Page 36 of A Most Unlikely Lady
It would be impossible for them to get Worthington’s barouche from the queue of waiting carriages in time to track where the man went.
We’ll just have to leg it.
‘Come on, then!’ Her hand still in his, she made a mad dash toward Berkeley Square, tugging him along behind her.
It was thrilling to run pell-mell through the streets of London in the middle of the night, air rushing past her cheeks, Edward’s warm hand gripped in hers. She felt altogether unlike the Ivy Cavendale she knew. This was a brand-new creature entirely, and someone she preferred to the frightened miss hovering at the crowd’s edge.
It became quickly apparent her slippers were just as big a hindrance when running as they were for dancing. She paused, and Worthington’s brows rose with concern.
‘Are you well?’
Kicking off one shoe and then the other, she grinned. ‘I’m grand.’ She pulled him once more.
As they turned and came upon the square, they needed to make a choice. Peering down the dark street, it was impossible to know if he had turned onto Davies Street toward Oxford or taken Berkeley to Piccadilly.
‘We should each take a direction. I can head north toward Oxford and you south to Piccadilly.’ Ivy was breathless, but only because her corset was making it impossible to fully expand her chest.
‘No.’ Worthington’s growl took her by surprise.
‘Why ever not? It’s the only way to be sure we find him.’
‘I will not have you chasing a dangerous man down the dark streets of Mayfair alone.’
Ivy opened her mouth to argue, but he held up his finger to his lips, his head cocked to the side.
‘Did you just shush me?’ Ivy hissed.
The faint scuffle of feet to her right silenced her as she met Worthington’s gaze.
‘Piccadilly!’ They said in unison before they took off again.
While Ivy was quick, Worthington’s height and strength gave him an advantage, and he was slightly ahead of her when he suddenly skidded to a stop at the corner of Charles and Berkeley. Ivy crashed into him, but the man’s solid body barely moved. He reached back, putting a steadying hand on her hip but also ensuring she stayed behind him.
Ivy peered around his wide shoulders and saw the man she shot standing with a gun in his hand. The weapon was pointed at Worthington.
‘Drat,’ she muttered.
9
Edward had other words to say. Like,fucking bastard. Orworthless piece of shit. And he wasn’t sure if those insults should be directed to the man in front of him holding a pistol or to himself for putting Ivy in such danger. Either way, ‘Drat’ didn’t quite cover the depth of his emotions.
‘Stay behind me.’ He kept his voice low, and his eyes focused on the man in front of him.
‘Reach for your pocket, and I’ll shoot.’ The man’s voice broke on the last word, betraying his fear.
Edward’s dress jacket left no room for something as bulky as a pistol, so reaching for his pocket wouldn’t help in any case, but he kept his hands splayed out in front of him. Cursing himself for a fool, he imagined his favourite pistol, tucked safely away in his greatcoat, hanging in some wardrobe, no doubt, at Widow Lovemore’s mansion. They hadn’t stopped to collect their coats in the mad rush to capture this fiend. A fiend who now had the advantage of weaponry.
‘Hell and damnation.’
Yes, cursing will protect us from this desperate man with a gun. Bloody brilliant, Edward!
Never had he felt quite so useless as facing off against a superiorly armed man with only his body to act as a shield against any bullets seeking to rip through Ivy’s fragile body.
Perhaps bluffing will work.
‘Listen to me, young man. I am the Commissioner of Scotland Yard. My men are only moments away. If you surrender now, things will go much better for you.’ He kept his hand in front of him, like he could hold off the bullets with his flattened palm.
‘Bollocks! If your men are so close, why did you drag a lady with you? Why not leave her behind where some of your people could keep her safe?’ The man’s left hand shook and, with it, the pistol he was holding in a tight grip.
