Captive Of Sin Part 5

Three.

Guvnor, we got trouble."

Gideon looked up from the dregs of his ale to meet Tulliver's worried eyes. A shock to see him anything but imperturbable.

"What is it, Tulliver?" He set his tankard on the table. He sat in the darkest corner of the inn. And the coldest. The benches around him were empty. On this frigid day, the occupants of the long room crowded around the fire blazing at the other end. But even so, all these people sharing his s.p.a.ce, his air, left him jumpy, on edge.

Of course, he knew what Tulliver would say before the man spoke.

"The la.s.s. She's gone."

Tulliver had been on watch outside the room. Gideon didn't need to ask whether she'd got out that way. "How in Hades did she go across the roof? She's got a sprained wrist."

"Aye. But it didn't stop her." Tulliver's voice held a trace of grudging admiration.

"d.a.m.n." Gideon surged to his feet and strode toward the taproom's rear door.

Stupid, stupid girl. Didn't she realize the risks? But he reserved his sharpest castigation for himself. Careless b.a.s.t.a.r.d he was. How could he let her escape? It wasn't as if he hadn't guessed her plans. Although given her injuries, he'd never imagined she'd clamber out an upstairs window and make it across an icy roof.

"How long ago?" he grated out.

Tulliver kept up with his rapid pace. "Seconds, I reckon. The room wasn't cold enough for the window to be open long."

"She could be anywhere." He ducked under the low lintel and entered a long, flagstoned corridor. "d.a.m.n," he said again with more emphasis.

"d.a.m.n what?" Akash emerged from a side hallway.

"Miss Watson's gone," Gideon said sharply.

Akash grabbed his arm. Immediately Gideon stiffened, and Akash s.n.a.t.c.hed his hand away with a gesture of apology. But his eyes didn't waver in the gloom. The stare was calm, perceptive, compa.s.sionate.

"She can't give you back what you've lost. No one can."

Gideon flinched as if he'd been struck. Had anyone else but Akash said it, they'd be nursing a broken jaw.

"You think I don't know that?" he asked through tight lips.

"Then let her follow her own destiny."

He owed this man so much. His health. His sanity. His very life. But now he had no time to explain what he barely understood himself. "If I help her, it might wash some of the black from my soul."

"She's a stranger."

"She's in trouble. We have to find her."

For a moment they couldn't afford to waste, Akash studied him. Finally, he gave an abrupt nod. "She has an aunt in town?"

"A lie. She's on the run from someone or something. My guess is she means to take her chances on the streets."

"She's a lady. She won't survive."

"She will if we find her." The idea of the girl's pride and courage coming to disaster made Gideon's gut cramp. Without another word, he set off down the hallway toward the back door.

They emerged into a bleak snow-covered yard behind the kitchens. The freezing wind smelled of thousands of coal fires and salt from the sea. Directly above was the room the girl had escaped. The day was gray and grim, but there was plenty of light to show a line of small footprints leading to the back gate.

Thank G.o.d it had stopped snowing, although it was peris.h.i.+ng cold. Gideon hoped Sarah had had the sense to take his greatcoat. He shoved his gloved hands into his jacket pockets and set out along the trail. Akash and Tulliver were a rea.s.suring presence behind him.

The high wooden gate led into a dingy alley sheltered from the weather by brick walls. No more footprints. It didn't matter. One end of the alley ended in a blank wall. She could only have taken the other direction, toward the busy street that pa.s.sed the front of the inn.

Cursing, Gideon set out at a run and burst onto the packed thoroughfare. Even on a bitter day, Portsmouth thronged with people. Sailors of many nations. Respectable burghers. Militia in their bright scarlet uniforms. Roughly dressed farmworkers from the surrounding countryside.

But no slight bright-haired girl weaved her way through the pulsing, noisy crowd. Gideon scanned the street while dread beat a remorseless tattoo in his heart. She was small and too easy to miss.

She was small and too easy to hurt.

"Do you see her?" Akash asked beside him.

"No. But she can't have gone far. Tulliver only just missed her. Those footprints are fresh. And she doesn't know the town. We'll split up and meet back here in half an hour." Without waiting for a reply, Gideon launched himself down the street.

Leaden fear settled in his belly as he realized he headed toward the docks. For all his burning need to find Sarah, he hoped to h.e.l.l she'd chosen a different route. Portsmouth was a navy town and full of press-ganged sailors, brutish men not far removed from criminals. Every step closer to the waterfront was a step closer to peril.

