The Charleston Chase (Phantom Knights Book 2) (17 page)

As I rounded the corner of a long
line of crates, Guinevere was flanked by four men, while Sam was
facing down the others. I threw my body against the back of one and
sent him flying forward and tripping over a fallen bolt of fabric.
I jumped over him as I ran toward the men holding Guinevere. One of
them moved toward me, raising a pistol, but he dropped it before he
could pull the trigger; a knife thrown from Abe’s hand having
struck his wrist. I threw my fist against his chin and
then against his stomach. Shoving him to the
ground, I moved closer to where I needed to be.

She was watching me with a face full of worry, but I
could not gaze at her as I longed to do. Focus was required, to
keep us alive.

Abe, Bess, and Sam were fighting six men behind me,
while two of Guinevere’s guards came at me together, leaving only
one man to hold her. Their mistake. I dodged a fist to my nose,
then came around throwing a jab to the man’s jaw. His companion
snuck behind me in my moment of distraction, wrapping his arms
around my chest. The man whose jaw I hit struck me in the gut and I
jerked forward, groaning, but the arms around me pulled me back. I
was struck again, and he was about to throw a third punch, but
Guinevere screamed.

The man in front of me turned to look at her, and I
lifted my legs, kicking him in the back. He stumbled straight for
Guinevere, who threw her arm forward. The way he hunched over
crying out, I knew he had met the sharp end of her dagger. The one
guard who had been left to hold her while the others fought me was
on the floor behind her.

The arms around me released me and shoved me to the
side so he could run toward Guinevere. Even though it was
Guinevere, and I knew of her abilities, a small amount of fear
seized my body. Leo reached the man before I could right
myself.

Four more men came through the door behind
Guinevere. She turned, the skirt of her blue gown flaring out
around her ankles. Raising her dagger, a shot went off, the sound
piercing the air painfully.

Three of the men watched their ally fall and backed
out of the warehouse. Guinevere gave chase. Annoyance mixed with
horror, filling my mind. Running after her, I caught her as she was
about to leave the alley between the warehouse and the neighboring
building. Wrapping my arm around her waist, I pulled her back into
the alley.

“Fiend seize it, Guinevere, are you trying to get
yourself killed!”

She was panting; her chest was heaving, but a full
smile tilted up her pink lips. “Aren’t you glad to see me,
Jack?”

With my arm still around her waist, I tugged her
against me and covered her lips with my own in a forceful embrace
that would surely leave her lips bruised. A disgruntled moan came
from her, and I pushed her back, breaking my hold on her mouth.

“Junto!”

Leo came running through the open doorway and paused
to stare at Guinevere.

“See her to safety,” I said, before looking down at
the face that had a recurring place in my dreams. “You and I shall
speak soon.” It was a promise. Walking away from her, I did not
feel as strong as my stance told.

In the warehouse, the conscious men were bound and
the others unmoving, so I ran around the row of crates to where a
large part of the floor was open. Four of six men were down, but
whether they were breathing or not was uncertain. Abe was clutching
his arm where he had received a gash, and Sam and Bess were nearly
back to back, squaring off with the final two men.

Bess had one of her two daggers and was slashing out
at the man who also held a dagger. Their blades hissed off each
other when they struck.

Sam dealt a blow to his opponent’s ribs, doubling
him over. Sam twisted around and struck Bess’s opponent on the head
as Bess was plunging forward with her dagger. The dagger sank into
her opponent’s abdomen, and Bess released it.

“What are you doing?” she demanded of Sam as she
turned toward him.

Sam shoved her down out of the path of his opponent,
as his opponent swung at him, hitting Sam’s shoulder hard.

I moved forward, but Bess grabbed the dagger her
opponent had dropped on the floor and popped up.

“Will you stay down, woman!” Sam threw a punch at
his opponent that went wide.

His opponent backed up, turned, and ran. Sam
pursued.

“Do not call me woman!” Bess
chased after him. “That is
not
my name.”

Sam hit the man in the back,
knocking him forward, and then landed on top of him. With a hand
against the back of the man’s head, Sam raised up to kneel on
him
and cast his eyes upward. “God, grant
me relief from stubborn women.”

