Page 9 of How to Win a Duke’s Heart

She swiveled toward him, her tormented blue eyes huge and, for once, filled with indecision.

“Roni, run. Run, Roni!” her father called, racing toward her, fear rendering him hoarse.

Longer-legged, Evan passed him in a trice. With a gravelly, guttural shout, he seized Sophronie in his arms and bolted in the other direction.

The firework exploded a second later, sending debris and cinders over his back and head. Once more, women shrieked, men shouted curses, bairns wailed, and horses screamed in terror.

By God, Evan would have those miscreants charged with reckless endangerment and any other crime he could think of.

Sophronie cried out and strained against him.

Had she been burned?

Hot sparks seared Evan’s head and ears. His hat had fallen off when he’d charged toward her.

The shouting and shrieking continued to permeate the air.

“Papa.” Sophronie struggled like a madwoman in Evan’s arms. “Papa! Put me down, you brute. Papa’s hurt.”

Slowly, Evan pivoted, his attention snagging on the prostrate man.

His breath stuck in his throat.

George Slater lay motionless, pale as chalk, with blood gushing from a head wound.