Chapter Thirty-Six
The cur had a knife pressed to Franny’s cheek, leaving Edward with no other choice. He needed to break into The Bedford right this second. If only Bear hadn’t confiscated his bloody pistol.
Edward rubbed his temple, trying to rid himself of the nightmarish image he had just witnessed.
He hadn’t detected an iota of fear from Franny.
Her chin was lifted, and her jaw was firmly set as she stoically stared her assailant down.
Knowing Franny, she had given the Brown brothers one deuce of a fight before they tethered her to the chair.
Since a good stiff wind might blow the poorly built tenement to France, Edward should be able to kick the door down with little effort. Without weapons, his only option was to barge in and talk sense into these wretches. If that didn’t work, he had two capable fists.
This time, he should double-check to see if the door was locked before using his leg as a battering ram. He gently pushed, and the door opened. He cautiously peeked into an empty entranceway. With utmost caution, he slipped inside and gently pulled the handle until the door clicked into place.
On silent feet, he glided across the floor to peer around a corner which afforded him a clear view of Franny and the brothers. The rat with the knife still leaned over her, and blood dripped down her cheek. God help Edward, he wanted to strangle this man and watch as the life drained from his body.
Franny met Edward’s gaze, and her lips quirked upward. The confounding woman who had stolen his heart grinned as if she were at a sunny picnic. Meanwhile, a lunatic was mutilating her.
The knife wielder followed Franny’s gaze to stare into Edward’s eyes. His face turned red, and his nostrils flared. “Where the bloody hell did you come from?”
Holding up his hands to show he was unarmed, Edward stepped into the room.
The other brother faced Edward, and his eyes widened. “Jackson, why don’t you ever listen to me? I told you the lawman would be trouble.”
As if in slow motion, both of Franny’s legs shot upward, smashing Jackson in the bollocks. He screamed, and the knife tumbled from his grip. It barely missed stabbing his boot before clattering on the floor. He bent double, clutching himself.
Time sped up. Franny stood and with the chair still attached to her arse and back, she whirled like a dervish.
Never had Edward seen such a sight. Apparently, neither had the brothers because their mouths hung open in shocked awe.
Still holding his crotch, Jackson stepped back, barely avoiding a collision with the spinning chair.
On her third turn, Franny smashed the chair into Jackson. This must have been her intent all along because she called out, “Huzzah!” as they tumbled to the ground. Franny landed on top of Jackson, the chair between them.
“Get off me, witch,” he screamed at the back of her head. “Would you fuckin’ help me, Richard?”
Frances Valentine, the human rocking horse, seesawed while trying to roll off Jackson. He cried out in pain as the chair mashed his face and torso a half dozen times.
Undeterred by the weight on top of him, Jackson stretched his arm until his fingers brushed the knife. Luckily, he struggled to grasp the handle with Franny and her chair precariously teetering on top of him.
Edward lunged for the knife at the same time as Richard.
There was no way in hell Edward would lose this battle; the protective violence raging within him would see to that.
Before Richard could grab the knife, Edward threw him against the wall.
Richard’s legs buckled, and he collapsed to the floor.
Looming over the dazed fool, Edward clenched his fists and exhaled loud, angry breaths.
These men had kidnapped and cut Franny. They’d injured Coach.
They’d tried to burn down The Silk Knuckles and had left Harry scarred for life.
They had stalked Josephine. Hell, they had even attacked Edward the night he came to Coach’s rescue.
And one of these good-for-nothing rats had beaten his wife numerous times.
All to keep women subservient so they felt powerful and superior.
These were not honorable men. They were virulent piles of dung.
Richard unsteadily climbed to his feet. “If you can’t control your chit, we will,” he said.
Edward’s temper snapped. “You bloody arse. I don’t need to control anyone but you.” He grabbed Richard by the neck and smashed the back of his head into the wall.
Richard howled as unshed tears glistened in his eyes. Edward could not allow himself to feel pity. The brothers might win this battle if he showed an iota of mercy, and that might leave Franny a casualty.
Edward launched three successive jabs. Richard’s head flew back, and blood flew from his nose.
Steadying himself, he called Edward outrageous, filthy names, some quite poetic in their originality.
Edward let him finish his diatribe and then delivered the coup de grace, a precise uppercut to the jaw.
Richard wobbled before crashing onto his back.
With one adversary down, Edward turned his attention to the second.
