The Abducted Heiress. Claire Thornton

turned to fear as she focussed on his right hand—he carried a pistol.

      The other man carried neither sword nor pistol, only a short, brutal cudgel and a man’s doublet.

      ‘Don’t be afraid,’ said Smith in a hasty under-voice as the men approached. ‘I won’t let any harm come to you.’

      ‘You serpent!’ Desire whirled away from him.

      As the two men came closer the second man threw the doublet in Smith’s direction.

      ‘Next time look after your own gear,’ he said roughly.

      ‘I told you to seize the lady—not dally with a serving wench,’ said the man with the pistol to Jakob Smith. ‘Where’s your mistress, doxy?’ For the first time he gave his full attention to Desire.

      She saw the moment he noticed her scars. Surprise, then contempt appeared in his eyes as he waited impatiently for her answer.

      Red-hot rage erupted within her. She was so angry she forgot to be frightened.

      ‘Get off my roof!’ She pointed one emphatic hand in the direction they had to take. ‘Get off now!’

      The man with the pistol stared at her—then he laughed. ‘Your roof?’ he jeered. ‘You’re too ugly to be so pert. Where’s your lady?’ His tone abruptly became much more menacing as he waved the pistol in her direction.

      Desire’s racing heart skipped a beat. She was still angry—but now she had been reminded she was also in grave danger. She glanced quickly between the three men. All her senses seemed sharper than normal. Her confusion when Jakob Smith had first appeared was now replaced with intense alertness.

      The lout with the cudgel appeared bored. Jakob Smith stood relaxed but vigilant. Unlike the other two men, he carried no obvious weapon—but he didn’t need one. He’d already demonstrated his strength and agility when he climbed on to the roof. If he decided to manhandle her, Desire knew she’d stand no chance against him. It was a terrifying thought.

      ‘Where’s Lady Desire?’ The man in the green doublet threatened her again with his pistol.

      ‘There’s no need to abuse the wench,’ Jakob Smith said curtly, moving between them.

      ‘Keep your mouth shut! You’re paid to obey orders, not give them!’ Green Doublet snarled. ‘Stand away from her and watch we’re not interrupted.’ For a second he pointed his pistol at Jakob, not Desire, to reinforce his command.

      Jakob stepped quietly aside, though his large body remained poised for action.

      Desire took advantage of their momentary distraction to retreat a couple of places. For a few seconds her knees had weakened with shock, but now strength flowed back into her legs. Wit, not brute force, must be her salvation. If they fell into an argument, she might have a chance to escape.

      ‘Stand still!’ Green Doublet pointed his pistol at her. ‘Where’s your mistress?’

      ‘I’ll—I’ll get her for you,’ she offered, remembering too late that Jakob Smith already knew her identity.

      Her gaze whipped to his face. She expected any moment to hear him denounce her. He was frowning—but she saw he was looking at the man with the pistol, not at her.

      ’I’m not a fool, you doxy!’ Green Doublet sneered.

      Another surge of fear spiked through her. She stared at him, afraid he’d guessed who she was—but he just laughed scornfully. ‘You won’t get her—you’ll warn her! Tell me where she is?’

      ‘Oh.’ Desire’s relief was so great she could hardly speak. She was ashamed of hiding in the guise of a servant, but she didn’t know what else to do. She had no weapon and no way of raising the alarm without putting herself in immediate jeopardy. But she was afraid for the safety of her household. She couldn’t let these criminals rampage through the house threatening her staff.

      ‘Why do you want her…Lady Desire?’ she demanded, playing for time. ‘What’s she to you?’

      ‘A bride, you doxy! Now—’ he lunged forward and seized her upper arm ‘—tell me where she is!’

      Desire pitched towards him. Then instinctively dug in her heels and pulled away from him, appalled at his words.

      His bride?

      Her foot scraped against the oak boards surrounding a raised flowerbed. She nearly fell. Her heart pounded with panic. She managed to save herself, then changed direction so that the corner of the bed was between her and her attacker.

      An outraged shout from the other end of the rooftop startled them both, interrupting their desperate tug-of-war. A musket shot roared in Desire’s ears and the man pitched forwards into the plants. He still had a grip on her arm and he dragged her down with him. The scent of bruised lavender filled her lungs.

      Horrified, she wrenched her arm out of his dying grasp. She flailed her hands through the lavender, desperate to gain solid purchase to stand. One hand touched his unfired pistol. She jerked away, then changed her mind. There had been three villains on the roof and only one shot fired. She could already hear the sounds of a grim struggle a few feet away. She picked up the pistol, thrust herself on to her knees, and then to her feet, glancing wildly around.

      Twenty feet away, her steward, Walter Arscott, struggled with the cudgel-carrying lout.

      A scream rose in Desire’s throat.

      Jakob Smith was nearly upon her, like a lion closing on his prey. In the dusk his golden hair had become a tawny mane, flowing around his broad shoulders. She saw the glint in his eyes, the intense expression of a predator on his handsome face. If he got close enough to touch her the pistol would offer no protection.

      Desire jerked her hands up, pointing the weapon squarely at his chest.

      He stopped instantly. Held his arms away from his body, palms towards her, in a gesture as easy to interpret as her levelled pistol.

      Desire took a shaky breath, her gaze locked on his face, as she tried to read his intentions. The pistol felt unbelievably heavy. Only by an intense effort of will did she stop her arms from trembling. She had to stay in command of the situation. She didn’t dare take her eyes off Jakob, even for a moment, to check on Arscott. But she could hear that the fight still continued.

      ‘Tell him….’ She swallowed and steadied her voice. ‘Tell him I’ll shoot you if he doesn’t leave Arscott alone,’ she rasped.

      Jakob’s brows snapped together. He looked away from her to frown at the two fighting men. ‘Arscott?’

      ‘My steward. Tell your…your friend to leave Arscott alone or I’ll shoot you!’

      Jakob’s lips twisted into an ironic smile. ‘Your man’s won,’ he said.

      ‘He has?’ Desire was so relieved she instinctively looked to see. Jakob was right. It was Arscott rising to his feet. The lout who’d carried the cudgel was lying across the path, his head twisted at an unnatural angle. A wave of nausea rose in Desire as she realised the man was almost certainly dead. Two dead men on her roof—

      Fear punched in her stomach. She jerked her gaze back to Jakob, her finger tightening on the trigger. She’d just given him all the opportunity he needed to seize her.

      He hadn’t moved. He was watching Arscott with narrowed eyes.

      Fury burned through her.

      ‘You’ll hang for this,’ she said harshly.

      ‘Will he?’ Jakob looked past her, an unreadable expression on his face as he looked at the man in the green doublet sprawled in the lavender.

      ‘What?’

      ‘Is he dead?’

      ‘I don’t know. I think…I think so.’ Desire’s voice faltered.

      Jakob pressed