Dreaming of You (The Gamblers #2)(43)

“Oh, God!” Sara cowered in the corner, staring at him with wide eyes. “They’ll tear us to pieces!”

“Don’t worry. You’re safe with these to look after you.” He held up his heavy fists as if they were dangerous weapons.

The ceiling shuddered and sank downward as people piled on top of the carriage. Sara scrambled wildly for a way to protect herself. God knew what she had done with her reticule. She was defenseless without her pistol. The door burst open like a clap of thunder, and Sara screamed at the nightmarish sight of dozens of hands reaching for her.

Enthusiastically Jenner flung himself through the opening, landing on three men at once. His arms swung in a steady rhythm, plowing through the rioters like a scythe through grain. Sara leapt after him. Reaching for the back of Jenner’s coat, she clutched handfuls of the thick fabric and followed him with her head lowered. She gritted her teeth as she was jostled and elbowed by the crowd. Miraculously they broke through the free-for-all. Sara gripped her companion’s burly arm.

“Mr. Jenner,” she begged, “get me away from here.”

He laughed down at her, his eyes bright with excitement. “No taste for a little brawl, eh?”

Sara glanced back at the carriage, which was being demolished. “The horses,” she said anxiously fearing for the animals’ safety. The rioters had unhitched the team from the carriage and were leading them away.

Some of Jenner’s amusement faded. “My ’orses! I paid a king’s ransom for ’em!” He left her to stride after the thieves. “Stop, you thieving scum, those are mine!”

“Mr. Jenner,” she pleaded, but he appeared not to hear.

It seemed she was going to have to fend for herself. Carefully Sara made her way through the street while looters rushed by her with armfuls of stolen goods. A bottle flew past her ear and shattered on the pavement nearby. Sara flinched and drew closer to the shadows. She looked in vain for a night watchman or a stray police officer. Fire cast a ruddy glow over the ramshackle buildings. She didn’t know what direction she was walking in, only hoped the path she was taking wouldn’t lead to a thieves’ kitchen. She passed a gin shop and an evil-smelling ditch. People swarmed from one street to another, scuffling, quarreling, giving bloodthirsty cries as they hurled rocks and sticks through the air. Sara pulled the hood of her cloak over her face and stumbled around a row of wooden posts rising from the flagged pavement. All the giddy warmth of the wine she had drunk was driven away. She was sober and terrified.

“Damn,” she said under her breath with each step she took. “Damn, damn, damn…”

“Egads, what have we here?”

Sara stopped short as she saw a man’s broad silhouette before her. He was dressed in a dandy’s clothes, fine and disheveled. Precisely the kind of young buck who frequented Craven’s club and went slumming to attend blood sports in Covent Garden and visit prostitutes at the Strand. They gambled, drank, and went “skirt-hunting” to relieve their boredom. Profligates, libertines, yes…but gentlemen by birth. Sara began to feel relieved, knowing that this man would be honor-bound to see her to safety.

“Sir—”

He interrupted her with a cry to unseen companions. “À moi, my good fellows—come meet the enchanting wench I’ve discovered!”

Immediately Sara was surrounded by three chortling young men, all reeking of liquor. Crowding around her, they gloated over their new acquisition. Alarmed, Sara spoke to the first one. “Sir, I’ve lost my way. Please guide me safely away from this place, or…at least stand aside and allow me to pass.”

“My sweet bit o’ skirt, I’ll lead you ’zactly to the place you belong,” he promised with a lecherous grin, sliding his hands down the front of her body. Sara jumped back with a muffled cry and found herself restrained by the rake’s companions. They held her tightly, laughing at her struggles.

“Where shall we take her?” one of them asked.

“To the bridge,” came the ready suggestion. “I know just the spot to have her. We’ll wait our turns politely—as gennelmen should—an’ if she makes a fuss, we’ll toss her in the Thames.”

The other two burst out laughing.

“Let me go! I’m not a prostitute. I’m not—”

“Yes, you’re a good girl,” he soothed. “A young, pretty wench who shouldn’t mind a bit of folly with a few randy bucks.”

“No—”

“Don’t worry, darling, you’ll like us. Splendid fellows, we are. Never given a wench reason to complain before, have we?”

“I should say not!” the second man chimed.

“You’ll likely offer to pay us after!” the other added and the three rocked with drunken hilarity as they dragged her along with them. Sara screamed and fought with her nails and teeth, lashing out with all her strength. Annoyed by her frantic clawing, one of them cuffed her across the face. “Don’t be a little fool. We’re not going to kill you—just want a tail-tickle.”

Sara had never made sounds in her life as she did now, mad screams that rent the air. She found unexpected strength in her terror, feeling her nails rip across skin, her half-closed fists striking hard against the bonds that held her…and yet it wasn’t enough. She was half-carried, half-dragged. Her lungs shuddered, drawing in enough air for another ear-splitting scream. Suddenly she was dropped to the street, landing hard on her bu**ocks. The scream was knocked out of her throat. She sat on the ground in stupefied silence.