While the Duke Was Sleeping (The Rogue Files #1)(30)

“By you?” she scoffed. “I managed twenty years without you in my life—” Her indignant speech died away as two dark shapes stepped out of the alley bisecting the street directly behind Mackenzie.

“Well, what ’ave we here? A toff and ’is lady?”

Mackenzie turned slowly to face the strangers while placing a hand on her hip and shoving her behind him. In that moment, she didn’t even mind that hand curled around her hip. Not the bold intimacy of it. Not how very large his palm and splayed fingers felt against her. All sense of propriety flew to the winds as the air thinned to something that felt cold and clammy on her skin. In this instance, his touch offered solace.

Standing on tiptoes, she peered around Mackenzie’s great body to scrutinize the men. Suddenly all of Mrs. Gibbons’s warnings flooded back and she tasted coppery fear in her mouth. She hated that the woman was correct.

“Good eve, gov’nor. Why don’t you ’and over your purse and anything of value and we won’t ’urt you or the lady.”

Poppy blinked. It was harder to remember to breathe, however. Her chest squeezed.

Mackenzie appeared, however, to have no problem functioning. He reached into his coat and pulled out his pocketbook. With a flick of his wrist, he handed it over. No hesitation. No comment. No objection.

“Just like that? You’re giving it to them?” The question squeaked past her lips before she could consider the wisdom of it.

She expected him to offer some modicum of resistance. A great big man like him? She thought he might at least appear menacing.

One of the men laughed and elbowed his partner. “Got a feisty one ’ere. More mettle than the big lad.” He chuckled. “She ’as a point. Perhaps we should be calling the big lad a lass.”

Mackenzie showed no outward reaction at the insult to his manhood.

The other scoundrel nodded, his narrow face reflecting none of his friend’s amusement. The thin, gaunt lines of his features made him appear practically cadaverous in the murky night. “What else you got? Besides that pocketbook?” His turned his gaze to Poppy and gave her a slow once-over.

Her chin lifted. “I haven’t any money.”

She felt his gaze continue to scan her in the feeble light of the streetlamps. “What’s that there on your finger? A ring? I’ll ’ave it.”

She immediately covered her mother’s wedding ring as if she could erase the memory of it. It was a simple silver band, etched with her parents’ initials. Aside of her memories, it was all she had left of her mother. She shook her head vehemently. “No.”

“It’s not worth the fight. Give it over,” Mackenzie growled without turning to face her.

“It’s worth it to me,” she argued, clutching her hand tighter, glaring at the back of him. “I’m not giving it up.” She turned her glare to the pair of villains with their avid, feral eyes. “It’s not even gold. Worth nothing—”

“Then give it over,” Mackenzie bit out.

“It’s sentimental,” she argued. Blast him! Whose side was he on?

“Very sweet,” Cadaver-face uttered, stretching out his arm and flicking his long fingers impatiently. “Now give it to me before I ’ave to take it from you myself. You don’t want me to do that, poppet. Trust me there. You might find me taking something else for me troubles.”

Mackenzie turned his face to the side and addressed her through lips that barely moved. “Damn it all. Give over the ring and hold your tongue, girl.”

She puffed out an angry breath of outrage. No one spoke to her like that. Not even her father used that tone with her. “Just because you’re willing to roll over and play coward does not mean I am!”

With a curse, he turned and grabbed her hand.

“What are you—” she sputtered as Mackenzie seized her finger and worked the ring up the digit. It caught at her knuckle. Still sputtering, she tried to yank her hand away, but his grip was like iron. He twisted the band until it finally slid free.

“How dare you!” she screeched, punching his arm several times. His bicep felt like a slab of solid meat. Impenetrable to her puny blows. She wondered if he even felt her. “You’re as bad as they are!”

He ignored her and faced the ruffians, tossing the ring up in the air. Cadaver-face caught it neatly in his hand and her heart sank, dropping to her feet.

He faced the men again. “You’ve got what you want. Now go,” he said as though he had not just handed over a keepsake that meant so much to her. As though he had not cut out a very important piece of her heart. She blinked burning eyes. Her thumb swept over the back of her finger, marveling at how it suddenly felt so strange and bare there, like the slick, smooth skin of a scar.

She couldn’t help herself. She made a sound of disgust and crossed her arms. For all his air of menace and brawn, Struan Mackenzie was about as imposing as an iced biscuit.

Cadaver-face pocketed the ring and stepped to the side with all the idleness of a man strolling the park. He peered at her where she stood with her arms crossed. “Never would ’ave expected a small package to possess such fire. I like ’er. What about you, Cam? What do you think?”

Her crushing disappointment over losing her ring flowed into something else, something razor-sharp and icy as her gaze darted between the two men. She felt like a hare facing down a pair of hounds. Mackenzie already proved he would offer nothing in the way of protection. She had only herself to rely upon.