You’re no better than us. If you want to stay in ‘is lordship’s bed, you’ll share what you’re getting’ with your old friends.”
“You’re wrong,” she said, protesting desperately. “And I owe you nothing.”
The bully holding Robinson moved and although she couldn’t follow his movements, he had a knife in his hand. He touched it to the maid’s cheek and a bead of blood appeared. Robinson squeaked as she stifled her scream, and stared at the knife, her eyes. Bulging as she strained to keep them in focus.
“We ‘ave a special way of decorating our women when they don’t please us,” said Cockfosters, his tone low and menacing.
“Want to know what it is?” He didn’t take his gaze off her, stared at her as though he was Mesmer himself and she one of his hapless victims. “We stick it in the fleshy part of the cheek and just—scoop out the soft bit. Never looks nice. Leaves a nasty scar, like the face
‘as fallen in. Wouldn’t want that to happen, would we?”
Terror had her in its grip, however she fought internally to break free. She couldn’t think straight, not beyond this hateful beast and what he meant to her. He’d menaced her husband, and he’d come back for her. He’d done that before, and once was enough to persuade her not to linger. She’d left some of her most precious possessions behind, including the twenty guineas she’d saved up for a rainy day.
“What do you want?”
“Money. At first. Nothing you can’t afford, now you’re a countess. Diddle that pretty husband of yours, milk a few more golden boys out of him.” He shifted on to his other foot, bringing him closer. “Oh yes, I know who he is, too. Remember ‘im. But couldn’t get a handle on him, not then. I can now.”
“I doubt that,” said a new voice, drenching the scene in the cold water of rationality and reason.
After one, solitary cry, she clapped her hand to her mouth and gulped for breath. Her heart drummed as if released from a thrall and trying to compensate for lost time. How could he put himself in danger this way, why hadn’t he called the authorities? They’d kill him, or threaten him too, and then he’d get drawn in and—
She forced herself to stop thinking, her mind a rat-trap of horrific scenarios. The only way she could call a halt to her rising panic was to shut it down.
John stood on the half-landing where the stairs led down to the small area. How he’d achieved that without making the boards creak she didn’t know. Nor did she care. That he’d done it was enough. He held a pistol in one hand, primed and ready, and he’d shoved another into his waistband. He held the pistol trained on Cockfosters with the steady hand and eye of the professional soldier. Nobody would have any doubt that he would fire if it became necessary. A man waited behind him, the shadows not concealing the distinctive livery of the Graywoods or the flintlock he held. “Let the maid go and leave.”
Cockfosters eyed them, then glanced at his compatriot, who still gripped Robinson tightly. “What’ll you do? Kill me?”
“Without a second thought. As you’ve already charmingly pointed out, I’m an earl now. Whose word do you think the authorities will take?”
Cockfosters swivelled to face John, thrusting out his chest defiantly. “Glad you’re ‘ere, saves me saying it twice. You pay or I talk. Clear?”
“Pay? Not a chance.”
“Doesn’t ‘ave to be money. We ‘ave a few interests in common, my lord. ” He said the words contemptuously, finishing with a noxious gob of spit, which landed on the stones at his feet.
“F’r’instance, some dockers down where you’ve been this morning
‘elp me sometimes. I could have little accidents happening. Falls from the riggin’, maybe, or some crushed ‘ands and legs.” His implication was obvious. “I can provide protection to stop that.”
He paused, and lowered his voice. “Sometimes people get lost overboard.”
Faith gasped. Could John have done it? The answer returned as fast. No. She refused to believe it.
John’s attention turned to her for a split second, and in that moment, several things happened. Someone shoved her forward, so she sprawled over the floor, then something soft and heavy slammed on top of her, robbing her of breath. A scurry of footsteps followed and a yell. “Help the lady!”
With difficulty, Faith rolled over, the inert body of her maid slumping to the floor beside her.
Oh God, was Robinson dead? Anxious to find out, Faith sat up but her head swam and she lost her balance, falling back.
A pair of strong arms were there to catch her. She didn’t have to look to know who the arms belonged to. Already familiar, she relaxed into them, relieved when Robinson groaned and tried to turn over. The footman sprang forward from his place behind John to examine her. “A cut on her face, not deep, apart from that, shock,” he said in matter-of-fact tones.
Faith cuddled in to John, pressed her cheek against his chest. She shook uncontrollably. Irritated that she’d lost control in such a humiliating way, she said nothing. He held her closer. “Did he hurt you?”
Menace laced his tones. She believed that if Cockfosters had done more than threaten her, John would have killed him. He cradled her gently but firmly, before he loosened one hand to run it over her body, checking, she presumed, for damage. “Not even a bruise,” she murmured, not daring to raise her voice above a whisper for fear the trembling would betray exactly how shaken she felt.
“Hush, sweetheart, let me care for you. Do you think you can stand, or shall I carry you?”
She had no doubt he could lift her easily, but the thought of being carried through the busy Exchange made her cringe internally. “I can stand,” she said as determinedly as she could manage, although in reality she had no such certainty.
However, with his arm around her waist, she managed to get on her feet creditably. Only a stumble or two. He waited until she could balance on her own and then offered his arm as support.
“Lean as hard as you need to. I won’t falter.”
She already knew that.
Most of the occupants of the Exchange remained oblivious when the new Earl and Countess of Graywood crossed the cobbled floor on the way to their carriage. He tenderly assisted her to climb in before following her and the vehicle set off as soon as the earl closed the door. Nobody noticed that the footman and maid who accompanied them were no longer present. John had given swift instructions to take them to Grosvenor Square by a different route, the better to avoid gossip.
Once in the carriage John put an arm around Faith and held her tightly against him. “No words, not yet. Wait until we get home.”
Glancing down, she saw a rip in her new gown and that proved enough to trigger the tears she’d tried so hard to hold back. He let her cry until they left the confines of the City. Then he took his own handkerchief and mopped up the worst of it. When they arrived at their destination, she was merely damp and tousled.
He alighted before her. As soon as they were indoors, he swept her into his arms and headed up the stairs, barking orders for hot water and tea. He didn’t stop until they arrived in her room, and he’d laid her carefully on the bed. He stripped off his coat and sat next to her, brushing away her hands when she tried to undo her bonnet ribbons. “I’ll do that. We’ll say, if you please, that you had a fall. The floors of the Exchange can be uneven, and you took a tumble.”
Relieved that he didn’t intend to announce her predicament to all and sundry, Faith let out a shaken breath. Her tears had gone.