Chapter 12 #3
Lady Annabelle stood over the unconscious man, the point of her sword aimed at his chest as if daring him to wake. Her gaze met Hawke’s.
He winked before turning back to the melee.
Up on the scaffolding, one of the men had caught the rope and was preparing to swing down. As the man’s feet left the platform, Hawke grabbed the dagger from the post and threw it. The blade sheared through the swinging rope, and the man dropped headfirst into a pile of bricks.
He didn’t rise either.
The final opponent was climbing down.
Hawke darted forward and kicked the ladder out from beneath him, then he rolled to avoid both the ladder and the falling man.
He came to his feet as both hit the ground, and then he slammed the man’s head with a brick before he could stand.
Hawke darted his eyes between his enemies, and seeing that none were moving, he let out a sigh and dropped the brick. He was tempted to affect a pose as if standing for a portrait. That could have gone much worse.
Near the entrance of the alley, Grieg had arrived and rushed to join Lady Annabelle. He looked her over, and, seeing she was unharmed, relief relaxed his features. He grinned at Hawke. “Very impressive, Captain.”
Shadbolt stood with his arms crossed, his sharp gaze moving between Hawke and the men on the ground. When he looked at Lady Annabelle, the steadiness in his face slipped and fear flickered in his eyes. He turned back to Hawke and gave a single nod.
Hawke was breathing heavily, and his muscles burned.
He would definitely be sore in the morning.
He retrieved his cutlass and sheathed it, then brushed the dust from his clothes, taking a moment to assess and let his blood calm.
He was not bleeding, which was a relief.
Being stabbed really hurt. And besides, he was rather fond of this shirt.
His excess energy abated, and he was struck with a new awareness. His heart thumped. If he’d made one misstep . . . The stakes had been far too high.
“Lady Annabelle, I told you to stay with me.” He strode over to her, lifting her chin, looking for any sign of injury to her neck.
“Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?” He hadn’t intended for his voice to sound so sharp, but his fear manifested as anger.
What if he hadn’t managed to dispatch the men? What if she—
He swallowed hard, not allowing himself to finish the thought. The image of those men’s hands on her, her frightened eyes. He fisted his hands.
In spite of his temper, it was all he could do to keep from pulling her into his arms.
“I had my sword.” She sheathed the blade for emphasis and rested her hand on the pommel.
Behind her, Shadbolt closed his eyes, shaking his head.
Grieg muttered a curse, looking between her and the men on the ground.
“You . . . your sword?” Hawke drew his hand down his face. “I knew I shouldn’t have allowed you to come.”
“A woman does not always need a man to rush in and rescue her.” Lady Annabelle raised her chin, glaring at him.
Despite her bravado, her hands were shaking. This stubborn woman. She hid her fear behind anger as well.
Shadbolt went to search the downed men for weapons. He cut the rope into pieces, then worked to bind them, lest they wake up eager to seek revenge.
“So, who is she?” Lady Annabelle asked as she watched Shadbolt work.
“She?” Hawke asked.
“The woman you took such pains to avoid. You practically threw yourself into the alley to keep her from seeing you.”
Grieg left, muttering something about finding the dagger.
Lady Annabelle turned her gaze on Hawke, and he felt like a child about to get a scolding.
It was useless to pretend he didn’t know what she was talking about.
“Her name is Pearl. Pearl Crandall.” He motioned with his chin in the direction of the main street.
“She believes I made a promise to her—which I didn’t—and we parted on rather . . . unpleasant terms.”
“A promise?” She sniffed, acting disinterested, but there were furrows between her brows.
Was Lady Annabelle jealous? Hawke cocked a brow, feeling a smug satisfaction.
He lifted her hand, tugging slowly at each finger of her glove. “A kiss on the hand is not a promise.” He slipped the glove off. “It is simply a gallant gesture.” He brushed his lips over the back of her hand and braced himself for the inevitable slap. Perhaps he would bleed today after all.
Lady Annabelle looked at him as if she hadn’t seen him before. Her eyes softened, and her lips parted. Heat burst in his chest at the sight.
But the moment lasted only an instant.
She blinked, pulling her hand away and clearing her throat. “Shall we continue on to Madame Dauphiné’s?” She gave a dismissive sniff. “Or should you prefer to dodge insulted women and battle with scoundrels for the remainder of the afternoon?”
Hawke scratched beneath his chin, pretending to think it over. “Can I have a moment to consider my options? Some of the insulted women might have forgiven me by now.”
Grieg snorted. Even Shadbolt chuckled.
Lady Annabelle snatched away her glove and stormed off down the alley.
The men followed close behind.