“If he did, then who would be here to save your
rakish neck?”

Sam glanced up at Bess. “Rakish?”

Bess placed her hands on her hips,
one hand still holding the dagger. “Rakish, unprincipled, cares not
for the rules of battle—”

“What are you harping upon?” he asked as he twisted
back the arms of the man he was kneeling on, then stood, pulling
the man up.

Bess’s face was red, and she did
something so out of character that it was ludicrous. She stomped on
Sam’s foot.

I was gawking, but, truly, I had entered upon a
different world, where my usually calm and analytical sister had
transformed into a screeching woman.

Sam’s jaw was taut as he passed his prisoner over to
Abe and stalked after Bess, who was moving toward the door. Drawn
to them like a ship to a lighthouse, I followed. Sam reached Bess
in a few long strides, captured her arm, and pulled her around
until she was pressed against him. At first, I thought he would
shake her, but I knew that look, he was going to kiss her. I could
tell that Bess thought that, as well.

“Bess, it is the right of the injured party to
demand reparation of their attacker, and I will demand mine at my
ball when you will dance with me.”

He gave her a curt nod, released her, and stomped
toward me. The brooding in his look made me step back.

“How you survived years of that temper, I vow do not
know, but you are to be congratulated.” Sam walked away, and Bess
charged after him.

Bess

L
evi had
stolen the Holy Order chalice from me, but in all of the chaos that
had transpired following his betrayal, I had not noticed it missing
until after the race. It had been lying on my dressing table from
where I meant to give it to Sam. Char had told me that on Sunday
Levi had gone into my chamber to retrieve something, before the
fight at Gideon’s, before he ran off to join Guinevere.

All of the other artifacts were still where I had
hidden them under a loose floor board, but the chalice had been on
my dressing table as I had planned to give it to Sam. It was as if
all of the years of protecting each other, loving each other as
family does, had meant nothing to him. Levi had left his family to
join the Holy Order, and the betrayal caused a rift in my
heart.

When it came time to dress for Sam’s ball, I had
second thoughts. I was in no mood for a party. After the fight in
the warehouse, Sam had gone back to the crowd to oversee the
remainder of the race, and Jack had escorted me to Rose’s
house.

Sam had not spoken to me again since Jack had caught
me when I was trying to attack Sam from behind. The man could spark
a flame of fury within me with a look only, causing all of my
common sense to fly away, leaving a mess of emotions that deprived
me of my peace. I did not want him to see me as helpless, and that
was how I had taken his interference in my fight against the man in
the warehouse. My mother told me time and again that I was born
with a will of iron. After the events of the last year, I realized
I did not want a gallant knight to come to my rescue. I wanted a
partner who would fight beside me, who would have faith in my
abilities, and who would know, that though I could hold my own in a
battle, I still needed him beside me to win the war.

A part of me did not want the
horrible fluttering in my stomach that made me nearly sick with
want; the mixture of hot and cold sensations that covered me when
he came near. A brush of his hand, standing toe to toe battling out
our differences, or, as he liked to do, a whisper against my ear,
transformed my rational mind into a ridiculous pool of
stupid.

I liked Sam, and admitting that to myself had been
the first step in thawing my frozen heart. Andrew had left me a
bitter mess, but Sam was quickly picking up the pieces of my
shattered dreams. Even though I told myself Sam had no place in my
future, I could not deny that he was forging my shattered dreams
into a new picture.

Rose came in dressed in a gown of silver gauze over
a slip of celestial blue. Her upswept hair had tiny crystal pins
that stuck out of her curls, giving her the appearance of wearing a
crown. Her blue eyes were full of excitement, until she noticed
that I was not yet dressed, and she frowned. Mrs. Beaumont was
standing near the wardrobe with her arms crossed over her small
bosom and a scowl marring her face. We had been arguing about my
decision not to attend the ball. An evening of watching Sam dance
attendance upon the belles of Charleston would try my temper that
was on the verge of an explosion after the trials brought on by the
Holy Order.

