Bronwyn Scott (6 page)

Chapter 13

Bath was eerily still as they strolled briskly toward the livery. Ronan kept his gaze alert, his body tense. Beside him, he was aware of Lucia doing the same. One never assumed a getaway was assured. But there was little to see.

The streets surrounding the Royal Crescent were empty of crowds. A lone carriage passed them. A few people browsed at shop windows. Bath was recovering. The emptiness worked in his favor, although he knew they risked making themselves an easy target. A crowd might have distracted them. They might have missed the faintest of warnings: a man dressed unseasonably warmly in a greatcoat stopping in the middle of the street and reaching inside a pocket before the first shots rang out.

Ronan had the briefest of seconds to register the oddness of the man’s actions. He shoved Lucia into the relative safety of a narrow alley, pressing his body against her as a shield. Lucia had her little gun, but he had only his knife. He’d be damned if he would let any of Marcus Troy’s men get close enough to Lucia before he could use his weapon.

Lucia breathed hard beneath him in surprise. “They’re here.”

“What’s the fastest route to the livery?” Ronan cast his gaze up and down the alley.

“Go out the back of this alley, then one block down. We’re nearly there,” Lucia whispered. It would be the longest block of his life.

“Then we run. You run no matter what, Lucia. Promise me.”

The man from the street was advancing, warily, as if he expected to be fired upon. But they had only the one shot and Ronan would prefer to wait before he used it. He shoved Lucia ahead of him and broke into a run. If the man fired again, the bullet would hit him first. The man didn’t fire, choosing to come after them. Ronan could hear the booted footfall of their pursuant behind them.

They’d nearly reached the end of the alley when two others filled the narrow space, cutting off their exit. Lucia’s little gun fired without question, taking the first man square in the chest. He crumpled—the gun had more power than Ronan had guessed. Ronan’s knife flashed in his hand and he faced their original attacker, feeling the warmth of Lucia at his back, her back pressed to his in the old formation. She was a formidable ally, but there would be little she could do with an empty gun. It was the same dilemma his own assailant faced. Apparently he’d come with just the one pistol and hadn’t expected to miss.

Ronan feinted with his knife, driving his attacker back. “Where’s Marcus?” he snarled.

“Don’t matter,” the man replied roughly, throwing aside the pistol and drawing his own lethal blade. “You’ll be seeing him soon enough and he can pick up where he left off with you. Be more fun this time with the girl there for it. You can watch.” He brandished the blade. “Maybe I can carve the other side for you, seeing as how old Fred didn’t finish the job.”

Anger roared inside of Ronan. “Old Fred didn’t finish because I strangled him with my chains, and I’ll do the same to you.”

The man looked past Ronan’s shoulder and gave a nod to his partner. “Get her. That gun’s empty.”

Ronan knew a moment of tortuous hesitation. He could not look away from his opponent without being skewered, but he could feel the man grab Lucia, feel the absence of her presence at his back, could hear her scream as the struggle ensued. It made him reckless. He lunged for his assailant, speed and surprise being his best weapons now. The man was unprepared. Ronan’s blade took him in his knife arm, ripping deep through the fabric of the greatcoat, crimson showing through. The man dropped his blade, clutching the ruined arm. Ronan kicked the lost knife out of reach and was on him, landing a fist to his ribs, to his jaw.

“Stop, or I’ll cut her!”

Ronan dropped the man to the ground and turned to face his worst fear, the fear that had kept him from her for so long: Lucia about to meet death in some nameless alley at the hands of the enemy. And it would be his fault. He’d failed to protect her after all his efforts. The second attacker had her drawn up against him, the wicked edge of his blade held to her throat, her head tilted back and exposed.

“Let her go. She’s not part of this, not anymore.” Ronan held his knife out to his side to signal a truce, that he would give himself up. “She knows nothing.”

“She knows you. That’s enough.”

“I’ll come with you,” he offered evenly, his eyes judging the distance to the man’s shoulder, the narrow target his knife would have to find without hurting Lucia. It was an impossible shot.

“No,” Lucia gasped. “Ronan, no.” The knife pressed against her, blood welling at the small cut the blade imposed for her efforts.

“Why should I bargain when I can kill her now and then finish you?” the man holding Lucia growled. “I’ve only got orders to bring you to London.”

