Passionately Yours (Hellions of High Street 3)

“Run!” she called again, seeing that Isobel had stopped and was staring in open-mouthed shock. The trick had bought them more time, but when he recovered, he would be out for her blood.

“How—” began her friend.

“Never mind that now,” she said, shoving Isobel into action. “We must fly like the wind.”

But they hadn’t gone more than several strides when two more figures appeared from the shadows up ahead.

“Bull!” shouted the one in the lead. “Wot’s wrong? Why ain’t ye grabbed ’em?”

A pack of abductors?

The thought sent a spike of fear through her.

Things looked rather hopeless, but Caro wasn’t yet willing to go down meekly.

Think! Think!

A quick glance around showed one last chance. Grabbing Isobel’s arm, she pushed her off the road and toward the woods. The tangle of brush and trees might slow down their pursuers.

“Try to lose yourself in the darkness,” she hissed. “I’ll see if I can distract them for another few moments.”

“But—”

“GO!”

To her relief, Isobel had the good sense not to waste precious seconds in further argument.

Scooping up a handful of rocks, Caro peltered the new assailants with a quick barrage, then turned to seek safety in the shadows.

With luck…

But luck chose that moment to desert her. Her shoe caught in a rut and she tripped, entangled in her skirts.

Cursing the constraints of female dress, she twisted free of the fabric, scrambled to her feet, and was moving again within the space of several rapidfire heartbeats.

Quick, but not quick enough.

The first trees were only a stride away when one of the men snagged her trailing sash and whirled her around.

“Poxy slut,” he snapped.

Caro blocked the first slap and countered with a punch that bloodied his lip. The second blow caught her on the side of the head with a force that set her ears to ringing. She tried to pull away but he yanked her back, and then his fist drove the air from her lungs.

The ground began to spin and blur.

Dizzy with pain, Caro felt herself slipping into a daze. Squeezing her eyes shut, she fought down a rising nausea. But things seemed to be spinning out of control. The voices around her were suddenly sounding strangely agitated, and the ringing was turning into an odd pounding.

Like the beat of galloping hooves?

Wishful thinking, she mused as she slumped to her knees. And yet, her captor seemed to have released her…

Forcing her lids open, she saw a jumble of dark shapes. A horse. A rider flinging himself from the saddle. Flying fists. Her assailant knocked arse over teakettle.

“Shoot the devil, Bull!” he croaked.

As her gaze slowly refocused, Caro saw their first attacker rise and run off, still clutching his groin, into trees on the opposite side of the road.

“Your lily-livered friend doesn’t seem inclined to come to your rescue,” came a deep baritone shout. “That leaves two of you—whose neck shall I break first?”