A Question for Harry (25 page)

“I’ll wager you ten pounds that I can best you in a footrace to the Café Royal,” he challenged, hoping to rouse her competitive spirit
.

Or her anger
. Either one would do. “There’s no chance you could win, of course.”

“A race
? How ridiculous, Harry. How can you…”

Too late for games, Aylesbury thought looking over his shoulder to find the three t
oughs wending their way through the crowded sidewalks. “Devil take it, Fiona. Run!”

Chapter
Twenty-Seven

From the diary of Lady Fiona MacKintosh – Apr 1893

I’m never sorry for much. And I abhor admitting when I’m wrong about something. I’m not saying that I was, of course, just that I hate to admit it.

Responding to the urgency in his voice, Fiona thankfully didn’t think to question him but sprang into a sprint, lifting her skirts high as she went, but with her parasol also clutched in one hand, her petticoats kept slipping from her grasp. “Drop the bloody parasol, Fiona!”

“Don’t be ridiculous
!”

Aylesbury snorted and quickened his step and s
he kept pace with him as he accelerated, testing her limits. “Good girl.”

She didn’t speak but merely tossed him a dry look before she leapt
ahead of him like a gazelle, daring him to keep up. God bless that love of the outdoors, Aylesbury thought, as they gained ground and distance. Fiona’s natural athleticism and a life on the Highlands outstripped the endurance of the Londoners who had done little more than breath in the stale air of the city their entire lives.

A glance over his shoulder showed their pursuers losing ground but despite her competitive spirit and the urgency of their situation, Aylesbury could feel Fiona’s energy flagging as their feet pounded against the cobbles.

“Can’t… breathe…” she panted and Aylesbury cursed the corset that bound her. Grabbing her hand, he jerked her around the corner at the next street. Choosing a door about half way down the street, he pulled her to a halt and thrust her into the small shop. With any luck, when their pursuers finally made the street they would assume Fiona had already turned the next corner and continue on.

He drew her away from the windows, watching and waiting.

If luck were not on their side, they would need to keep moving. Loosening the constricting tightness of his tie, Aylesbury drew a deep breath and wished he could do the same for her. Fiona’s hand was pressed against her narrow waist as she sucked in one slow breath after another as deeply as she could while she paced deeper into the store.

She was a true athlete, he thought proudly
. A real goer. He couldn’t have loved her more than he did in that moment.

“What a lovely little shop,” she said between breaths
. “Did you see these gloves here, Harry? Aren’t they just divine?”

“We’re running for our lives here, Fiona,” he reminded but couldn’t quite kee
p the laughter out of his voice.

“Nonsense,” she replied, her wide grin flashing in bright contrast to her flushed cheeks
. “I’m running for my life. You’re simply tagging along.”

“Can I help you, my lord
? My lady?” a sales clerk asked from behind them. Even in their sweaty, bedraggled state, he clearly saw them for what they were. He eyed Fiona with perhaps more appreciation than the marquis, but Aylesbury thought that was understandable. Dewy with a light sweat, Fiona was fairly glowing and the clerk flushed when she turned to the clerk, blessing him with a bright smile. “I beg your pardon, but is there a back door perhaps?”

“Of course, my lady, it’s in the back
.” The clerk pointed to the rear of the building without taking his eyes from her.

“Of course it is,” Fiona smiled ironically, but produced a dimple for the besotted clerk
as she unpinned her hat and smoothed her hair. “You have a darling shop and I would love to come back again another time but we’re in a bit of a rush. Do you mind?”

“No, no,” he
hurried to assure her. Moving a stack of crates to the side, the clerk cleared a path for her. “This way, my lady. Right this way.”

“Thank you
…?”

“Thomas, my lady.”

The dimple flashed again and the clerk nearly tripped over his own feet. “Thomas, thank you,” Fiona cooed so flirtatiously that Aylesbury wanted nothing more than to knock Thomas’ teeth through the back of his skull … after he throttled his lady for flirting so. “You are so kind to help.”

“Not at all, my lady!”
Thomas stammered, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously.

“And if I might ask, if you would be so kind to… shall we say, misdirect anyone who might come in looking for us
?” she continued, batting her lashes as they reached the door. “Oh and would you mind holding back those darling blue kid leather gloves as well?”

“I shall be happy to
, my lady.”

“You’re very sweet,” Fiona added, patting the young man’s cheek as she passed
.

