Page 85 of From Duke Till Dawn
“Go get it,” the man with the knife said lowly in her ear.
“My hands are bound.”
A bite of something cold pressed at her wrist, then the blade sliced between the ropes, unbinding her hands. Pain shot up her arms the moment her hands were free. She rubbed carefully at her abraded wrists. The skin there had been chewed up by the rope.
“Fetch the blunt,” she was instructed. “Then bring it back here. And go slow. Old Lacey, he’s a crack shot. Even in the dark.”
Gingerly, Cassandra made her way closer to Alex and the money. As she neared, his features became more distinct, and she could have wept to see the sharp angles of his face once more. He’d come for her. She’d dragged him into the filth of her world, and still he’d shown up to free her.
He took a step toward her, hand outstretched.
“Stay where you are, Your Grace,” Lacey called out. “Who knows where my bullet might stray? In your heart, or in hers?”
Cassandra reached the bundle of money. She scooped it up, feeling its strange lightness. It felt like nothing at all in her hands, just paper, and yet men and women were willing to kill for it.
As soon as she had the money, she walked back to the man with the knife. He held out his hand. She dropped the cash into his outstretched palm, keeping herself as far from striking distance as possible.
“Count it, Foyle,” Lacey’s voice ordered.
Several moments passed as Foyle went through the bundle of money, his lips moving as he counted to himself. Finally, he lifted his head and shouted, “It’s all here.”
“Then we’re done,” Alex said in icy, precise tones.
“Take the wench,” Lacey said. “I got the better bargain.” He chortled.
“I disagree,” Alex said.
Cassandra didn’t wait. She sped away from Foyle to Alex. Alex ran toward her. They met at the edge of the ruined stage. He wrapped her in his arms, holding her close, his breath hot and fast against the top of her head as he cradled her tightly.
“Are you hurt?”
“My ankle’s a little tender. Wrists are sore.”
“Can you walk?”
“Yes.” She fought to speak. “Alex—I—”
Suddenly, Foyle bellowed angrily as he charged them. Alex shoved her aside as the man leapt forward, his blade gleaming in the dull moonlight. Alex spun, his fist a blur as it crashed into Foyle’s jaw. The man crumpled to the ground, his knife clattering beside him.
Alex grabbed Cassandra’s arm. Together, they ran from the amphitheater.
“This isn’t finished,” he called to the darkness behind him. “You’ve made an enemy of me.”
“We’ll see who triumphs in the end,” Lacey shouted back.
Alex and Cassandra ran quickly through the deserted gardens to where his horse was tethered to the front gates. He swung into the saddle, then pulled her up in front of him.
“I’ve got you,” he breathed. He held the reins with one hand, with the other wrapped around her middle, holding her tightly. Nothing had ever felt as good—the smell of him, the feel of him, the movement of the horse beneath them both. She was alive. It was over.
Everything she had been holding back came flooding to the surface. The security of Alex surrounding her broke the dam and unstoppable shivers tore through her body.
Alex kicked his horse into motion. They took off into the night.
Alex didn’t stop until they’d reached Portman Square. Nothing and no one, except Cassandra herself, could convince him to halt. He needed to get her home. He needed her safe. The demand to protect her at all costs was a drumbeat in his veins. Never had he thought of her as fragile or vulnerable, yet she felt so human and delicate in his arms, he wanted to battle any and all who would do her harm.
Periodically, a shudder ran through her body, transferring from her to him. The tremors lessened over the length of their journey, but he had to take them away completely, shield her from the lasting effects of her ordeal.
Anger and fear waged war within him, obliterating rational thought. Energy sizzled along his limbs. He wanted to rip the city apart. He hungered for blood. Tonight, he had to concern himself with getting Cassandra back to safety, but later, he would track down and punish the man that had taken her. He swore it to himself with the vehemence of a holy oath.
