Page 70 of A Little Bit Dangerous
“We’ve company, Mr Chance.” Gibbs remained atop his box but nodded at the unmarked vehicle parked further along the dim street. “Two men left the tavern and disappeared into the alley leading to the warehouses near Rope Walk. They returned to wait on the street until the carriage arrived.”
Christian glanced at the vehicle, an ominous black shadow in the darkness. “How many men are inside?”
“There’s no telling. Only four, I’d say.”
Aramis stepped forward, looking pleased to have an opportunity to flex his fists. “We’re more than equipped to deal with them, though it depends how many men they have waiting in the tavern.”
Christian glanced at Isabella. He’d not risk her getting hurt in a brawl or shot by a stray lead ball. “Get inside the carriage, Isabella.” It was a command, not a suggestion. “Gibbs, take her somewhere safe, then return for us. There’s the chapel for the alms’ houses by the foundry.”
The lady jerked in response. “I’m not leaving you.”
If only she meant it.
If only she didn’t have her sights set on distant shores.
But as long as she was in London, her father posed a threat.
“You’re a liability, Miss Lawton,” Aramis snapped.
Although compelled to defend her, Christian knew Aramis was right. “I can’t protect you like this. There aren’t enough of us to hold back an army and prevent you from being taken hostage.”
Gibbs tutted. “A wise man knows when to retreat. I’d have told you all to climb into the carriage if I thought we were outnumbered.” He gestured to the vehicle. “It’s intimidation. That’s what this is.” Handing Isabella his riding crop, Gibbs added, “If some devil comes near you, miss, hit ’em hard. Take no prisoners.”
Isabella nodded. “Thank you, Mr Gibbs.” She turned to Christian, her brown eyes pleading to remain at his side. “I can protect myself. There’s no need to worry.”
But he did worry.
The deep ache in his heart warned of two things. He was in love with her. He’d likely been in love with her since watching her steal biscuits from the tree and hug the small parcels to her chest. Yet he knew he was going to lose her. He just didn’t know how or when.
“Please, Isabella.” He was not averse to begging.
But the decision was taken out of their hands.
Four men stepped out of the unmarked vehicle, their intention evident in their determined strides.
Isabella gasped. “Merciful Lord. It’s my father.” Her hand shot to her throat. “And … and the Conte di Barasian.”
Christian hissed a breath, his anger firing into a blistering rage. The foppish gentleman bore the King’s arrogance. Dressed impeccably in a mustard velvet coat, he walked with a silver-topped cane, a means to beat back peasants, not help steady his gait.
Lawton glared at Christian with reproachful eyes. “I’ve come for my damned daughter,” he growled, coming to an abrupt halt ten feet away.
“You can’t have her.” Christian would rather die than hand Isabella to this devil. “She’s of an age to make her own decisions. You have no claim.”
The conte couldn’t take his lecherous eyes off Isabella. “Bella,cara mia. We had an agreement.” He clicked his fingers to the fellow behind, who promptly handed the conte a scroll. “This is our marriage contract. The one you signed before fleeing Positano.”
“Marriage contract?” Isabella gripped the crop and pointed it at the conte. “If you’re referring to the paper you forced me to sign, I did so under duress. It’s in Italian. You said it related to me remaining in the villa.”
Unable to hide his shock, Christian’s head shot in her direction. Who signed something they couldn’t read? He wanted to whip her with his tongue for being so damn foolish. But Aaron had taught him to remain calm under pressure.
“Then prosecute her for breach of contract,” he snapped, convinced he could trust this woman. “I’m quite certain she has no intention of marrying you.”
To reinforce the point, Aramis stabbed his finger at the flamboyant conte. “I suggest you take your pampered arse back to Positano. Miss Lawton has been granted our protection. We’ve no qualms in thumping that crooked nose straight.”
Isabella touched Aramis briefly on the arm, a gesture of gratitude, but he firmed his jaw and whispered, “If you want to thank me, buy me a Cuban cigar, but never touch my arm again. I defended you for Christian’s sake. That doesn’t mean I trust you.”
Christian scowled at his brother.
But Isabella proved she could defend herself. “I’ve no money to buy you a cigar, sir, so you’ll take what you’re given.” She faced the conte. “The document is a means to frighten and intimidate me. You have a wife. You want a mistress. A puppet who does your bidding.”
