Forever My Love (Berkeley-Faulkner #2)(68)

Mira chuckled as well. “Of course you do. We’ll be back in Warwick tomorrow. And perhaps you should tell him—he wouldn’t be that angry, would he?”

“Perhaps not…” .

.As they neared the phaeton, a raspy voice singed the night air. “Stop!” The two women started and turned around in unison. Outside the dim pool of light shed by the streetlamp stood a young man, perhaps only a few years older than Mira. He was dirty, lean, and shaggy. There was something unbalanced and desperate in his expression, and his face was lined from years of want. Mira had known others like him before, whose eyes had been empty of everything but hunger. In his hand shone the dull steel blade of a knife. “Take off the ridge,” he said harshly.

“God in heaven,” Rosalie whispered, her face blanching.

“The ridge, the fambles,” he repeated impatiently, and she shook her head in confusion.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Your jewelry,” Mira translated softly, having been acquainted long ago with the intricacies of cant, the language of the street.

Rosalie reached up with shaking fingers to pull off her sapphire earrings, while Mira regarded the stranger silently. Much earlier this evening she had had a premonition that something like this would happen. Why had she not paid more heed to that warning voice inside? Because, she thought numbly, for the past few weeks she had given up listening to the silent promptings of her heart.

The young man directed his next words to her. “Get moving, or I’ll give y’a topper!” His voice was rough with a cockney accent.

“I don’t have any jewelry.”

“Clouts, then.”

“I don’t have any of those either,” Mira said, surprised to hear how calm her voice sounded when her heart was pounding so hard.

It was obvious that he was not going to take his.. word for it. As he opened his mouth to answer, he was distracted by the clink of Rosalie’s jewelry. She held her sapphire necklace and earrings in her palm, her hand visibly trembling as she faced the young man. He looked at her in a peculiar manner, his eyes hot and insolent.

“What do you want me to—?” Rosalie began unsteadily.

“Put them in the reader and bring it to me.”

“Put them in your reticule. But don’t go near him,” Mira said insistently. Once either of them was within striking distance of the knife, they would both be completely at the stranger’s mercy… and she doubted that mercy was a quality he was familiar with. Rosalie cast Mira a frightened glance before bending and tossing the reticule toward the man’s feet. It landed on the pavement close to him with a metallic sound.

“Pick it up and bring it to me,” he said, his eyes fastened on Rosalie’s pale face.

If it had been just the money and jewelry he wanted, Mira would have done nothing. The contents of Rosalie’s purse were a small price for remaining unharmed, and the Berkeleys could well afford such a small loss. But Mira recognized the look in the stranger’s eyes. She had seen it many times before, and she knew what it meant. He wanted to hurt Rosalie for what she was and what she had… he wanted to hurt someone for the feeling of control it would give him. Slowly Mira reached inside her own purse, moving her fingertips cautiously until she felt the cool, weighted handle of a small knife. It had been a gift from Guillaume several years ago, and he had taught her how to use it. She was no expert, but she had used it before with gratifying results.

“Please…” Rosalie faltered.

“Now!”

The lessons from Guillaume flashed through Mira’s mind. Don’t throw by the handle, throw by the blade. She would aim for a soft spot in the body that wasn’t protected by bones. In a swift movement she pulled the tiny weapon from her reticule and flung it, aiming at the base of his throat and holding her breath as it flashed through the air. Rosalie gasped. The stranger reacted automatically, twisting and knocking the missile aside with his own knife, the speed of his reaction unexpected.

“Bloody hell,” Mira swore without thinking, and the young man glared at her.

“Little bitch!” he exclaimed, starting to walk toward her determinedly. “I’ll fag y’good!”

Even as Mira began to back away, a dark shadow distinguished itself from the other shapes among the castle ruins, moving with such silent swiftness that at first Mira thought it was an animal. The young man’s wrist was grasped and slammed against a solid thigh. The knife fell uselessly from his hand and clattered against the pavement. Mira blinked in amazement, watching as their rescuer put a hard fist to good use. His arm hooked through the air, and there was a snapping blow as a sickening, cracking sound split the air. That noise along with Rosalie’s frightened shriek spurred Mira into action. She grasped Rosalie’s arm and began to pull her into the phaeton, swearing in her panic as they were both impeded by their heavy cloaks and skirts. She froze at the sound of the newcomer’s voice.

“It’s all right.”

Mira gasped as she realized who it was. No, how could it be him? She spun around and looked at him and a shudder ran down her spine. Oh God, it was him, and she wanted him even more than she had remembered wanting him before… and she would do anything, anything to be held by him again. A frantic urge took hold of her, to run to him and burst into tears, to burrow into the shelter of his arms… and yet he was looking at her as if he didn’t know her; there was no recognition in his eyes.