Chapter Seventeen #3
Her breath caught. Her heart stopped. For while she loved to aggravate this man, never had she truly feared losing her heart.
She knew who she was and whence she came.
It wouldn’t be acceptable. But that smile had put her past the line she was treading, making her believe that perhaps, just maybe, this man could find her agreeable.
And that—it turned out—was the most dangerous game of all.
Just as the moment seemed to pause the chaos of their surroundings, she spun away from Leonard as the dance continued. Until she felt a hard jolt to her side as another man slammed into her.
The man caught her before she fell, then pulled her up with his thick arm. “Sorry, little lady.” His breath was hot and reeked of alcohol. “Seems I missed a step.”
With a forced smile, she nodded and went to pull back. “Mistakes happen.”
“Now, you don’t need to pull away quite so fast,” he said, his hand tightening on her waist. “What’s that young chap got that I haven’t?”
Putting a hand to the man’s chest, she pushed back. Best not to aggravate a drunk man. And best not to stick around. She shook her head. “Nothing, of course.”
“Then why you trying to fight me?” He leaned closer, his face nearing her neck as his hand held tight to her.
And then the sound of a fist hitting flesh sounded by her ear, and the man’s head snapped to the side, nearly hitting Honora in the face.
Honora jerked her head to see Leonard’s chest heaving, staring at his hand.
“Did you just hit him?” Honora asked, dumbfounded.
Leonard looked up, his face aghast. “It seems I have.”
Oh dear.
The man dropped his hand from Honora’s waist, then raised to his full height. Leonard lost more color from his face as he eyed the man up.
“I think we had better go,” Honora began, taking a step toward Leonard.
And then it happened. The man bellowed and reached forward, grabbing Leonard by his lapels and quickly lifting him and tossing him onto one of the tables that had been pushed to the edge of the room.
Honora gasped, running toward Leonard. But the man pushed her shoulder before she made it far, knocking her to the ground. Her head hit the corner of a chair, and she saw a flash of light when she made contact.
Wood knocking together and the screeching of furniture made Honora force her eyes open, though they watered from the pain as warmth pooled on her brow.
Double oh dear.
The man had a chair lifted in the air as Stanton lay flat out on a table.
Just as she opened her mouth to shout at Leonard, he rolled to the side, falling to the floor and evading the chair in the nick of time as it struck down on the table.
A loud crack snapped through the air. Men cheered, each picking sides as to who they thought would win the fight.
She didn’t think anyone picked Leonard. She almost said her vote aloud just to give him a modicum of confidence, but she wasn’t sure he would appreciate the thought.
Then, quick as a shot, Leonard scrambled to his feet. He lifted his fists in the air and bent his knees, ready to fight.
Bless the man’s well-meaning, but utterly stupid, heart.
Honora stood, taking a step toward the men, when she felt a hand grip her shoulder.
“This isn’t your fight,” Thrup said, glaring down at her.
“I would beg to differ,” she spat back. Turning back toward them, her stomach wrenched. If Leonard got hurt because of her, she would not be able to abide it. She got him into this mess, and while she had been having her fun, injury to his person was too far.
The men were taking swings, some hitting their mark and some missing. The boor of a man was clearly intoxicated, giving Leonard a bit of a leg up on the fight, but the larger man clearly had the benefit of size on his side.
Then things took a turn. Leonard was ducking and dodging, getting in hits with nearly every swing. His opponent spat a bit of blood on the floor, then wiped his mouth as he glared at Leonard, the two circling one another.
Was Leonard going to win this fight? Honora nearly smiled, but the cuts and blood on Leonard’s face were enough to keep her sober-minded.
Unfortunately, the other men seemed to notice Leonard winning as well, and several came forward around their friend.
Leonard’s eyes darted about the half-moon of men, now circling about him.
Thrup’s grip loosened just enough to let Honora slip away. She reached her hand into her reticule as she neared the men, gripped the cool metal within, pulled it out, pointed it at the floor, and fired.
The bullet cracked into the wooden planks, the sound ringing out in the room. Every motion stopped. That is, until all their heads swiveled toward Honora.
A man had Leonard about the neck, holding him to his chest.
“Let him go,” she said, her voice as cool as the steel in her right hand.
The man narrowed his eyes. “Like you would do it.”
She reached down to her leg, pulling out the small blade strapped in a sheath against her calf as she trained her gun on the man holding Leonard.
His eyes widened, hesitating. “You wouldn’t. What if you missed?”
She huffed a laugh, her smile smug. “I don’t miss.” She raised the knife in her left hand, keeping her elbow bent as she poised it above her head. And then she flung it forward, where it landed with a thud in the wall just above the assailant’s head.
The man’s head snapped back to her as he dropped his hands from Leonard. Honora kept her gun trained on him as she jerked her head toward the door. “Time for us to go, Leo.”
Leonard didn’t move at first, his wide eyes bloodshot and his mouth hanging open again.
She really should recommend he see a doctor about that.
“Leonard,” she quipped. “The door. Now, please.”
He stepped around the men, or limped, rather. Honora backed up until they met halfway to the door. She kept her gaze ahead with the gun trained on anyone who dared move. “Do not follow us,” she said. She stepped back until Leonard was forced out the door behind her.