That was telling. Marcus was in London, waiting for him if he broke through Marcus’s men. London had been his destination, but now it had become a trap, the Foreign Office not entirely trustworthy any longer.

Lucia’s eyes slid to the knife in his right hand, motioning with her gaze.
Go on
,
throw it.
It’s our only chance.
I
love you.
I
trust you.

The next moments would live in slowed motion for Ronan the rest of his life. His hand flexed around the hilt of his knife. He had to be faster than the man’s eye. He’d made such impossible throws before, but not with so much on the line. The rest of his life resided in this throw, a life that might be very short should he miss.

Lucia drew a breath and he breathed with her, taking strength and assurance from her gaze. She closed her eyes and he threw.

Chapter 14

The knife raised a breeze as it passed her ear, embedding itself in her captor. She felt his grip go slack. She reached up and grabbed the hand at her throat, pushing it away and bringing her foot down on his instep. In his surprise and pain, it was enough to finish him. He fell to the ground and she ran to Ronan, letting him take her in his arms in a suffocating embrace. She could feel his heart pounding beneath his shirt. His own face was pale when she looked up.

“Never again.” He murmured. But she knew it was a promise he couldn’t keep, nor did she want him to. She let him lead her out of the alley, leaving behind the carnage. The walk to the livery was done in silence, his grip crushing on her hand, the adrenaline of the aftermath coursing strong through him. She knew what he needed.

The livery was deserted, the manager having stepped out for his lunch. Lucia drew Ronan into the tack room, the smell of leather and horses, the scents of life, filling her nostrils. “Come take me, Ronan. Come prove that we are both very much alive.” She reached for his trousers, stroking him through the cloth where his erection had already taken up visible residence. “Don’t deny it, Ronan. I can see it, feel it. You want to.” She was breathless with excitement. She wanted him too, wanted a rugged, hard coupling that would testify to their escape.

It was all the invitation he required. He was rough, pushing her up against the wall, shoving her skirts high, and she laughed out loud, reveling in it, helping him with his trousers because she could not wait to celebrate life,
their
life. He came into her, hard and primal, and she climaxed against the wall almost immediately, her teeth biting into his shoulder. He spilled hot and fast, his relief a tangible thing evidenced in ragged breaths.

They stood there, braced by the wall, for long moments afterward, drinking each other in. Ronan cupped her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “Are you sure you want to come, Lucia? Today—well, suffice it to say, there will be more days like today.”

It was a heady thing to see the powerful Ronan St. Simon vulnerable, uncertain over a woman, over
her
. She was not fool enough to believe he would expose himself for just any woman. This was for her, all for her, and it was overwhelming.

“Hush, it’s all over.”
For now.
“I’ve chosen you, Ronan, and all that entails.” It would never truly be over; she knew it and she chose it anyway because Ronan would be there.

“We can’t go to London, Lucia. Not yet. Maybe not for years.”

Lucia nodded. She’d divined as much from the careless comments in the alley. Marcus Troy had made London unsafe. Until they knew more, they could not risk it. “You know what that means.” She teased with a smile, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“What?” He fastened his trousers.

“We can go anywhere.”

“Anywhere except England,” he warned, going in search of his big stallion and bringing the animal forward. “I’m not without funds, Lucia, but I am most regrettably without a home.”

She grinned impishly. “How about Italy? I know a nice palazzo there, on the coast with a view of the sea.” She gave Ronan her valise and let him fasten it to the saddle alongside his.

Ronan cupped his hands and made ready to toss her up. “Italy it is.”

She settled forward on the horse and waited for Ronan to climb up behind her, the saddle shifting with his weight, warm and solid. With a flick of the reins, they were off. Sedately at first through the streets of town, but once they crossed the bridge, he gave the horse his head, letting the big stallion run, his arms about her, his voice at her ear as the stallion surged forward. “I can’t promise you much, Lucia, except that adventure and danger will haunt us all our days.”

Lucia shouted into the wind, “
In bed!
Don’t forget, adventure and danger in bed!”

Ronan laughed. “I never should have taught you that game.”

“I can’t think of a better game to play, in bed or out.” Lucia tipped her head up and smiled back at him. When she’d thought to take a lover, she’d never dreamed it would turn out to be such a good idea. The only thing better was what she was going to do to him tonight, and the night after that, and the night after that...in bed, of course.

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ISBN: 9781460316351

Copyright © 2013 by Nikki Poppen

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