The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele #1)(52)

Several men fell back, bumping into one another in their haste to remove themselves from the vicinity, but none left the room. All were glued to the scene.

"Willie, no!" I cried. "Don't!"

But I might as well not have spoken. "Stand up, Travers," she said.

He placed his hand on the seat near his thigh again. "It's 'my lord' to you, miss, and no, I will not."

"For God's sake, move!" I shouted at him. "She will use it."

"I'm not afraid of a girl," Travers said with a chuckle.

Willie squeezed the trigger.

Nothing happened. She frowned and inspected the cylinder. She spun it round and round. It was empty. "Damn him!"

My heart sank. Mr. Glass must have removed the bullets after the shooting episode of the previous night. I wanted to swear as loudly as Willie. While I didn't want her to shoot anyone, we now had no weapons to defend ourselves. And the men knew it. They advanced.

Lord Dennison and his friend, Smythe-something-or-other, grinned like madmen and approached with slow, predatory steps. Dennison rubbed his crotch. Travers sat back and watched, smiling with those fishy, wet lips of his.

"That's it, gentlemen," he said, chomping down on his cigar. "Teach 'em how to respect us."

"On your knees," Dennison ordered, pointing at me. He fumbled with the opening of his trousers and his tongue darted out to lick his top lip.

His companion wiped beads of sweat from his brow. His breathing became ragged. I glanced at the men behind them, but none came to our aid. All watched with keen interest. This nightmare couldn't be happening. Surely I would wake up soon. My weak knees were very real, however, and so were the men leering at us with lust in their eyes.

I touched Willie's hand. Her fingers curled around mine and gripped hard. My heart plunged to my toes. I'd hoped she had something up her sleeve, but it would seem the gun had been her only security guard. Without it, she was as vulnerable as me. We were two women up against more than a dozen men, and she was as terrified as me. We didn't stand a chance.





Chapter 11





"How is your aim?" I whispered to Willie.

"Why?" she whispered back, her voice shaky.

Dennison wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing saliva across his cheek. He grinned, a distorted stretch of thin lips.

"Get on with it, man," Travers urged him. "I want to keep playing."

"Throw the gun," I whispered to Willie.

I thought she'd protest, but she wasted no time hurling her weapon at Dennison.

He ducked, lost his balance, and fell to his side. The gun clattered to the floor, where it skidded under a table. Willie swore. Travers roared with laughter.

"Stupid whore!" Dennison shouted. "You missed."

He lurched to his feet. There wasn't a moment to lose. I reached behind me and snatched the carriage clock off the mantel. It felt solid, reassuring. The gold plating heated my skin and glowed in the candlelight. I threw it at Dennison's head. He saw it coming and ducked again, but the clock suddenly dropped too. It hit him square on the forehead. He fell back, unconscious.

"Bloody good arm," Travers said with admiration as he surveyed Dennison's prone form.

"Run!" I shouted.

Willie and I ran for the unattended door. Mr. Unger didn't try to stop us. Thankfully, no one did. Willie pulled open the door. I glanced back to see a collection of gentlemen gathered around Dennison, helping him to sit up. Blood trickled from his head wound, but he was alive, thank goodness.

A bell clanged and the porter at the base of the stairs opened the door there. Mr. Glass strolled through, holding a lantern.

"Matt!" Willie cried.

He lifted the lantern high. It illuminated the hard planes of his face and the black pools of his eyes. "Finally," he ground out. "I've been looking—"

"Yes, yes." Willie rushed down the stairs and met him half way. "Make yourself useful and fetch my revolver for me. It's up there, under a table."

Mr. Glass looked to me and then back to his cousin. His face darkened. "Why is your revolver not with you?"

"There's no time to explain." She shoved him. "Go!"

"No," I said as Mr. Glass climbed the stairs toward me. "Leave the gun." I glanced behind me, but the doorway was unattended. No one chased us.

I tried to push past Mr. Glass, but he caught my arm. "What is going on?" His voice sounded strained, tight, and a little tired.

"Matt will be fine," Willie assured me. "No one will try anything with him, and if they do, he'll just throw a punch or two. Won't you, Matt?"

Mr. Glass went very still. He stood two steps below me, bringing our faces level. His chest rose and fell with his heavy breathing, and his gaze bored into mine, as if he could dig out answers. I swallowed and considered heading back into the gambling room. It could be safer.

"Stay here," he growled. "I want an explanation upon my return."

He let me go and pushed past me. He only got as far as the doorway, however. Mr. Unger stood there with Willie's gun. He handed it to Mr. Glass.

"Do not return, Miss Johnson," he said to Willie. "This establishment can't afford to attract unwanted attention." To me, he said, "You should have stayed home, miss. Places like this are not for gently bred women." He slammed the door in Mr. Glass's face.