reached the busy intersection he stopped, waiting for carriage to pass before crossing. Pedestrians gave us curious stares, but Bond couldn’t have cared less.
“You can let go of me,” I said.
“Going to behave yourself?”
I nodded, not nearly as angry as I should have been. There was something about him that made it impossible to be really angry with him. He was a rogue, undeniably so, but there was an endearing quality that made something dance inside of me. I wondered if he really had let women keep him when he was younger. He must have been a preposterously handsome youth, I thought, with that cleft in his chin, those broad cheekbones, those devilish blue eyes and quirkily arched eyebrows. Many women, particularly older ones, must have been more than willing to pay his bills.
“I will see that you get a new suit,” I said.
“No you won’t, lass. Thanks just the same though.”
We crossed the street and, a few moments later, were passing through the market again, surrounded on all sides by color and bustle. Bond strolled along with that bouncy, relaxed stride, his fingers curled loosely around my elbow. I felt wonderfully safe and secure, not even bothering to look around for the man in the navy blue coat. In truth, I had almost forgotten about him. As we passed a bin of apples, Bond paused, inspecting them intently, finally selecting a very large, very red one and flipping a coin to the plump, flaxen-haired woman standing behind the bin.
“Thanks, luv,” she said.
“You’ve got the best apples in town,” he told her, treating her to one of his smiles.
“’Ere, luv let me dust it off for you.”
She took the apple from him and wiped it on her faded blue apron until it gleamed a bright ruby red. When she gave it back to him, he grinned and tickled her under her chubby chin. The woman glowed visibly, ready to kill for him. There should be a law against such outrageous charm, I thought, a bit put out that he hadn’t bought me an apple. He chomped on his treasure noisily as we moved on through the market, passing trays of shiny black eels and shelves laden with aromatic spices and carts piled high with multicolored flowers. Gossipy voices rose in a merry babble.
“We turn down here,” I said.
“I know the way,” he informed me.
“How could you possibly?”
Bond took another bite of his apple, guiding me around the corner with his hand loosely clasped about my elbow. “Lucille told me where you lived, lass. Told me your name, told me a bit of your history, told me everything I wanted to know.”
“Damn her!”
“I went back to fetch you, you see. You’d already gone, and Lucille was in a chatty mood. After I’d learned all I needed to know, I started after you, and that’s when I happened upon your little tryst.”
“What did Lucille tell you?”
“Enough,” he replied.
“I’ll never buy another gown from her!”
“Mustn’t blame Lucille. I have this way with women, you see. I can get ’em to tell me anything.”
I let that one pass. We strolled by lovely, walled gardens, elaborate, romantic wrought-iron balconies festooning the brick houses beyond. I could smell mimosa and azalea and the bougainvillaea that spilled over the pale gray walls in a profusion of purple blossom. A haze of sultry heat hung over the city, a soft, clinging heat that seemed to gently stroke one’s skin. Bond finished his apple and casually tossed the core over one of the walls. A few moments later we stopped in front of the large wrought-iron gates that led into the courtyard of the building where Derek and I were staying.
“Here we are,” Bond said, “safe and sound.”
“Yes,” I said quietly.
“It’s been most interesting, lass.”
He smiled, a quiet, reflective smile this time, his blue eyes full of tenderness as they peered into mine. The tenderness was quite genuine, and I was startled. How could he possibly feel that way toward me, and how could I possibly be entertaining a desire to reach up and gently touch his cheekbone where it was bruised? He looked lazy now, lethargic, his eyelids drooping over those eyes that spoke of an emotion I had known precious little of in my lifetime. Men had rarely displayed tenderness toward me, never so openly as Bond did now. Perhaps they were afraid to be tender. Bond, I sensed, was utterly secure in his emotions, giving free rein to all of them.
“That bruise is—terribly nasty,” I said.
“It’ll heal.”
“You fought quite viciously, not at all like a gentleman.”
“Who said I was a gentleman?”
“I’ve the feeling you’ve been in a great many fights.”
“A great many,” he admitted. “Won ’em all, too.”
“And yet—yet you’re not a violent man.”
“Not unless I need to be, lass. Ordinarily I’m the sweetest, mildest chap you’d care to meet—cuddly, in fact. I’m terrific on a cold winter night when a storm’s raging outside and
a fire burning within. Woman I used to know said I was the cuddliest man she’d ever known, and she’d known quite a few.”
I made no reply. Bond moved a step nearer.
“A woman needs to be cuddled now and then,” he said in a low, melodious voice. “She needs to be held loosely and stroked and petted, needs to have a man blow gently into her ear and murmur sweet, silly words that make her glow all over and stretch like a well-fed cat. You need that, too, Marietta.”
“I—”
“You’re very tense, uncertain, on edge.”
“You’re quite mistaken, Mr. Bond.”
“I know women, lass. I’d love to cuddle you.”
“You’re altogether too forward,” I said stiffly.
“I want you, Marietta.”
“You—you don’t even know me.”
“I know enough. I know I want to hold you and protect you and ease that tension inside you. You’re a beautiful woman, Marietta, maybe the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. I want to make you feel beautiful.”
“Mr. Bond, if Lucille spoke so freely, she no doubt told you I was living with Lord Derek Hawke, that we intend to be married as soon as we get to England.”
“Yeah,” he said lazily, “she told me all that.”
“I happen to love him with all my heart.”
“He’s not the man for you, lass.”
“How could you possibly know?”
“Because you’re not happy.”
“You have no way of knowing whether I’m—”
“A woman in love—a woman loved properly in return—wears her happiness in her eyes, on her cheeks, on her lips, wears it like an invisible garment, a glorious garment that gives her an aura everyone can see.”
“Nonsense.”
“It’s true, lass.”
“I—this conversation has gone quite far enough. I—I suggest you look for someone else. I suggest you track down that blonde in pink silk who came out of Lucille’s as we stood outside.”
“Already have,” he confessed. “Her name’s Helena. She has a sumptuous apartment. Her protector is sixty years old and only visits her on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
“You certainly didn’t waste any time!”
“I rarely do,” he confided.
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