At some point during the melee, Jackson had managed to gain his feet despite his injured bollocks, retrieved the knife and was poised to stab Franny in the back of her head.
Edward dropped down, grabbed the man’s wrist, and bent it backward until the bone snapped with a satisfying crunch.
Jackson screamed.
Removing the weapon from Jackson’s fingers, Edward pressed it against his jugular. “Give me one good reason not to butcher you like the pig you are.”
“But you are a lawman,” Jackson said, his voice tremulous.
Although it was an excellent reason, Edward remained unconvinced.
“Edward, don’t kill him,” Franny said from atop the pile. “I don’t want you to live with the guilt. Just let me slice off his bollocks.”
It took Edward a moment to realize Franny wasn’t serious. She must be taking as much pleasure in Jackson’s mewls as he was, because her giggles vibrated the back of the chair, crushing Jackson’s nose.
“Bloody hell, what happened here?” someone who sounded like Baker asked.
Edward raised his gaze to find Baker and Jenkins holding their tip staffs high. Baker wore a shite-eating smirk. He’d probably look the other way if Edward sliced through Jackson’s pulsing neck. Either that or he would blackmail Edward for the rest of his life.
Sighing, Edward let the knife hang by his side. “How did you know I was here?”
“A young boy,” Jenkins said. “He works at the church next to The Silk Knuckles Saloon.”
“Charlie. A damn fine lad,” Edward said.
Franny cleared her throat. “Could you gentlemen cease with the gossip and untie me?”
Edward couldn’t help himself. He bent forward and slammed his lips over hers, the best part being that she couldn’t punch him since her arms were shackled to the chair.
Even more wonderful than that, Franny Valentine kissed him back with all of the passion of a woman totally and completely head over heels in love.
*
Mrs. Benson had outdone herself. She’d prepared another romantic meal for Edward and Franny, and she wasn’t the least bit angry that her efforts the previous evening had been wasted.
“I’m so happy you are both safe,” she said after hearing about their harrowing misadventure. “You must be starving. Please eat while everything is warm. Have a wonderful evening.” She winked at Edward.
Upon entering the kitchen, Franny clapped and popped onto her toes. “ ’Tis so lovely and romantic, don’t you think?”
“Indeed,” Edward said.
A vase of fresh flowers sat in the center of the table. Beneath it lay a new linen embellished with embroidered strands of ivy. Well-placed candles cast a warm glow over the room and brought out the golden highlights in Franny’s fire-colored hair.
Edward and Franny never ran out of things to discuss as they enjoyed roast lamb and potatoes. Throughout their meal, Franny’s eyes sparkled. Afterward, she sipped wine and belly laughed about using the chair she had been tied to, to defeat her kidnapper.
“Ironic, don’t you think?” she asked.
“Indeed.” Edward chuckled. Now that she was safe, he could temporarily appreciate the humor of their Shakespearian farce in spite of the sticking plaster covering the cut on her cheek.
Fortunately, the doctor had told them it wouldn’t require stitches, would soon heal and most importantly, with luck, it would not leave much of a scar.
Demanding attention, Zigzag meowed as she rubbed against Edward’s calf.
He bent down to scratch her between the ears.
When he sat up and met Franny’s affectionate gaze, warmth washed over him.
This was how he wanted to spend every evening for the rest of his life, and now was the perfect time to tell Franny.
“I know you have been worried about climbing back into the ring and feeling cowardly, but you were heroic and brave today.” Before she could argue with him, he confidently took her hand in his.
“Frances Valentine, I love you with all of my heart. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” He retrieved the ring from his pocket and slipped it onto her finger.
Franny stared at the emerald and then gawked at Edward. It seemed he had shocked the loquacious woman into silence.
Then, as if his question finally dawned on her, she gasped and brought her hand to her mouth. “Are you sure? I am quite difficult.”
“Exceedingly difficult. And I have never been more sure of anything.”
She squealed with delight. “Yes!” Cradling his face in her palms, she rubbed her nose against his. “It would be my honor, Edward Robinson.”
Edward’s heart soared.
“Could we move this celebration to your bed?” she asked, rolling her shoulder coquettishly.
He leaped from the table and pulled Franny onto her feet.
Maybe it was his overwhelming love, or perhaps it was the romantic dinner.
Although most likely he was just his usual randy self, because he tossed his fiancée over his shoulder, carried her to his bedchamber, dropped her on his mattress, and tupped her until they were boneless piles of sated flesh.