“And you’re a veritable minx,” Aylesbury whispered in her ear as he
took her hand in his and led her down the alley behind the shop.

“I said nothing that wasn’t true!” Fiona protested
with a grin, clearly pleased with his jealous pique. “It
was
a lovely shop, the gloves would match one of my habits perfectly, and I would like to come back another time.”

“If you’re alive,” he pointed out.

“Well, it would be difficult otherwise, wouldn’t it?”

She looked remarkably cheerful as she said it and Aylesbury was hard put to recall the seriousness of their position
. “Show a little respect for the peril we are in, won’t you?”

“I’m sorry, Harry,”
she said penitently.

Aylesbury pulled off his hat and slapped it against his thigh in a move Fiona was beginning to recognize
that signaled the outer periphery of his patience. Funny that seeing him hovering on the brink of intolerance had somehow become rather endearing.

“My God, you’re actually enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Of course not.
”

Fiona eyed him from head to toe, loving the way his usually neat hair was tousled from their mad dash
. His blue eyes were as bright as beacons and she could see the pulse pounding at the base of his neck through his open collar. Involuntarily she reached out and ran a finger down the pulsing line. “Well not the bit that prompted us to flee in any case but … Well, I haven’t run in an age. It’s quite rousing, isn’t it?” she whispered, surprised at the huskiness of her voice.

Aylesbury must have been as well though he recovered quickly enough
. His eyes darkened, focusing on her parted lips and Fiona’s tongue darted out to moisten them prompting a low groan from him. “
Now
you look at me like that?” he asked throatily, taking her hat from her hand and tossing it aside.

Shoving his fingers into the thick mass of her hair, Aylesbury grasped her head in his hand and pulled her forcibly to him, lifting her against him as he bent his head to take her lips in a hard kiss
. Fiona parted her lips, inviting him in as she wound her arms around his neck. “Oh my, Harry,” she gasped against his lips when his hand closed over her breast, kneading fervidly.

Trembling with the force of the hot lust that streaked through her, Fiona knew that she wouldn’t have car
ed a bit if Aylesbury tossed up her skirts right there in the alley and took her up against the brick wall. Primal satisfaction pounded through her veins. She had never felt so alive, so victorious … so ready to surrender.

Aylesbury must have sensed it as well
. He growled triumphantly low in his throat, the turgid evidence of his arousal pulsating at the apex of her thighs as he lifted her against him. “God, I want you, Fiona,” he whispered gruffly. “You have no idea how desperately.”

If her own desire was any indication, Fiona rather thought she did
. Kissing her again more tenderly, Aylesbury eased her away with a long-suffering groan. “This is not the time.”

“I know,” she nodded with a blush.

Stroking her cheek tenderly, he brushed one last kiss across her lips. “Don’t be self-conscious with me, darling girl. Ever. I love your passion. And in a time of danger, it’s normal. It’s exciting. You feel incredibly alive, yes? I feels good, doesn’t it?”

Aylesbury smiled down at her as she nodded, brushing back the hair at her temples
. “Now you know exactly what I feel each time I look at you.”

 
Fiona gaped at him, a poignant ache seizing her heart. “Oh …”

“Take heart,” he rushed on with a roguish grin. “At least you aren’t left sporting the evidence of your ardor for all the world to see.”

Fiona looked down involuntarily, noting the bulge straining against the front of his trousers
. She blushed again, this time from resisting the overwhelming urge to touch him.

He must have guessed her thoughts for Aylesbury exhaled shakily
. “You’ll drive me to Bedlam one day, mark my words.”

Amusement returned and Fiona grinned up at him
. “I promise to visit you.”

Aylesbury groaned and joined in her laughter
. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

“Home, ye say?” a thick Cockneyed voice said
. “But I was jus’ beginnin’ to enjoy the show.”

Chapter
Twenty-Eight

From the Diary of Lady Fiona MacKintosh – May 1895

Long ago, I might have once mentioned my views on being wrong about anything. I’ve rarely admitted it and even if I were in the wrong, I cannot recall ever regretting it even so.

Well, today I was ever so wrong about something
. I thought I could thumb my nose at the world without consequence. Today I’ve realized just what those consequences might be … and it would not be worth it.

