Page 3 of A Relentless Rake

The masked stranger stepped back to ready himself for a new charge from the remaining attacker. The brute swung, and a lucky fist landed against the side of his masked face. The hard blow snapped back his head and sent him reeling.

But as the masked man staggered back, he dropped onto his rear foot, spun in a circle, and slashed the short sword in a fierce arc. The tip of the blade sliced through the attacker’s jacket and into his waistcoat beneath, but the carefully controlled thrust stopped a hairsbreadth from touching flesh.

The brute froze and paled instantly. His only movement was a jerking, terrified breath and a wet spot that formed at his crotch. He turned and ran.

The masked man’s shoulders sagged from the exertion of the fight. His arm dropped to his side, and his broad chest rose and fell beneath his black tunic with each heavy pant as he labored to catch his breath.

When he finally turned to face her, his eyes gleamed like the devil’s own.

Olivia’s breath strangled in her throat. He’d saved her from the attackers. But who was going to save her fromhim?

Terrified, she ran.

He caught her before she reached the end of the alley. He grabbed her around the waist, swung her off her feet in a circle, and pushed her back against the stone wall. He shifted forward to trap her between his large body and the building as he quickly sheathed his blade in the thin scabbard at his waist.

With a cry, she shoved at him.Useless!All her strength wasn’t enough to move him back, not even enough to make him sway off-balance.

“I’ve got a knife,” she warned as fiercely as possible despite her shaking knees. “Iwilluse it!”

He laughed at her. The deep sound only angered her more.

Olivia raised the knife over her head. The blade was poised ready to slash downward if he reached for her, if he dared to touch her. Closing her eyes, she steeled herself for the sickening puncture of flesh—

He clasped her wrist and pinned her arm to the wall above her head. She gasped. God help her, she couldn’t move!

But the blasted devil only grinned, as if he found her threat to stab him simply adorable.

“Never strike with a knife from overhead,” he instructed in a rough whisper that Olivia instinctively knew was meant to disguise his voice, just as the mask hid his face. Yet the deep sound trickled through her like a warm summer rain. “You’re a petite and slender woman…delicate and fine-boned.”

She swallowed. Hard. He certainly didn’t mean that as flattery, yet the words fell from his sensuous lips so easily, so smoothly, that a corresponding pull triggered low in her belly. Oh, this man was dangerous! In so many ways…

“You’re not strong enough to score more than a glancing blow, and you’ll put yourself off-balance. Always strike low instead. Like this.” He lowered her arm and positioned the knife between them until the tip of the blade pointed at his stomach. “Let the attacker use his own force against himself. Let him run into the knife.”

Her chest squeezed as his hand covered hers on the handle and kept the knife positioned low between their bodies. He turned her hand slowly back and forth to show her how to work it.

“Do you feel that?” he murmured. “How smooth and steady to stroke the blade?” His mouth was so close to hers that his breath tickled warmly against her lips, even as hers came fast and shallow. “As soon as you feel the tip puncture the skin, twist the blade and slash hard.”

His velvety smooth voice contradicted the violence of his instructions, as did the smooth way he continued to work his hand over hers at the handle. The gesture was indecent…and thrillingly irresistible.

“Cause as much damage as possible, and keep causing damage until you’re certain the bastard is unable to hurt you.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, and she caught her breath, suspecting for a heartbeat that he wanted to kiss her. “Then, when you have him down, kick him.”

Her head swam. Was he giving her a lesson on fighting or attempting to seduce her? With the way his hand continued to stroke suggestively over hers on the knife handle, for the life of her she couldn’t have said which.

“And if you’re going to bother bringing a knife with you”—he wrenched it from her hand and held it up in front of her with a sarcastic twitch of his lips—“make it a real knife. Not something you’d use to carve a roast chicken.”

He dropped it. It clanged against the stones at their feet.

“Who are you?” she whispered hoarsely, too unsettled to find her voice to speak properly.

“I should ask the same of you.” He straightened away from her yet didn’t step back far enough that she could escape, and the amused gleam vanished from his eyes. Apparently, the time for play—and fighting lessons—was over. “And why are you in a dark city alley where you don’t belong?”

Her lips pressed tightly together. She had no intention of telling him anything. He might have saved her life tonight, but he was just as dangerous as the men he’d chased away. Worse—the men who’d attacked her hadn’t worn masks.

What was he hiding? Was he connected to Henry’s disappearance?

“After all, you’re a long way from Vine Street in Westminster, Miss Everett.”

The ground dropped away beneath her, and she grabbed at the wall behind her to keep from falling away. How did he know…? “Whatdid you say?”