The press of people chafed, but compared to those overwhelming weeks in London, it was bearable. He forced himself to breathe deeply, evenly, concentrating on each inhalation and exhalation. He could control his discomfort in a crowd. He couldn't quell the tension that tightened his shoulders as his fear for Sarah rose. At least he'd given her the pistol although heaven knew if she had the spirit to use it.

He recalled her reckless courage. She'd use it, all right. He just prayed he found her before she needed to.

Devil take her, why hadn't the chit trusted him?

He tried desperately not to think what might happen to her. She'd already suffered so much. He'd promised her help, and he'd failed miserably.

He'd failed so often. d.a.m.n it, he wasn't going to fail this time, not when the girl's life was at stake.

Swiftly but purposefully, he moved down the street, checking doorways and side pa.s.sages. He doubted she'd go into one of the shops lining the road, crowded as they were with people avoiding the weather. She'd be too conspicuous, with her bruised face and bandaged wrist.

Dear Lord, keep her safe until I get to her.

He repeated the silent plea with every thud of his heart until the words lost meaning, and all he knew was his overpowering need to find her. Still he searched. Every nook, every recess, every corner. By G.o.d, he wouldn't let her escape him.

He nearly missed her.

A group of rowdy men crowded into a narrow alley. Sailors by the look of them, with their dirty calico smocks. Drunk, seeking trouble.

Something about their concentrated menace alerted instincts honed in a thousand dusty Indian byways. Then one of the roughly dressed men s.h.i.+fted, and Gideon glimpsed a familiar black greatcoat.

Sarah.

Seeing her trapped, he yielded to a deep, gut-churning anger. The will to kill coiled in his belly like a cobra. With a low growl, he reached into his pocket for his pistol, twin to the one he'd given her.

As his fingers curled securely around the handle, he strode up behind the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. None of them noticed his approach although he made no attempt at subterfuge. They were too focused on their terrified bounty.

Shaking and trying to stifle panic, Charis backed into the damp stonework. Her good hand fumbled for her gun in the coat's generous pockets. The four burly men stank of liquor, rotten fish, and pungent male sweat. She sucked in a shuddering breath, then gagged on the foul stench.

Why hadn't she listened to that persistent voice insisting she trust Sir Gideon? Now it was too late. She was a woman alone, fair game for any stranger.

The largest man ripped the shawl off her head and flung it into the sludge on the ground. As she choked back a futile protest, her insecurely fastened hair collapsed around her face.

"Eh, lookee, Jack! She got lady's hair," one of the men cried in delight.

"All the better to hold her with, s.h.i.+pmates." The big man twined one meaty paw in a tangled hank while he ripped at his coa.r.s.e trousers with his other hand. The tang of male excitement was ripe on the cold air and made Charis's muscles knot with revulsion.

When she strained to break free, agony shot through her scalp. Bile rose as she read unmistakable intent in her captor's sunken, bloodshot eyes.

"She's been fair knocked around," another of the sailors said doubtfully.

"I ain't bothered with her sodding face," the man snarled. "I reckon the bits I want are in fine working order." He laughed salaciously. He was close enough for the alcohol on his breath to make her recoil.

"Leave me alone." Her voice sounded raw.

"You don't mean that, hinny." His croon was more frightening than anger. Her stomach roiled with icy terror.

"Have at her, Jack," one of the men urged in a guttural voice.

Frantically, she fought for a grip on the little gun but it kept sliding out of reach. She stretched after it, but the slightest movement ripped unbearably at her trapped hair.

"I'll scream if you touch me." Her voice cracked.

The man's leering grin reeked confidence. His brutal hold tightened until hot tears rose to sting her eyes. "You'd have hollered afore now if you reckoned it'd do you a mite of good."

On the street, she'd hesitated one fatal instant before calling for help. Time enough for them to crowd her into this alley, stinking of urine and rotting refuse.

Charis opened her mouth to scream but only a whimper emerged when the man wrenched at her hair. "Shut your gob, b.i.t.c.h."

"Let me go," she croaked, still scrabbling for the gun, but her trembling, damp hand couldn't find purchase on the pearl handle. Her heart pounded so furiously against her ribs, she thought it must burst.

"I'll let you go, all right." The beefy sailor smacked his thick lips together as if contemplating a hearty meal. "Once I've got my fill. And if you cut the ruddy backchat. Otherwise, I'll wring your neck, my bonny."

