A Rakes Guide to Pleasure (Somerhart 2)

"Faithless whore," he growled.

Stimp flew at him and was brushed aside as easily as a fly.

The man loomed huge, fists rising. Bess backed away, re­treating into the house, and Emma fell to the floor, landing hard. She didn't have time to register the pain that shot up her back; an angry bull was charging straight for her.

She scooted backward and almost managed to dodge the rock-hard fist that swung toward her. The blow caught the top of her head and knocked her into the wall, but he didn't stop moving. He pushed right past her and snagged Bess's dress as she tried to escape around the corner into the kitchen.

Bess was pulled off balance and swayed right into his punch. Bone cracked. Blood spurted from her nose. Emma screamed in horror. She tried to push to her feet, but when a shadow crossed her vision, Emma ducked and flung her arms over her throbbing head.

"I've got him," Hart grunted. "Emma, are you all right? Emma?"

She looked up what seemed to be an impossibly long dis­tance and caught sight of Hart's worried face as he pulled Smythe out by his neck.

"Fine," she murmured as she tried to catch up to the mean­ing of what had happened. "Bess?" She searched out the hud­dled form pressed into a far corner. "Bess?"

A meaty thump sounded from the alley and then Somerhart walked back in. He started to reach for Emma, but she shook her head. "Em fine."

He nodded and stepped past. "Mrs. Lizzy?"

"It's Bess," the woman sobbed in a wet voice. "It's Bess now."

"All right, Bess. I'm going to call for a doctor."

"Don't bother. Please. It's just a broken nose. I've had them before."

"I don't think—"

"No," she insisted, though her voice was still muffled by blood and grief and the hands pressed to her face. "No, don't. Please, sir."

He looked to Emma. "I'll take care of her," she said.

"Bess," he said softly. "Is that man your husband?"

She began to cry in earnest. "I'm sorry to have caused trouble. I didn't think he'd find me here."

"Did you run from him?"

Emma still wasn't sure of her steadiness, so she crawled across the few feet of floor that separated them and curled her arms around Bess's rounded back. "It's all right. Shh."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I'll go. Just don't send me with him. He'll kill me. He will."

Helpless, Emma looked up to Hart's face. He looked carved from granite, hard and cold.

"Do you have children?" he asked.

Bess shook her head, blood trickled from between her fin­gers. "None. He beat them all out of me."

"Christ." His cool facade cracked then, revealing the cru­elty she'd heard tales of. "You're determined to be free of him, then?"

"Yes."

"Then he's bound for a dozen years in Her Majesty's Navy. Will that suit?"

"Y-yes."

"Lark," he ordered. "Head for the docks. Stimp will help you find a likely taker, I'm sure."

A few moments later, the crunch of carriage wheels echoed against the walls of the alleyway.