Fiona stared at the thug at the end of the alley, torn between the mortification of knowing her passionate exchange with Harry had been witnessed and the alarm the sight of her pursuer inspired. Short but thick and muscular, he held a knife in one hand and a short cudgel in the other. Luckily, he appeared to be alone. The brutes must have split up to look for them. Looking around, she searched for a weapon or an escape.

“Oi, yer not goin’ to run from ol’ Crumpky again, are ye poppet?”

“Mr. Crumpky, really,” Fiona said coolly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Of course  we intend to run.”

Next to her, Aylesbury made a choking sound that might have been incredulity or laughter
. “Stay back, Fiona,” he murmured, holding out his arm in front of her as if the barrier might protect or restrain her. “I’ll take care of this.”

Fiona blinked in astonishment
. “You can’t think to fight him, Harry! He’s armed. What are you going to do, throw you’re A-levels at him?”

Aylesbury grinned at that
. “Do you think that would work?”

“Humph
! Now who’s enjoying themselves?” she muttered but Aylesbury was already walking slowly toward their assailant, his empty hands held out slightly from his sides. Had she truly missed the devil may care side of him?

“Crumpky, is it?” Aylesbury drawled
. “Tsk, tsk, what an unfortunate name. Well, Crumpky, old chap, we’re at a bit of an impasse here, are we not?”

“An impasse?” Crumpky tested the word
. “Wot’s that?”

“A stand off
. A stalemate, if you will. You see, I cannot allow my fiancée to be dragged out of an alleyway.” The marquis wandered closer. “And yet you want to drag her away. You do know you would have to? She isn’t one to go quietly.”

“All ready noted, gov
. Bloodied my nose, she did.”

“Then why not let us pass?” Aylesbury asked amiably, still sauntering closer
. “You return to your band of merry men, pretend you didn’t see us. You’ll never get a cent from her in any case.”

“Sorry, gov,” Crumpky said, rotating the cudgel in his hand
. “I ain’t lookin’ to ’er for me nickel. Now stay back there.”

“I’m afraid I cannot do that
.” Aylesbury waited until Crumpky lifted the cudgel to strike and dodged in, grabbing the ruffian’s wrist and twisting him about while arching back out of the range of the knife as it swung about. The blade caught his jacket, tearing through it with an audible rip.

Pulling Crumpky’s arm up as he rotated, Aylesbury wrenched his wrist and forced the cudgel from his hand
. Palming it, he lunged forward, slamming the butt end of the club into the thug’s gut and upward into the bottom of his jaw when Crumpky doubled over from the blow. His head snapped back, his chest bowing outward. Aylesbury wrapped his fist around the cudgel and threw a right cross with it into that broad target.

Crumpky fell
to the ground, gasping for air with a hand pressed to his chest. Stepping down on the man’s wrist, Aylesbury jerked the knife from his hand and pocketed it as Crumpky continued to wheeze. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” Aylesbury asked pleasantly. “You never would have thought that a fellow could learn as much in the dormitories at Cambridge as you do on the streets, eh?”

“Harry
! Are you all right?” Fiona asked, rushing to his side.

“I am,” he assured her
. “Our friend here is having some trouble breathing though. We need to secure him so that he can’t follow when he recovers.”

“
Let’s cut off his legs below the knee,” she suggested, glaring down at Crumpky.

“
Perhaps something a little less extreme?” he countered, looking around the rubbish scattered through the alley for inspiration.

“Chop him into
wee bits?”

He grinned, every bit the old Harry that she remembered
. “What a bloodthirsty lass you are.”

Fiona smiled wickedly
. “Well, it would certainly keep him from following.”

“That it would,” he agreed
. “What do you think, Crumpky?”

Crumpky dragged in a deep, pained breath, clenching his chest
. “Ye bastard!”

“
Give me the knife, Harry,” Fiona demanded, holding out her hand. Aylesbury arched a brow and she sighed impatiently. “I’m not going to kill him … or cut of his legs.”

Taking the knife, she proceeded to gut the basting holding the three rows of black military braiding around the bottom of her skirt
. Once begun, she was able to rip them away easily. Aylesbury took the lengths one at a time, binding Crumpky’s feet and hands.

“We’ll leave him here and call the authorities once we get home,” he told her
. “They can come back for him. Sorry, Crumpky old chap, fellows like you always get their comeuppance.”

To his surprise, Crumpky grinned up at him, baring tobacco-stained teeth
. “So will ye, gov.”

