Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Calm had settled over Kenneth, and he was grateful for the years of experience which meant, as soon as danger reared its head, he knew how to handle it.
Though not how to handle her.
Barbara was an added complication in this scheme, one he never would have agreed to had he actually thought the counterfeiting ring would actually hit her home tonight.
Dashed inconvenient.
But the scrape of someone lifting the window from the outside was unmistakable; he’d made that same sound last night, after all.
Crouched behind the desk, the woman he loved frozen in his arms, Kenneth felt his heart beating strong and true. Whatever the reason, Barbara was being targeted tonight…but he was here, and he would stop them.
He would protect her.
And her canopic jars.
“I’m going to move my hand,” he breathed into her ear, and when she immediately nodded, exhaled in relief as he did so. Aye, she might be livid with him, but that didn’t change his feelings for her. She was brilliant, and beautiful…and his to protect. “Love, I’m going to draw them away.”
He could feel the glare she turned on him, but she was smart enough not to speak after a man—judging from the sound he made when he tumbled through the window, he was a big man—cursed quietly and turned to help a second man through. A third man followed, this one moving slower.
While this was happening, Kenneth closed his eyes and pictured the layout of the room.
The chaise was closest, and though it had been used in a wicked way not ten minutes ago, it could serve as cover for him now.
He had to draw the men’s attention away from Barbara, and prayed she had the sense to stay down.
While the men were muttering about light and hissing coarse insults at one another, Kenneth grabbed Barbara’s shoulders and turned her to him. He kissed her hard on the lips, tasting her for perhaps the last time, then gently pushed her head down, tucking her under the desk.
Stay there, lass. Stay safe for me.
A part of his heart was staying there with her.
Silently, stealthily, Kenneth crept around the desk and toward the chaise, balancing his weight on his fingertips and the toes.
It was more of a scuttle, really, but it was efficient, a movement he’d perfected in Berlin.
He settled behind the chaise just as the intruders used their single candle to locate a lamp.
“There we go, boss,” the big man said in satisfaction, rocking back on his feet and glancing around the room. “Now ya can see.”
The second man, a skinny man who moved like a dancer with two pistols at his hip, glided across the room toward the desk. “Here’s another,” he said in a nasally tone, reaching for the lamp mere inches above Barbara’s head.
But Kenneth’s attention was on the man called boss; a rotund man who carefully carried a bag he cradled to his chest.
The forgeries?
All three men wore nondescript dark clothing, and most frustrating of all, cloth sacks over their faces with holes cut out to see through.
It was impossible to make out their features with so many shadows and the way they were all moving around the room, but Kenneth watched them carefully, trying to remember mannerisms.
Anything that could bring them to justice.
Slowly, silently, he eased his knives from their special sheaths in the small of his back.
“Boss, where are the pieces? I ain’t seein’ none that look like the other places?” the slender burglar whined. “Is this them?” he asked, picking up the Spartan antiquity someone had absentmindedly placed on the desk.
The rotund man was peering around the library, clearly looking for something Kenneth knew wasn’t there. But that had to mean… The housebreaker was familiar enough with Barbara’s collection to be aware that things had been moved?
“I don’t see them,” the round man murmured, and Kenneth cursed silently, wishing the bastard would speak loudly enough to be able to identify his voice.
It was the big man who rumbled when he spoke. “This reminds me of that place out in the country. Remember that, Sims? Nutt’s place. We went through the library looking for that old stuff with all the gold, before we torched the place?”
As the slender man chortled and shared another memory, their boss continued to prowl about the room, muttering about canopic jars.
Kenneth’s eyes grew wide. With that one nonchalant reminiscing, the big man had confirmed Barbara’s theory; this counterfeiting ring—or at least its leader—was responsible for not only the thefts, but the misfortunes which had befallen the antiquities owners.
Nutt’s country estate fire had pulled him away from his London collection for long enough for these men to strike.
Were they also responsible for the rumors about Standish, and Fondlet, Pratt, and Woodcock?
They must be.
Their boss’s movements were becoming increasingly more frantic as he realized the canopic jars he’d clearly come to replace weren’t there. His movements were pulling him around the edge of the room, and Kenneth realized he would soon be in sight of the lamp the man held.
Blowing his cover.
He needed to act.
