Engaging the Earl. Mandy Goff

man’s been following you,” he whispered.

      Abandoning her attempts to free her arm, Emma swiveled to look behind them. That would explain the chills along the back of her neck. And the footsteps. But she hadn’t seen anyone. So far, the only person to accost her was the man pinned to her side.

      â€œJust let me go … please,” Emma pleaded, “I’ll be fine.”

      He huffed. He actually huffed. “Could you be quiet? I’m trying to think.”

       Think about where you’re going to dispose of my body?

      The man might be nicely dressed—much too nicely for this part of town—and Emma might have thought that his expression, when he smiled, was most pleasant. But just because the stranger was handsome didn’t mean he wouldn’t murder her and dump her body in an alleyway.

      So this time, she yanked against his hold.

      Hard.

      Instead of freeing herself, though, she caused them both to stumble. Emma’s shoe caught on the hem of her dress, and there was a suspended moment when she lost her balance. Instinctively, her grip on the gentleman’s arm tightened, probably to the point where she was digging her nails into his skin. And when she flailed her free arm at the same time that he leaned forward to offer assistance, Emma’s elbow connected with something hard.

      And if his muffled “oomph” were any indication, the something hard was probably his face.

      That further startled her … to the point that she wobbled even more wildly. Emma would have fallen face-forward if the man hadn’t hauled her upward and against his chest.

      Her first thought was that his embrace felt unexpectedly nice.

      Of course he had to spoil the effect when he opened his mouth.

      â€œEnough,” he snapped. “I’m only trying to help you.” His annoyance was impossible to miss.

      Emma was supremely agitated herself. Both because of his interference and the fact that she couldn’t seem to push herself away from him … maybe a little more so about the latter. An interlude with a possibly deranged stranger—albeit a handsome one—wouldn’t have been welcome at the best of times, but this was really not a good day. Lady Roth was probably watching the clock, ticking off each passing minute with a mean-spirited glee. The viscountess didn’t much care for Emma. Which was fair—Emma didn’t much care for her, either, or the very spoiled Roth children. But she needed to keep this job. Her parents were almost entirely dependent on her income.

      â€œNo one’s around now,” she said to her self-proclaimed rescuer, casting a look about them. “So while I thank you for your help, I must be on my way.”

      He opened his mouth, probably to argue, but Emma didn’t give him a chance.

      â€œLet. Me. Go,” she said forcefully.

      And apparently loudly enough to arouse the curiosity of a passing constable.

      The short, stocky officer retraced his steps, walking back toward them. Emma could have cried with relief.

      â€œWhat’s the trouble here?” the lawman asked.

      I’m being harassed by a bedlamite, Emma wanted to shout.

      She didn’t have a chance to utter the first syllable, however, because the man, who smoothly released her from his hold, was already chatting with the officer.

      â€œHow are you, Constable Hilliard?” the stranger asked, tipping back the brim of his hat and making his face more visible.

      The law won’t care how attractive you are, you’re still going to Newgate, she thought when she got a better view of his face.

      It was admittedly very attractive. Dark eyes. High cheek-bones … a nose that would have been the model of perfection if not for the small, almost unnoticeable bump from where it had likely been broken. And his lips, which were curved in a strained smile, most certainly weren’t unpleasant to look at. Her eyes traveled back up his face, locking momentarily with his. Emma wanted to shiver at the depth of them.

      In the few minutes that had passed, however, his eye was getting increasingly swollen. For a brief moment, Emma felt a pang of guilt for elbowing him, but had he only let her go, she wouldn’t have—accidentally, of course—given him what would likely become a black eye. And he was clearly crazy … possibly homicidal. She needed to keep reminding herself of that before she softened or allowed herself to feel too badly.

      When the constable saw the gentleman’s face, he floundered for a moment. Then, after several seconds of righting his uniform, seemingly making sure no crease was misaligned, he executed a smart little bow. “My l—I mean, Mr. Fairfax, I didn’t recognize you at first. How are you doing, sir?”

      â€œFine, Hilliard, fine.” The man now identified as Mr. Fairfax indicated Emma with his free hand, “I’m just seeing this lovely lady home safely. There are some ruffians about tonight.”

      The lawman, who seemed eager to please, bobbed his head in agreement. “There certainly are”

      â€œHaven’t had any trouble out here tonight, have you?” Mr. Fairfax asked.

      â€œNot too much,” Constable Hilliard answered automatically. But then he looked at Mr. Fairfax closer. “Though it looks as if you might have met your share of trouble.”

      Mr. Fairfax’s hand went up to touch his swollen and bruised eye. “Oh, this,” he said. “Only a bit of an unexpected tussle.”

      â€œSomething you’d like me to take care of for you?” the constable asked, eager and ready to please the man on Emma’s arm. Apparently he was someone of importance—or at least of more importance than this neighborhood usually boasted.

      And with that thought came the sudden fear that Mr. Fairfax might try to have the constable apprehend her. Emma felt faint.

      But when the moment came that Mr. Fairfax could have exposed Emma for her unintentional crime, the strange man waved off the constable’s question. “It’s of no concern,” Mr. Fairfax dismissed.

      â€œWell,” Constable Hilliard said, for the first time addressing Emma, “it’s a good thing Mr. Fairfax found you. He’ll get you wherever you’re going safely.”

      And that would be helpful, she thought, if he could somehow manage to get me there four hours ago. As it stands, I’m growing later by the minute, and this additional delay is hardly helping. She smiled tightly at the constable in response.

      As if he sensed her frustration, Mr. Fairfax swiftly drew the exchange to a close. “Good night, Constable Hilliard.” Then he wasted no time pulling her away and down the sidewalk. “My carriage is not far. I’ll take you home,” he said to Emma.

      Emma let herself be pulled along, while trying to decide exactly what she should do.

      It was hardly ideal to accept an escort from a man she had not properly met. If she saw anyone who knew her, the resulting scandal would be sensational. But who were they likely to encounter at this hour? And the constable had seemed entirely convinced that Mr. Fairfax was respectable. The most compelling reason of all to go along with him was that she wouldn’t have to walk back to the Roths, costing herself even more precious time in the process.

      So Emma allowed him to guide her past the puddles of indefinable liquid on the street, away from the leers and jeers of men congregating in their path. And it was actually rather nice not to feel exposed and in danger.

      Mr. Fairfax’s carriage appeared in