Page 82 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
Still, even if they were Anselm’s employee, something about the way they approached them didn’t feel right to her.
“Verity,” Marion whispered, breath hitching. “We must quicken our steps. Now.”
Verity, still giddy from their little adventure, gave a dramatic twirl, the coins in her canvas bag clinking together. “Oh, do stop worrying! We’ve done this walk countless times, Marion. You mustn’t let shadows frighten you.”
“I am serious, Verity,” Marion urged, her voice sharp with fear.
Verity gave a breathless laugh. “You sound like my brother.”
“Just walk, Verity! For the love of—” Marion’s hand shot out, gripping her arm tightly and dragging her forward.
They quickened their pace at once, their boots slipping slightly on the damp cobblestones. Marion’s heart thudded wildly as she cast a glance behind them—and saw the cloaked figure keeping pace, far too close.
Her breath came faster.The next alley. Just reach it. Then the main street—then people.
“Marion, honestly—” Verity began again, but her words cut off in a gasp as the cloaked man suddenly lunged ahead, blocking their path and cornering them.
He was tall, looming in the narrow alley, his face hidden by the deep hood of his cloak. In his gloved hand, something glinted—a blade.
“The bag,” he growled, voice low and rough. “And any other valuables. Quickly now, before someone gets hurt.”
Verity clutched the canvas bag tighter against her chest, frozen in shock.
But Marion, though trembling, stepped carefully—not between them, butalongsideVerity, half-shielding her, half holding her arm.
Her mind raced. They had no escape, no time.
“Verity,” she said in a calm, steady tone that barely masked her fear, “give him the bag.”
“What?” Verity choked out, her voice high with panic.
“Do it,” Marion whispered firmly, locking eyes with her. She squeezed Verity’s wrist as a signal to trust her. “Slowly now.”
Verity, shaking, fumbled to loosen her grip.
Marion’s gaze didn’t leave the man’s hidden face. She kept her voice even as she slowly lifted her reticule as well, drawing his attention.
“There. You have what you came for,” she said, holding both items just slightly out from her body, just enough to distract him.
The man’s focus locked on the bags. He reached toward them.
And then—from the shadows behind him—another figure appeared.
Before Marion could blink, a hand gripped the thief’s shoulder and yanked him back violently before he could close in on them.
The man let out a grunt of pain as he was slammed into the brick wall, the sound of impact echoing through the alley.
Marion’s breath froze in her chest.
“Run!” came Anselm’s voice, cutting through the chaos like a blade.
Relief, fierce and overwhelming, surged through her.
Anselm.
The cloaked figure recovered and scrambled to his feet in an efficient shuffle. And as quickly as he had appeared, the man vanished into another offset alley Marion had not even known was there.
His footsteps faded into the distance as Marion sought to catch her breath. She placed her hands on her knees and inhaled deeply.
