Marguerite’s gaze remained pinned on Jeremy as he raced toward her. Thankfully, the ferocity of her resistance had made it imp
ossible for the thug to get her any further than a few feet. She could hear his grunts and muttered curses, but paid them no heed as she dug down for her last reserves of energy and fought with all of her might. Her ribs hurt from being held so tightly while jostled up and down by the man’s uneven gait, but she refused to give in.
“You damned cat,” the man grumbled, his breath coming out in rapid puffs.
Marguerite watched blood appear on the arm wrapped tightly around her waist, and dug her nails deeper into the back of his hand. The pain she caused her assailant made him release his hold temporarily, and it was all she needed to be able to step away.
“Get out of the way,” Joe snapped as he surged toward her.
Hauling her to the opposite side of the path, and away from the carriage, Joe landed a series of punches and kicks on the man that left him moaning and writhing in the gutter mere inches from the carriage wheels. To his disgust, he looked up in time to watch the tails ends of the cloak the Count wore disappear into the back of the carriage and the door slam shut. Within seconds the carriage was racing into the distance.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Damn it,” Joe snapped.
He wanted to go after him, but this time had to let him go. Although he was annoyed at being denied the opportunity to capture the man the Star Elite were after, it didn’t sting so much because he had now seen the man up close and could describe every feature in exact detail. He wouldn’t be able to hide so easily now.
“Come on.” Joe grabbed Marguerite’s wrist and hauled her behind him through the hedge and back into the gardens of Carmichael House.
Marcus stopped when Joe disappeared with the woman. He knew where Joe was going and hesitated only long enough to throw the black carriage a cursory glance before he retraced his steps and vanished just as quickly as he had arrived.
“Where are we going?” Marguerite demanded when her lungs felt as though they were about to burst. She tried to slow down a little but was hauled unceremoniously onward by an insistent Jeremy, who refused to relent.
He is as bad as the Count, she thought in dismay.
She couldn’t quite believe that the events of the evening had actually happened, and to her nonetheless. She was just a clock-maker’s daughter. There was nothing appealing enough about her to warrant the attentions of such determined men. Yet both of them were fighting over her like two dogs over a juicy bone. It was alarming. It was disconcerting. It was shocking and worrying.
In spite of her relief at getting rid of the Count, she was now faced with a renewed problem. Jeremy. The more she was around him the more she suspected that Jeremy wasn’t his real name. Neither was he a guest at the recital. She also suspected that he was no gentleman. He fought in a way she had never seen before and, if she was honest, never wanted to see ever again.
“I can’t,” she protested when her legs began to wobble alarmingly.
“God, don’t start that again,” Joe demanded. He tried to drag her with him but cursed bitterly when she just pulled the opposite way.
Marguerite opened her mouth to demand to be released when sudden rustling in the bushes made her look over her shoulder. Her stomach dropped to her toes when she saw three dark shapes streaking across the gardens after them.
“Oh, no,” she whispered.
“Come on. We don’t have time to squabble,” Joe snapped.
Drained, Marguerite just didn’t have the energy left to run as fast as he could and looked helplessly at him.
Joe cursed. He knew he was going to be embroiled in another fight if they didn’t get out of there and damned quickly, but Marguerite just wasn’t willing, or able, to co-operate. He knew that helpless look in her eye but had no idea if it was because she intended to go with the thugs when they finally caught up with them. Was she mentally apologising because she was with the Count?
Well, I will be damned if I am just going to hand her over. She is a valuable source of information, Joe sighed.
With that, he bent over at the waist and swept her over his shoulder.
“What the Hell are you doing?” Marguerite demanded when she found herself hanging off one beefy shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“Getting us out of here,” Joe muttered. He swore fluidly when he saw how close the thugs were and lengthened his stride as he ran toward Marcus.
“Release me, now,” she demanded.
“What? So you can go with your lover?” Joe snorted. “Not likely.”
“Look, this might be the way you romance women in your world, mister, but dragging a woman off to your cave is just not done in these parts. This is London.”
She began to hit his arms but was amazed that it made no difference to her new captor. She couldn’t quite make her mind up who was worse the Count, or Jeremy.