How to Marry an Earl (A Cinderella Society 1)

“Fairweather,” Conall snapped, cold as a winter pond. “Let her go.”

“Not quite yet. You are my insurance against each other. And I need to think. You’ve made a mess of things.”

Conall caught Persephone’s eye. He glanced down. She blinked at him, bemused. He glanced down again and moved his knee deliberately. He’d told her once that her lower center of gravity was an asset. That she could use it against an attacker.

And he’d told her exactly how to do it, bless him.

She bent her knees slightly, throwing off Fairweather’s steadiness. Then she kicked back, hard, aiming for his groin. He grunted in pain, choking on his breath. It wasn’t quite enough to have him release his hold, but he did drop the pistol. And Persephone could now bend down, wrap her hands around his left knee, and yank his foot forward with every ounce of her strength. Still dealing with the pain she’d inflicted, he wasn’t able to plant his feet or fight the momentum. He toppled, letting go of her and landing with a great thud. Persephone darted out of reach, her breath burning in the throat, adrenaline shivering through her. She kicked the pistol hard, sending it into the pond.

Conall’s muscles bulged as he pulled the rope against the dagger’s blade. “Run, Percy!”

As if she would leave him. As if her legs hadn’t also turned to water. She stumbled forward to finish untying him. He pulled the rope against the knife and it shredded, finally cutting loose. But Fairweather had already gotten to his feet. His face was red and he was panting, but he was hardly incapacitated. In fact, he turned and ran, cutting across the grass. Conall roared angrily, pulling at the rope around his feet. He was nearly free. Fairweather closed the distance between him and his horse, waiting under the tree.

“I’ve got him!” Tamsin suddenly shouted, racing across the marbles of the folly. She had a rock in her hand, dripping with pond water. She stopped, wound her arm back and released it like it was a cricket ball, turning her body into the throw. Having played cricket since she was a girl, the rock flew true and hit Fairweather in the back of the neck with a fair punch behind it. He sprawled in the grass, as Meg darted out of the bushes and took hold of his horse’s reins.

Conall fought free of the last of the ropes and as Fairweather struggled to push to his hands and knees, he thundered forward, vaulting over a decorative wall and bearing down on him like a summer storm. He punched down, cracking his fist into Fairweather’s jaw. Fairweather slumped. Conall held him up by the shoulder for another punch to the face. The other man went flying again and this time, stayed still.

“Bring me the rope,” Conall said.

Persephone and Tamsin hurried forward. He wrapped the rope around Fairweather’s wrists. “It’s too short now that it’s been cut,” he said. “It won’t hold him long when he wakes. Damn it.”

Persephone looked at her friends, bejewelled and beribboned from the ball. She pulled the pink ribbon from her bodice. Tamsin grinned and yanked at the offending yellow ribbon around her upper arm.

“I think I have the solution,” Persephone murmured.

They brought Fairweatherback to Pendleton House, trussed up like a Christmas package in pink, yellow and green ribbons. He lay folded ignominiously over the saddle of his horse, who was more interested in nuzzling Meg’s hair than anything else. Persephone’s horse had wandered back to the stable in search of breakfast. Conall’s bruises were already darkening, the blood dry on his shirt. He kept stealing glances at Persephone. “Are you sure you’re not hurt? We’ll have the doctor look at you regardless.”

“I’m fine,” she assured him again. She felt odd, as if she was floating and all the colours were too bright. The sun too intense, the grass too green, the sky pulsing like blue fire. Her teeth chattered. “Not this again,” she muttered, recognizing the same sensations of shock she had felt after the urn had shattered beside her.

Conall smiled faintly though his eyes were uncivilized, warrior-like. “I’ll have them bring as many crumpets as you like.”

She smiled back.

“She’s a Cinderella,” Tamsin said. “It would take more than a coward like Fairweather to take her down.” She sounded blasé but she squeezed Persephone’s hand the entire walk back to the house.

Footmen ran toward them, wigs askew, muskets and daggers in hand. Conall shook his head. “The cavalry has already come,” he said.

They stared at Persephone, Tamsin, and Meg uncertainly.

“’Gor,” the tallest one said.

Conall handed him the reins. “You can take this sorry excuse for a man to the stables. Do not untie him. Do not take your eyes off him for even one minute. Am I perfectly clear? And I’ll need a carriage. Immediately.”

“Yes, your lordship.”

The duke was waiting on the gravel drive for his horse to be brought to him. Priya was beside him, arguing. They both turned at their approach, relief screaming from their postures, even at a distance. “I am only seventy-two, I can certainly shoot a blackguard with a hunting rifle,” they heard the duke grumble as they approached.

Priya ran to hug her brother hard. “I was so worried.” She squeezed Persephone’s hand. “For both of you.” She stepped back, eyeing Conall. “You’ve blood in your hair. I hope it’s his.”

“Alas, it’s mine.” He crooked a smile. “But I’m fine. No need to fret.”

“I don’t fret.”

“Liar.”

The duke reached them; his face pinched with worry. He drew Persephone into a tight hug and shook Conall’s hand. “I am very cross with you both.” He scowled at Priya. “And this one who thinks I am too old to do anything of consequence.”

“Stuff and nonsense,” Priya shot back.