Desolation froze the blood in Charis's veins. Death was a cold, tangible presence. There was no hope. All her struggles, all her suffering, all her defiance led to this. Lady Charis Weston violated and murdered in a port city's backstreet.

"Get away from her."

Like a honed saber, the command sliced through Charis's blind horror. Sir Gideon is here. I'm safe. I'm safe.

Her galloping pulse slowed to a joyous hymn of grat.i.tude. She dragged in her first unfettered breath since she'd escaped the inn, then gasped as her bruised ribs protested. Abruptly, she became aware of aches lingering from yesterday's beating. Her sprained arm throbbed painfully.

The ringleader relinquished his grip on her hair. The burning pressure on her scalp eased. She slumped against the wall as a dizzying wave of relief washed over her.

He stepped to one side to face the man at the mouth of the alley. Charis at last got a clear view of Gideon. She s.h.i.+vered as she stared into that perfect, ruthless face. Fury blazed in his eyes. He looked strong, brave, in control. Lethal.

"Move along, chum." The sailor folded his arms across his bulging chest. He was much broader than Gideon and stocky with muscle. The blackguard's cohorts set up a solid barrier around him.

"Leave her be." As Gideon approached, he sounded completely undaunted by the array of masculine strength. His voice was colder than the wind whistling through the alley.

The ringleader gave a contemptuous grunt of laughter. "Who's going to make me, pretty boy? You?"

Gideon raised a completely steady hand. Clear wintry light gleamed on the polished barrel of his pistol.

"Aye, very nice." The ringleader cast a derisive glance at the gun even as his cronies sidled out of the way. "You forget there's four of us."

"If I kill you, I imagine your friends will lose their thirst for blood." He sounded careless, unafraid. Charis's heart leaped at his reckless bravery. "Make no mistake, if you don't let the lady go, I will shoot."

Her paralysis faded as she sucked reviving air into her lungs. At last her fingers closed firmly on her gun.

"Not if I get a chance first," she said hoa.r.s.ely. She brought her weapon up. The gun was perfectly balanced and sat in her hand like an extension of her arm. "Step aside."

"s.h.i.+t, where did that come from?" one of the sailors muttered, backing farther off.

"Is the girl worth the risk?" Gideon asked almost casually, keeping his gun raised.

For one horrible instant, Charis glanced between the ringleader and Gideon. The sailor's expression warred between bravado and self-preservation, and his Adam's apple moved up and down in his thick throat. Gideon's shoulders tensed, and his jaw firmed with purpose. His aim didn't waver. She couldn't doubt he'd shoot if he had to.

The brute must have reached the same conclusion. His piglike eyes flickered, and the tension drained from his heavy body. "Oh, b.u.g.g.e.r it, take the s.l.u.t and welcome you are to her. Her slice isn't worth a friggin' bullet."

"Sarah, come here." Through the buzzing in her ears, she heard the ice in Gideon's voice. "You're safe now."

Her gun suddenly seemed heavier than stone. Her hand wobbled as she lowered it. On legs that felt no firmer than jelly, she stumbled up the alley to stand beside Gideon. She desperately wanted to reach out and touch him, but his powerful self-containment kept her hands by her sides.

"We're going to walk out of this alley and go our way unmolested." Gideon didn't glance at her. His pistol remained pointed squarely at the leader's chest.

The effortless tone of authority took effect. Not one of the ruffians s.h.i.+fted to stop them as she and Gideon backed off. The few yards to safety felt like a thousand miles. Charis's heart lodged in her throat, and her skin tightened with every step. Could they really emerge unscathed?

They'd almost made it, had turned to face the street when Charis heard an angry shout behind them. "h.e.l.l's bells, mates! There's four of us and only bleedin' one of him. Let's give the b.a.s.t.a.r.d what for!"

A crash of booted feet behind them.

"Run!" Gideon shouted. "I've got the gun. I'll be all right!"

Charis lifted handfuls of greatcoat and sprang into a wild dash. She ignored the way her body screamed agony at the sudden dash.

But they'd left their escape too late. The thugs surrounded them at the mouth of the alley. Charis came to a juddering stop, her heart jamming in her throat.

"Stay behind me," Gideon snapped, stepping between her and the closing circle of brawny sailors. The rough, flushed faces promised retribution, violence and pain.