Rose gently lifted my gown off the bed and carried
it toward me. She set to the task of helping me into the gown,
ignoring my protests. She was in a mood that would brook no
arguments.

As my hair had been arranged earlier, all I was
missing was the dress. It was an ivory gown over a slip of rose
silk. Sheer sleeves ended above the elbows with embroidered lace
cuffs. A sweeping train followed behind me as I walked. Mrs.
Beaumont helped me put on my ivory gloves and matching ivory
slippers.

Rose stepped back to survey me decisively, tapping
one gloved finger against her mouth.

“Perfect,” she said, smiling at me.

We were in the carriage on the short drive to Sam’s
house, when my first attack of panic set in. Forcing myself to
breathe in and out, I felt a hand on mine and turned to look at
Rose. She pressed my hand in a reassuring gesture and released me.
She was on my side.

The front gate to Sam’s house was
open, and people were everywhere. Most were
on foot, and a few of the more wealthy people arrived in
carriages. When the door opened, a footman was there to help us
down.

The progression into Sam’s house
was slow, as there were dozens of people trying to get inside. As I
was taller than most of the women present, I was able to see Sam.
He was standing near the wide staircase laughing with one of his
guests. As Sam’s gray eyes glanced toward the door, his gaze met
mine. His laughter ceased, but his smile remained. For me, all
other noises faded away under his intense gaze. There was something
new in that smile that had never been there before—an intimacy that
left me unsteady. His attention was pulled away, and Rose again
took my hand. I smiled my thanks, since I would not have moved if
not for the pressure of her hand.

Charlotte was standing beside Sam looking adorable
in white sprigged muslin and white roses decorating her hair.

Sam greeted Rose first, giving her his full
attention for a moment before looking at me. His gaze started at my
feet, running up from there. When his stormy eyes met mine, that
intensity from when we first met was returned, sending my heart
skittering like a pair of wild horses. I held out my hand to him,
pleased that it did not tremble. Instead of shaking my hand, he
pulled it to his lips.

“I am looking forward to our
dance, Miss Martin.” His voice lowered as he leaned toward me. I
could not look away. “Only duty restrains me from claiming the
first. Be sure that I will claim my dance as
soon
as I am able.”

My mouth refused to form words, so I nodded. As I
followed Rose to the back of the house, tingles danced along my
spine and arms, as if Sam’s eyes were on me. At the double doors
that lead to a ballroom that I had not known existed, I glanced
over my shoulder. He was still at the stairs, but he had turned and
was watching me as I felt he was. He did not smile, but one covert
eyelid slipped down in his roguish wink. Unable to help it, I
smiled.

The ballroom was a rectangular shaped room with twin
chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Every wall in the room was a
painting. It was a large painted garden, and the ceiling was the
sky. Breathtaking.

Rose clasped my hand with a warm smile in her lovely
eyes and pulled me further into the room. She told me that she
would introduce me to everyone since I did not know anyone. By
everyone, I should have known that she meant men. With Rose being a
wealthy widow, she knew all the young men of means. As she made
introductions they were handsome or personable, some both, but none
compared to our host.

My hand was solicited five times in as many minutes,
but the first dance had been claimed days before.

When Sam entered the room to open the dance, Lucas
Marx appeared at my side. I had not noticed his arrival. With a bow
and a flourishing compliment, he swept me onto the floor. Lucas
drew me into conversation whenever the dance permitted, making me
laugh a few times. He was handsome, in a foreign way, and he was
companionable, but he was not the man who made my heart beat
anew.

After the fifth dance, the room
was hot, and I was standing near one of the large windows that
overlooked the garden, fanning myself slowly. Painfully aware of
Sam’s movements, I
had watched his every
dance with a fiery jealousy that I could not overcome. I told
myself that I had no claim on him or his attention. He was a
wealthy man who owned many holdings in Charleston. Sam was used to
the attentions of women. That would not change only because he and
I shared a few passionate moments; some of which I was dressed like
a man and covered in dirt. I was a fool to be harboring any
romantic feelings toward him. He had all the unattached women in
Charleston vying for him. He could have any one of them.