“Harry, watch out!” Fiona cried out and Aylesbury rolled to the side but not quickly enough as the blade of a knife slid across the back of his neck.

Aylesbury wiped a hand across the area, his hand coming away with only a smear of blood. It wasn’t bad then. Rolling unto his back, he found one of Crumpky’s cohorts coming at him again and threw up a foot to block him, sending the thug lurching to the side. Aylesbury leapt to his feet, warily watching the knife as the man steadied himself for another attack. This one was a huge, hairy brute with a bush of dark, scraggly hair that might have been home to any number of small creatures and a beard even more suspect.

“Harry
, here!” Fiona was holding Crumpky’s knife out to him. While it would have been nice to have it, Aylesbury wasn’t about to leave her defenseless should something go awry. Though this ruffian was only an inch or so taller than he, he outweighed Aylesbury by a trice of stones easily. He could only hope it was more fat than muscle.

“Keep it!”

“Keep it?” she repeated in disbelief. “Do you feel like you needed a bigger challenge?”

Aylesbury huffed humorously, palming the short cudgel once more
. “You’re about to end up like your friend,” he warned the newcomer.

“I doubt that,” the big fellow grumbled, stalking forward
.

While a daunting sight, Aylesbury took heart
. Obviously the thug had been hired for his menacing appearance and no doubt murderous skills, but he was lumbering and slow. A brawler, no doubt. He would be dangerous in close combat. Luckily Aylesbury was something of an out-fighter when it came to boxing, using his speed, quick reflexes and longer reach to strike from a distance and dance away from what would surely be a felling blow if the brawler managed to land a punch with those meaty fists.

But Aylesbury had some added meat to his own fist with the cudgel in hand
. The club added weight and a rock-like solidity to his punches as he threw brisk snapping jabs, catching the brute on the cheek, jaw and nose in rapid succession. Ducking under the thug’s swinging arm, Aylesbury bounced hard punches off the man’s ribs and kidneys as he circled. The knife arced down again, catching Aylesbury across the back of the hand.

Fiona gasped but thankfully did not give into distracting and decidedly unhelpful squeals and screams as other ladies might.

Shaking the sting off, the marquis contemplated his next move. While he was wearing his opponent down, he wasn’t doing enough damage to ensure a successful getaway and there was still the third man out there somewhere to worry over. The brute swept a paw forward again, catching Aylesbury’s collar and dragging him closer, his beefy arm looping around Aylesbury’s neck. Knowing there would be no escape if he were so caught, Aylesbury dropped to his knees and sent the cudgel straight into the man’s groin.

The Marquis of Queensbury would not approve
, but Aylesbury could only be as fair as his opponent intended to be. Borrowing a move from the man’s repertoire, Aylesbury wrapped his arm around the thug’s thick neck and braced himself as the man tried to pull him off. It took a while, longer than he thought before the giant felt first to his knees and then to the ground.

Dusting himself off, Aylesbury watched the unconscious man to make sure he stayed so
. Even Crumpky was eyeing him in surprise.

“A knife,” Fiona said fiercely, waving the weapon at him
until he took it. “A knife would have ended all of this much faster.”

“I didn’t want to kill him,” Aylesbury said as Fiona drew a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at the blood dripping from his neck.

“Why not? He would have killed you.”

Crumpky chuckled at that.

“Be quiet!” both Fiona and Aylesbury snapped.

“Come on,” Aylesbury took her hand
. “We need to go.”

“Very… Ahh!” Fiona cried out as the giant brute grabbed her by the ankle
. Turning she raised her parasol and brought it down on his head where it cracked soundly. “Oh! Look what you made me do!” With a screech of fury, she beat him with it again and again until it was nothing but sad spindles and tattered violet silk.

Still the brute grabbed at her skirts and pulled her to the ground
. Fiona struggled against him until he suddenly went limp, falling on to his back and Fiona froze staring at the knife protruding from his chest. She scrambled back but Aylesbury lifted her into his arms and turned her away.

“Did you
…? Is he…?”

“I doubt it,” Aylesbury said grimly, leading her away
. “Big bear like that, he’ll probably be even more angry when he wakes up.”

“Harry
…”  Fiona looked up at his face, as stony as if it had been set in granite. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

“Don’t be
. He ruined your parasol, after all.”

Fiona groaned, unable to find any humor in their situation any longer
. “Please, let’s just go home.”