Page 39 of When a Lady Kisses a Scot
“He expects me t’bring ye back to him. Tonight. If ye behave, ye’ll be none the worse for yer troubles.” One hand clamped over her chin. “But if ye fight me, yer pretty face might not be so fetchin’ by sunrise.”
His threat struck like a blow. She’d no doubt the cur meant every word. Of course, the coward thought he was dealing with a helpless female. How very typical.
With a single flick of her thumbnail against the pen, she would release the weapon’s sharpened steel blade.
Still, she’d need to ply her advantage. The man lacked brawn, but his muscles were lean and wiry. Since she could not defeat him in a contest of strength, surprise would work to her benefit. If she pretended to go along with him, he might well ease his hold. Then, she’d put the knife to use.
“Who is your employer?” she questioned, betraying no emotion. “I will not be able to conduct a reading under duress.”
“What ye do once he’s got ye makes no difference t’me.” One hand darted from her shoulder to manacle her wrist. Thank heavens the bloody fool hadn’t seen fit to tether the hand holding the weapon.
She’d give the ruffian one last chance before putting the knife to use. Before she plunged the razor sharp blade into his thigh, she’d give his instep a good taste of her boot heel. “Release me before you’ve cause for regret.”
“Ye’re the one who’s goin’ t’be sorry. Come with me now, peaceful-like, or I promise—”
“Promises so soon? Haven’t the two of you just met?” A man’s voice cut through the night, smooth as fine brandy, confident and commanding.
And all too familiar.
Awareness jolted through her. She did not need to see the speaker to know who stood behind her.
The pale thug’s mouth stretched into a grotesque travesty of a grin. “Well, well, what’ve we got ’ere. Who the ’ell do ye think ye are?”
Stanwyck stepped into her line of sight. Blast it, what was the infernal man doing here? She had the situation well in hand. She certainly had no need of an exceedingly arrogant Sir Lancelot charging to the rescue. Did he think to overpower the man with his wry wit?
Drat the luck. Any display of her skill at self-defense would shatter her disguise. She could not take that chance. For the moment, at least, she’d play the damsel in distress.
Regarding the pale man as if a wharf rat had gained the ability to speak, Stanwyck cocked his head, observing him almost casually. “I was about to ask you the same question. I stopped at my club for a drink and decided to venture back to conclude a spot of unfinished business with the lady you are presently holding. Imagine my surprise when I came upon the two of you. Quite fortuitous, I would say.”
“Fortu—” The thug shook his pale head.
“Lucky,” Stanwyck said drolly. “I’d sensed the lady was drawn to intellectual types. Hence, the attraction between the two of you.”
The pale man dragged Sophie against him. She clutched the knife. If the situation went against Stanwyck, she might need to put the weapon to use. She could not allow the criminal to kill a man who came to her defense, even a man as infuriating as Gavin Stanwyck.
Fighting her captor’s relentless, stench-ridden hold, she cast dagger-filled eyes at Stanwyck. “This is scarcely the time for humor.”
Stanwyck cocked a brow. “You suggest a more direct approach?”
Her eyes widened. Did he believe he could charm the rotter who held her prisoner in his grasp? Had Stanwyck enjoyed enough liquor in the short time since they’d parted company to deplete his logic entirely?
“I’ll take that for a ‘yes,’” he said, not waiting for her to answer. He slanted the hulk a glance. “Is that your interpretation?”
“Bugger off.” The man seemed to look past Stanwyck. “Reggie, for Chrissake, get this son of a bitch outta ’ere.”
Stanwyck rubbed his jaw, seeming to process the implication of the bastard’s words. He swiveled, facing the squat, dour-faced man from the alley. His gaze darted to the gun in the brute’s right hand. A smile flickered on Stanwyck’s mouth. “Ah, you must be Reggie.”
The stout ruffian pressed the gun to his ribs. “That’s what I like about gentlemen, Jack. So bleedin’ clever, the whole damned lot of ’em.”
“Actually, most of my associates would likely soil themselves if confronted with a weapon.” Droll amusement colored Stanwyck’s tone. His attention dropped to the revolver prodding his middle. “Unfortunately for you, I am not one of them.”
With a grunt, he whipped around. His elbow plowed into Reggie’s jowls.
“Oomph!” The thug stumbled backward, sputtering curses. He raised his weapon.
Stanwyck’s fist slammed into the hoodlum’s nose.
A howl tore from Reggie’s throat.
