After the Kiss by Suzanne Enoch

Author:Suzanne Enoch [Suzanne Enoch]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780061983252
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2012-07-14T07:04:10+00:00

Chapter 15

Sullivan stifled a yawn. He generally enjoyed the early mornings, and particularly those when he attended Tattersall’s horse market, but this morning he would rather have arrived early at Chalsey House. Bram hadn’t bothered to return after the ball to report on Isabel’s reception there, and he’d tossed and turned all night imagining her ruination.

A light fog blended ground with sky, the stables and auction pens gray and gloomy despite the flurry of men and horses around them. He listened for anything interesting, but most of the men about the paddocks at this hour were stableboys and grooms, and even if there was any good ton gossip to be had, they probably wouldn’t have it. Not yet, anyway.

One of his sale animals came up behind him in the holding pen to nuzzle his shoulder. “You want an apple already?” he asked, digging one out of his pocket as he turned around. “Here you go, Ariadne.”

The pretty chestnut mare nickered, taking the fruit from his hand and munching down on it. If people were as easy to decipher as horses, he could have been king by now, he reflected with a short grin, patting Ariadne on the neck.

The shovel handle caught him in the back of the knees, sending him to the ground almost before he realized he’d been struck. Instinctively Sullivan rolled sideways, grabbing the sturdy railing of the pen to help him to his feet again. Four men advanced on him, none of them familiar, and all of them armed with shovels.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said darkly, crouching, the old battle lust stirring his blood. “Apparently we have a disagreement. Care to tell me what it is?”

“You need to learn to keep to your own kind, boy,” the largest of them growled, swinging the shovel at him.

Sullivan blocked it with his forearm, closing in to deliver a hard jab to his attacker’s throat. With a gurgle the fellow dropped. Grabbing the shovel out of the man’s hand, Sullivan swept the second cove’s legs out from under him. A shovel slammed across his back, stunning him. He swung again as he stumbled forward, connecting with someone’s arm. A handle cracked across the side of his head, and he went down into the dirt.

Damnation. Where the devil were his own lads? Rolling over onto his back, he blocked another blow and slammed the head of the shovel into someone’s gut. As he scrambled to his feet, he caught sight of a figure standing at the corner of the stable building. With a grim smile Oliver Sullivan ducked out of sight.

The attack abruptly made sense—though the knowledge didn’t make it any less painful. He struck out again, whipping sideways to catch one of them with his elbow. They might be hired ruffians, but he’d been a soldier for four of the past five years. The gouge in his thigh ached, but he ignored it.

They’d obviously come to hurt him, but had they come to kill him? He didn’t think so, or that first blow would have been to the back of his head rather than to his legs.

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