Page 44 of An Extraordinary Lord

Veronica glanced up into the dark night sky as the bell of St Sepulchre’s Church struck out the midnight hour. What she noticed most, though, wasn’t the time but the sky.

The night sky shone clear as glass. A field of stars and full moon lit the city streets so brightly that they cut through the foggy haze that always hovered over London. She certainly didn’t need any of those fancy gas lamps that lined the avenues in the exclusive parts of London to make her way. Nor did she want even this much light. After all, there was safety in darkness.

She glanced into every dark alley and narrow passageway she passed, hunting but not finding. Yet she knew Merritt would be out here somewhere, because the same bright and clear night that made her hunt for him go more easily also increased the odds of another riot.

He hadn’t returned to Le Château Noir as she’d expected. The afternoon had slid by without him. Then evening had fallen, and the gentlemen had begun to arrive. Yet still no Merritt. Even Madame had seemed a bit preoccupied by his absence, although that was most likely due to her own worries regarding him. After all, the cat that caught the mouse was always the one the unfortunate mouse never saw coming.

So when nine o’clock came and Madame had to turn her attention fully to running the house and accommodating her clientele, Veronica left. She’d returned to the Court of Miracles, donned her fighting clothes, and headed into the night after him.

“How hard is it to find one man in a city this size?” she muttered sarcastically to herself, knowing she was looking for a needle in a haystack yet had to try anyway. One sharply witty, interesting, and dashing man. One who knew how to wield a sword as if it were an extension of himself. One who made her insides go molten with only a glance and a grin.

One unlike any she’d ever met before.

Blowing out a recriminating breath at herself for letting him get under her skin, she headed southeast and quickened her pace through the rabbit warren of streets in Cheapside and Walbrook where he would most likely be. She wasn’t worried about him. Heavens, why would she be? The blasted man was more than capable of taking care of himself. But if he’d gone after Smathers or Malmesbury, or if he’d done something even more foolish like circle back to speak to Danker again without her—

She halted and held her breath, cocked her head, and listened. The little hairs at her nape stood on end.

From a distance of several streets away, she could just barely make out the faint but familiar noises. Raised voices echoing off the stone buildings, the smashing of wood, a shattering of glass—a riot.

Her heart jumped into her throat. It knew before her head that she’d find Merritt there in the thick of it. Damn foolish men! Equal parts concern and exasperation grated at her as she raced toward the commotion.

On any other night, she would have remained behind the mob, to linger at the rear to capture those opportunistic men who weren’t part of the protests but used them to commit crimes. In the confusion of the melee, they could easily burglarize shops and warehouses, break through shutters and windows of houses to snatch whatever they could, and escape into the chaos of the mob. Easy pickings for a thief.Veryeasy pickings for a thief-taker.

But tonight, she raced ahead. She circled through the alleys and passageways to bring herself dangerously close to the front of the riot and to its leaders because that was where Merritt would be. With every panting breath and thumping heartbeat, she kept her eyes peeled for him.

A scream cut through the night. Her hand darted to the short sword at her side, and she sprinted toward the sound.

Merritt.

He stood halfway down one of the dark alleys that angled away from the main street. Lit by a stray slant of moonlight, his blade flashed as he held it in front of him and kept at bay four large men positioned around him in a semicircle. Behind him on the ground, a young woman with her dress half-torn from her body cowered against the stone wall.

Worry for him wrapped around Veronica’s spine. He’d rushed to place himself between the woman and her attackers. But he’d also backed himself into a corner at the end of the alley, cut off from the street and escape. The four men advanced in slow, swaying steps like a pack of circling wolves.

“Mrs. Fitzherbert,” she called out from the mouth of the alley to alert him that she was there. “We really must stop meeting like this.”

Glancing past the men, his gaze collided with hers. His fierce expression sliced into her like a shard of ice and ripped her breath away. It was a look of pure vengeance.

He tore his attention back to the four men as they continued to circle in front of him. They ignored her, most likely believing she was nothing but a weak woman who wouldn’t interfere, and kept their focus on Merritt as they looked for any weaknesses in him.Futile.He possessed none.

“Leave,” he ordered through clenched teeth. “Go home before I give you the justice you deserve.”

One of the men laughed.

Veronica commented sardonically, “Good to see you’ve got everything under control.”

His lips twisted into a strained smile. “Just giving them a false sense of confidence before I put them in their place.”

“And here I thought you were about to get your arse kicked.”

He flashed her a crooked grin, which knotted all the tiny muscles in her belly.

Then he lunged, so quickly the movement was almost a blur. He slashed the tip of his sword across the closest man’s arm, through his clothes, and into the muscle beneath.

The man bit out a venomous curse and clamped his hand over his arm. Blood seeped between his fingers.

Instead of attacking again, Merritt retreated farther back into the alley and past the woman who still sat huddled and sobbing in the shadows along the wall. The men followed after him like trained dogs.

Knowing what Merritt wanted her to do, Veronica darted forward. She took the woman by the arm and yanked her onto her feet. “Run!”