Duke of Dishonor (Lords of Scandal 11)

He stumbled forward, his arm loosening on the woman. That was the moment she came back to life and with a twist, wrenched from the attacker’s arms.

The large behemoth of a man turned to grab her. Brandon didn’t hesitate. Raising his fist again, he punched the man square between the eyes.

The larger fellow fell like a sack of bricks.

“You,” she gasped, and Brandon turned to see a pale Emily staring back at him.

Her hair was pulled out of its neat coif, her eyes were large and watery, and her arms wrapped about her waist. He’d never seen anything more beautiful. “Me.”

She took a tentative step toward him. “I think I’m going to faint.”

Her knees began to buckle, and in a second, he had his arms about her, lifting her into his embrace.

He heard a moan behind him and knew they only had moments before her kidnapper awoke. He had another choice: set her down and risk losing the fight and her…or letting this man go but getting Emily to safety.

For a split second he grappled. But then reason prevailed. He’d nearly lost her today, choosing his investigation over her safety. He shook his head. Such a fool.

He should have come yesterday, but he hadn’t. His gut turned as he started toward the entrance of the alley. They spilled onto a wide street and then an even wider, busier one, where he flagged a hack.

He didn’t stop to think of how he looked both in appearance and carrying an unconscious woman until the driver gruffly rejected him.

“Please,” he begged, hoping he sounded convincing. “My wife needs help. I’ll pay double.”

The driver gave them another glance and frowned as though he didn’t believe Brandon but then a quick nod and Brandon hopped into the carriage before the man could change his mind. “Triple if you hurry,” he called out and then snapped the door shut.

There, he settled Emily onto his lap.

She was still out, her body limp against his, her lashes resting on her pale cheeks.

He skimmed a thumb over her high cheekbone, her breath warm against his palm.

Without much thought, he traced the curve of her jaw, the delicate column of her neck, her brow, the shell of her ear.

She was so lovely, there in his arms.

His breath caught as his tiredness fled, his limbs gaining back their strength.

Her eyes fluttered open, her lashes like the wings of a butterfly as large brown eyes met his.

“Emily,” he breathed as he stared down at her.

“Where am I?” she asked, trying to push up. He could feel the weakness in her limbs.

“A hack. On your way back home.”

“You saved me,” she said, giving up and settling against him. “Again.”

He couldn’t hold the next words back. “I’ll always save you.” Except he almost hadn’t. Except he’d hardly saved her at all. His actions had caused her far more trouble than they had peace.

She smiled then, soft and sweet and relaxed as she snuggled against him. “Why?”

The word was gently whispered on an almost-sleepy sigh, but it struck him like lightning. Why indeed? “Because,” he said, clearing his throat. As much of the truth as he could reveal seemed the only appropriate answer. “I owe what I have in life to your father. He was more of a father to me than my own in many ways.’

“Oh,” she said, this time lifting her head and pushing up into an awkward sitting position. “I see. That makes sense.” Her voice had lost its dreamy quality, going flat. Had his answer disappointed?

He wanted to pull her back against his chest, cradle her in his arms. He wished to hold her close and whisper…what? He shook his head. He was exiled, in danger from the men he’d been hunting, and she was even more vulnerable than he. Now was not the time to wax poetic. Besides, if she’d known how he’d pulled Ewan away…

She scooted across the hack, taking the seat across from him, their knees still touching. “Thank you,” she said, leaning forward. “For saving me. I’m sure my father is now forever in your debt, as am I.”