A Dangerous Man by Connie Brockway

Author:Connie Brockway [Brockway, Connie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-307-76831-5
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2010-11-30T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

“I said run!” Hart shouted angrily.

“Right,” Mercy shot back. “Do you suggest I run to that big ox or would you rather I ran to our smiling friend with the oily hair?”

“This isn’t any time for sarcasm,” he returned.

“Right again,” she said sarcastically. “Once more and we’ll have to see about a trophy.”

“Look,” he said, shoving a finger under her nose, “if you hadn’t been so damn eager to inform everyone in Soho that we were carrying cash, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

He was right—yet again—but it only made her angrier. She wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he’d tried to land on her when he jumped out the window.

“If you had asked the right questions in the first place—”

“ ’Ere now,” the hulking figure of the doorman said in a confused voice. “You two off yer blinkin’ rockers?”

“Daft as two-headed dogs,” one of his cohorts said.

“Bickerin’ like me an’ me old lady and them but one jump away from Old Nick’s trident,” another added.

“Oh, do shut up,” Hart flung out.

“You stupid buggers!” Ned spat, shouldering his way past the men and advancing toward them. “They’re just playin’ fer time, ’oping the coppers’ll show. Well, ain’t no copper goin’ to show ’ere, laddy,” he sneered, pulling a short, stout cudgel from his rear pocket and dancing its heavy-looking head up and down in his palm.

“God, I hate fisticuffs,” Hart muttered, shooting her a condemning glare. “And this time you’d damn well better run when I say run,” he added.

The men prowled forward, their faces intent, splitting into two factions and flanking Hart and Mercy. Ned swaggered ahead of them, quickly closing the gap between them.

“Don’t move!” Mercy shouted, fumbling in her coat pocket. She made certain her voice carried, each word distinct. It was the tone she’d used when shouting “git” at a coyote scouting the henhouse. It had the same effect.

Or maybe it was the sight of the Colt revolver she pulled from her coat pocket that brought the group—including Ned—skittering to a halt. It didn’t really matter. Their mouths dropped open, eyes widening with uncertainty. Even Hart was staring at her.

“Forgot I had it, didn’t you?” she asked him.

“Yes. I must admit I did.” She could have sworn that he gave a short, rueful smile.

“And”—she continued to address him, her eyes fixed on the shuffling, scowling ruffians a few yards before them—“I suppose we can safely be said to have rethought our stand on it not being necessary to ‘pack an iron’ in London?”

“Hm.”

The men looked to Ned for some clue as to how to go on. Ned was otherwise occupied. He was staring at the gun four inches from his forehead so intently his eyes were crossed.

“Now,” she said to the men, watching Ned’s sweating face, “unless you want to find out what an American lady does when confronted by ruffians with untoward designs on her person, I suggest you leave.” She offered a prayer of thanks that she wasn’t stuttering with fear. Regardless of how steady her hand was, her knees felt as though at any second they would start banging together.

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