A Fine Passion (Bastion Club 4)

Clarice shot an amused glance at Jack, then gave the gentleman her hand. “If you insist, my lord.”

Jack watched her step into the gentleman’s arms, quelled a pang of jealousy and patently irrational concern. He looked down at the pretty blond lady, who all but bobbed before him expectantly. He smiled. “Ma’am, if you would honor me with this dance?”

She laughed, a light sound that held a measure of triumph, then gave him her hand and let him lead her to the floor.

There was nothing unusual about the encounter; the same had been happening to other couples about them for the last half hour. Nevertheless, out of habit, Jack kept a distant eye on Clarice as he whirled his partner around the floor.

Keeping track of Clarice should have been easy, yet when the dance ended and, parting from his companion, who curtsied prettily then bobbed away into the crowd, doubtless searching for her next victim, Jack focused on the lady he’d thought was Clarice, the woman turned and proved to be someone much older. A chill touched his nape. He scanned the shifting crowd, but could see no other tall and regal female.

The last he’d glimpsed of her, and been sure it was her, she and her partner had been revolving down the other side of the floor. Reminding his prickling instincts that they were in the private gardens of Holland House, enclosed within stone walls, and that the chances of anything untoward occurring were surely slight, he started quartering the crowd.

He tried not to dwell on the fact that anyone with any connection to the ton would have known that Clarice would be there tonight. Dancing with him in the poor light.

And that everyone would be masked and cloaked, indistinguishable—that no matter how he prodded his memory, he would never be able to identify either the gentleman who had whisked Clarice away or the lady who had distracted him.

When he reached the other side of the dance floor, and had still not found Clarice, he was ready to panic.

“Unhand me, you oaf!” Clarice struggled frantically, trying to break free of the rough hands that had grabbed her and hauled her back through shrubs and bushes into a dark clearing.

Her partner—the bounder!—had whirled her to an unexpected halt at the far edge of the dancing area, indeed, just a little beyond, where the paved court was bounded by thick shrubbery.

He’d released her, bowed, smiled unpleasantly, and rather ominously advised her, “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Lady Clarice.”

She’d blinked, and he was gone, a swirl of black domino merging into the crowd. Frowning, she’d stepped forward to follow him, away from that distant nook where no one else stood, when two pairs of hands had reached out of the bushes at her back and grabbed her.

“Jus’ be still, woman! ’Ere, Fred, where’s that gag?”

Hauling in a breath, Clarice tried to wrestle free, but the man behind her, a huge brute, simply tightened his arms around her until she thought she might faint. Abruptly realizing how real was her danger, she sucked in a tight breath and opened her mouth to scream—

Her mask went flying. A huge paw slapped over her lips. “Now, now—you don’t want to do that, missy. No need to let anyone know we’re ’ere.”

He lifted her off her feet and started to shuffle forward, away from the noisy crowd.

Clarice closed her eyes, tried not to breathe—he reeked enough to make her feel faint just from the smell—and bit down on his palm.

Hard.

She nearly gagged, but it worked. He howled, wrenched his palm away and desperately shook his hand. She didn’t wait but hauled in a breath and screamed for help.

The other man, a shadowy figure, slapped her. Almost casually, but the blow made her head sing.

“Stop that!”

The man still holding her was cursing. The other came to stand before her, piggy eyes peering into her face from beneath the brim of a dirty cap. “No point screeching, anyhows. The nobs’re making such a racket no one’ll hear you.”

She dragged in another breath to scream again; the instant she opened her mouth, quick as a flash the second man stuffed a crumpled kerchief into it.

Clarice gagged, wheezed, and tried to spit out the material, frantically trying to clear her mouth.

Her sudden burst of struggling caused the man holding her to yelp; he grabbed her shoulder, fighting to hold her upright.

Just as Jack crashed through the wall of bushes.

Clarice redoubled her efforts. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jack grab the second man and fell him with one blow.

Then he turned to face the man holding her, who took one look at him and instantly started to use her as a shield.

Jack went one way, the man went the other, keeping her between them. For a fraught minute, they performed an awkward dance.