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Authors: Mia Marlowe
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swing at Doyle. When the man moved to intercept the strike, Crispin whipped his cane around and jabbed the head of it full on the man’s breast bone, knocking all the breath from his lungs in one deft blow. Doyle sank to his knees, sucking wind.
Grace blinked in surprise.
“Come, Mistress Vache ,” Crispin said, moving to her side with more speed than a man with a perpetual limp ought to possess. He offered her his arm. When she didn’t take it, he grasped her hand instead and pulled her along the path back toward the well-lit part of the park. Even though he leaned heavily on the cane now, his canting stride was long enough that she had to trot to keep up with him.
“I don’t appreciate being called a cow,” she said between huffing breaths.
“So you do command a modicum of French,” he said with a scowl. “If you don’t wish to be taken for a cow, then don’t act like one, Vache . Are you truly so stupid you’d have given those miscreants your real name? Have you any idea what happens to well-heeled heiresses in certain parts of this city?”
No, she didn’t, but she suspected she wouldn’t like it.
“You might at least say ‘thank you,’” he said, still dragging her along.
“I will if you will.”
“And why should I thank you?”
“Because I distracted those men for you when they had you surrounded,” she said, huffing to keep up. “I offered you help before I even knew who you were, so you have several reasons to be grateful.”
When they reached the group frolicking around the Maypole, he stopped and released her hand. Her heart pounded against her ribs, whether from the excitement of her adventure or their mad dash away from it she wasn’t sure.
“I had planned to talk my way out of the situation without resorting to violence, but your intrusion made that impossible.” Crispin raked a hand through his hair. “Did it look as if I required your help?”
“No, you acquitted yourself quite well,” she admitted. Even a man without a cane might not be able to best five who were determined to take him down.
Grace looked up into his face. He didn’t seem angry now. The scowl lines around his mouth faded, but his eyes glinted with the remnant of something like fear.
“You were afraid,” she blurted out.
“Yes, you little ninny, I was afraid for you,” he said. “What if they’d been smart enough to realize you were worth far more than my cufflinks? I knew I could take those clods, but if they’d decided to snatch you and run off, I wouldn’t have been able to catch them.”
He looked away from her, back up the dark path. He’d obviously honed his self-defense skills despite his infirmity. She suspected it cost him dearly to admit there were some things he couldn’t do.
“May we sit for a moment?” she asked, settling onto a nearby bench without waiting for his answer. When he plopped down next to her, she noticed the long muscle in his thigh twitching beneath his skin-tight trousers. He laid a heavy hand on it to still the spasm.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” she said, glancing sideways at him, “what happened to your leg?”
“How convenient polite discourse is. Even if I do mind, you’ve already asked your question.”
“Pardon me.” Grace worried her bottom lip.
Her mother would say she’d committed two faux pas just then. Minerva Makepeace wouldn’t dream of asking a personal question. Conversing about the weather was always safe and recommended.
And she’d never be indelicate enough to use the word ‘leg’ instead of the more ladylike ‘limb.’
“I don’t wish to pry.” Grace folded her hands primly on her lap.
“Like hell you don’t,” he said with a laugh. “You’re burning with feminine curiosity, so even if I don’t tell you, you’ll ferret out the tale some other way.”
Grace flinched. Not because of his casual swearing. Her father’s speech was always peppered with rude words and mild blasphemies that agitated her mother
Grace blinked in surprise.
“Come, Mistress Vache ,” Crispin said, moving to her side with more speed than a man with a perpetual limp ought to possess. He offered her his arm. When she didn’t take it, he grasped her hand instead and pulled her along the path back toward the well-lit part of the park. Even though he leaned heavily on the cane now, his canting stride was long enough that she had to trot to keep up with him.
“I don’t appreciate being called a cow,” she said between huffing breaths.
“So you do command a modicum of French,” he said with a scowl. “If you don’t wish to be taken for a cow, then don’t act like one, Vache . Are you truly so stupid you’d have given those miscreants your real name? Have you any idea what happens to well-heeled heiresses in certain parts of this city?”
No, she didn’t, but she suspected she wouldn’t like it.
“You might at least say ‘thank you,’” he said, still dragging her along.
“I will if you will.”
“And why should I thank you?”
“Because I distracted those men for you when they had you surrounded,” she said, huffing to keep up. “I offered you help before I even knew who you were, so you have several reasons to be grateful.”
When they reached the group frolicking around the Maypole, he stopped and released her hand. Her heart pounded against her ribs, whether from the excitement of her adventure or their mad dash away from it she wasn’t sure.
“I had planned to talk my way out of the situation without resorting to violence, but your intrusion made that impossible.” Crispin raked a hand through his hair. “Did it look as if I required your help?”
“No, you acquitted yourself quite well,” she admitted. Even a man without a cane might not be able to best five who were determined to take him down.
Grace looked up into his face. He didn’t seem angry now. The scowl lines around his mouth faded, but his eyes glinted with the remnant of something like fear.
“You were afraid,” she blurted out.
“Yes, you little ninny, I was afraid for you,” he said. “What if they’d been smart enough to realize you were worth far more than my cufflinks? I knew I could take those clods, but if they’d decided to snatch you and run off, I wouldn’t have been able to catch them.”
He looked away from her, back up the dark path. He’d obviously honed his self-defense skills despite his infirmity. She suspected it cost him dearly to admit there were some things he couldn’t do.
“May we sit for a moment?” she asked, settling onto a nearby bench without waiting for his answer. When he plopped down next to her, she noticed the long muscle in his thigh twitching beneath his skin-tight trousers. He laid a heavy hand on it to still the spasm.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” she said, glancing sideways at him, “what happened to your leg?”
“How convenient polite discourse is. Even if I do mind, you’ve already asked your question.”
“Pardon me.” Grace worried her bottom lip.
Her mother would say she’d committed two faux pas just then. Minerva Makepeace wouldn’t dream of asking a personal question. Conversing about the weather was always safe and recommended.
And she’d never be indelicate enough to use the word ‘leg’ instead of the more ladylike ‘limb.’
“I don’t wish to pry.” Grace folded her hands primly on her lap.
“Like hell you don’t,” he said with a laugh. “You’re burning with feminine curiosity, so even if I don’t tell you, you’ll ferret out the tale some other way.”
Grace flinched. Not because of his casual swearing. Her father’s speech was always peppered with rude words and mild blasphemies that agitated her mother
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