Page 41 of Persuasions of an Earl's Daughter

“You’ll leave here. Now,” he ordered.

“We’re just—” He tugged against August’s grip on him.

August responded by tightening his hold as he kept an eye on the front door of the house. Light shone on the stone doorstep, but he couldn’t make out who had answered the door nor the conversation that ensued. It didn’t matter. He’d deal with this blackguard first then turn his attention to the next man.

“You are looking for the woman, and if you go near her, I shall kill you, is that understood?”

The man held up both hands, his eyes wide. He nodded vigorously. “I didn’t even want to do this.” The words were strained.

“And you’ll give me your cart.” August loosened his grip marginally.

“You can take whatever you want.” The fellow kept both hands lifted in surrender. “Fred said it was going to be simple. I didn’t want to see her hurt. We just wanted to make a few bob off the horse.”

His companion turned from the door, the light briefly highlighting his broad shoulders and puzzled expression beneath a flat cap. August shoved the man back, sending him sprawling, and focused his attention on Fred.

“What are you doing, you fool?” he barked at the prone man. “I told you not to leave the cart.”

“He’s handed it over to me,” August said. “Reparations for harm done to the young woman you tried to kidnap.”

“She is here then.” The man tugged off his hat, hung it from the corner of the wagon, and slicked back the damp remains of his thinning hair. “I knew someone was lying to me. This damned village won’t speak to anyone.”

“And you’ll never find her.”

Fred cracked his knuckles and sneered. “Unless you tell me where she is of course.”

“Fred, leave it be!” the other man said as he sought shelter near the edge of the house.

The man ignored his companion and cracked his other hand. “I’ll have that fine girl and she’ll get me that horse and you’ll beg for mercy by the time I’m done with you.” He smirked. “Maybe I’ll get a penny or two for her as well. She’d make a fine whore.”

If there had been any in the first place, no thoughts of honor remained. He wanted this man’s blood. Hot, pulsing anger ran through his veins, and he tightened his fists. August dove for him, bringing a fist across his face. Bone crunched. He released a grin of satisfaction.

His enemy staggered a few steps, wiped his nose on the back of his jacket sleeve, and glared at August. “You’ll pay for that.”

The rain pounded, the ground remained slick underfoot. Nothing existed apart from this man and the threats ringing through his mind. The need for vengeance burned bright. He let Fred come at him again. This time, Fred ducked the blow and pushed forward. Propelled by the man’s weight, they fell to the ground together. Mud coated August’s face, blurring his vision, making it difficult to breathe. He swiped aside the dirt.

Fred grabbed for him. August rolled. He shoved up onto his knees and swung a fist. Fred responded by grabbing August and crushing him against his body. Breath wheezed from his lungs and August fought to keep his bearings in the filth and rain. The man’s size offered an advantage.

But August had something—someone—to fight for.

They grappled in the mud, August gaining advantage briefly before being pressed underneath the man. A blow to his cheek sent his vision sparking. He pressed a breath through his teeth as the man scooped him up with ease and slammed him against the cart. Wood splintered and air wheezed from his lungs as the man crushed him against the vehicle.

Grip tight on the man’s wrists, August thrust forward. Pain burst through August’s head and Fred yowled. His grip loosened. His enemy took a step back, shook himself, and raised both fists.

“This ain’t going to end well for you, boy.”

August curled his fingers around the loosened plank of wood behind him. He grabbed it tight, felt it loosen, and brought it round to hold it in both hands. With one almighty swing, he smashed it into the man’s head.

His eyes rolled back, and he dropped to his knees then straight onto his face. August dropped the wood, sank back against the cart, and gulped down raw breaths.

“If you want your friend to live, you better turn the bastard over,” he called to the cowering man as he climbed onto the cart and took the reins. “And you’ll leave as soon as he awakens, or I’ll be back with more than my fists and a plank.”

He’d never felt more like the common bastard his father had claimed him to be, bleeding, covered in filth, his belly hot with the fire of victory. And he was glad. He’d exacted revenge on behalf of Lilly, and he was glad.

Chapter Fifteen

If Lilly drank another cup of tea, she’d be more swollen than the river running past the cottage. The spitting rain pattered fiercely against the kitchen window and though the river couldn’t be seen, it could be heard rushing past, carving a brutal path through the village. Thank goodness she’d taken her dip before it had become so vicious.

After refusing another offer of tea, Lilly turned her attention to the pots waiting in the sink. Astrid and Klara offered up their protests which she waved away. Waiting around and doing nothing usually made her feet twitch and her mind race. Waiting around for August to return was even worse.

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