Taking a deep breath, he slid one of the throwing knives into each hand, and stood. “That’s far enough,” he barked, as three things happened at once.
One: the boss, clearly surprised, whirled about and fumbled the bag he held. It hit the ground with a loud crunch, which caused the man to curse and drop to his knees to scramble for the remains of his worthless forgeries.
Two: the skinny man pulled a pistol from his waist and rudely pointed it at Kenneth.
Three: most alarmingly, Barbara popped up from behind the desk with a determined expression, causing Kenneth’s blood to run cold.
“Get down!” he bellowed, kicking the chaise so it flipped over and ducking behind it just as the gun blasted, blowing apart a piece of the library shelving—and books—behind him. Barbara screamed, but he couldn’t tell if it was in fear or outrage over such desecration.
Knowing the bastard had another pistol but needed a moment to pull it, Kenneth popped back up to see the big man looming toward Barbara. Without hesitation, even knowing it opened him to another attack from the slender man, Kenneth hurled one of the knives at the larger man threatening his woman.
He had just enough time to see it lodge into the man’s shoulder as Barbara scooped up the heavy paperweight from her desk, before Kenneth threw himself behind the chaise again—and not a moment too soon, because the other burglar’s second pistol boomed, blowing through the seat where his heart had just been.
Pink silk and horsehair went everywhere, and Barbara screamed again.
Knowing the slender man was out of pistols—at least, praying he was—Kenneth rolled around the edge of the chaise, coming up to his knees to see the big man stumbling around, clutching the crimson blood pumping from the wound in his shoulder.
Barbara, meanwhile, was still screaming—ah good, it was anger, not fear—while hurling things at the smaller housebreaker. The man cursed and used his forearms to block each of the objects—priceless antiquities and writing supplies both as he stumbled toward the desk.
Kenneth wouldn’t let him reach her.
“Get the fook down!” he bellowed at her, hurling his second knife at the skinny little bastard, who unfortunately had the wherewithal to duck. “Barbara!”
“You do not get to tell me what to do!” she screamed right back, throwing a paperweight the burglar wasn’t able to dodge. “Not after what you did!”
“I’m sorry!” Balanced on his knees, desperate to protect her, Kenneth realized his motions weren’t as smooth as they should be as he pulled his remaining throwing knife out with his right hand as his left reached for the large blade hidden in his boot. “Christ, woman, I never meant to hurt ye—”
“Never meant to hurt me?” Barbara shrieked, scooping up what appeared to be a Greek ornament. “I was naught but a wager to you!”
The slender criminal flinched away from the thrown missile, overbalancing toward Kenneth, who took swift advantage.
“The hell ye are! I love ye!” he roared as he threw himself at the man trying to reach Barbara.
The knife in his hand sunk into the housebreaker’s thigh and the man screamed before Kenneth bowled him over. Behind him, he dimly heard the big man hit the ground, still groaning as Kenneth lifted himself over the smaller criminal.
He hit the bastard in the throat, as previously instructed. “I love ye, Barbara!” He pulled the mask off the criminal and hit him again. “I’m no’ going to let ye be hurt!”
It was only when he pulled his fist back to strike again that he realized the burglar wasn’t moving, and checked the furious impulse.
Rage flowed through his veins—rage and violence and brutal primitive need to protect his woman. How fooking dare these arseholes come into her home and put her in danger? Kenneth’s vision was red around the edges as he lifted himself, breathing heavily, to survey the room.
The bastard he held was unconscious, and another man was curled around his wound, still moaning. Kenneth’s knife hadn’t hit anything vital so the man would live, as long as he didn’t jostle the blade.
Speaking of which, he pushed himself off the unconscious man leaving his longer blade in the man’s leg, preparing to face Barbara’s ire…but then he heard her whimper.
In all his days, Kenneth had never heard anything quite as terrifying as Barbara Fokette’s helpless little whimper.
He knew—he knew—before he even turned around, that she was scared.
And a part of him, the part of him which had allowed himself to sit separate from the violence which needed to be done… turned to ice.
Tucking his throwing knife against his wrist so it wasn’t visible, he slowly turned, only to blanche when he saw his worst fears confirmed.
The leader, the man the others had called boss, stood behind Barbara, one beefy hand around her upper arm, and the other…
Oh Christ Almighty. Kenneth’s knees almost gave out.