Free My Unfair Lady by Kathryne Kennedy

before they wake, agreed?"
       Summer nodded. She'd agree to about anything he said just now. This ghastly feeling of hero worship when she gazed at him had her giddy with the feel of it. Before he could say anything to stop her, she wobbled down the street and recovered her knife, scooping up the gun that lay not far from it, and at Byron's glare of rage from where he sat in the coachman's seat, hastily scrambled into the carriage. She'd barely closed the door before the duke slapped the reins on the horse's backs and had them barreling through the streets.
       She felt her cheek and realized she'd have a nasty bruise from this night, and thought that the man could no longer complain about disasters happening to him while in her company. For she'd had quite an exciting evening, all at the fault of the Duke of Monchester, and really, all he'd ever suffered from her company had been a scuffed boot from a tiny dog.
       Sooner than she'd expected, the carriage stopped in front of her own town house, and Byron ducked through the door and sat beside her. He searched her face, brought a hand to her swollen cheek, brushing it so softly that she didn't even flinch.
       "If you didn't look so dreadful," he said, "I'd verbally thrash you for what you did back there."
       Summer couldn't believe it. "What I did?"
       He sighed, his hand straying to a lock of hair that had fallen across her cheek, twining it around his finger. "What in her majesty's name made you throw your knife?"
       "Aah." She relaxed her shoulders. Excellent fighter, but not very good at discerning a situation. "They meant to kill you."
       "Pardon?"
       "They meant to murder you. That sham about robbing us was exactly that, a sham. Now who would want to kill you and make it look like a robbery? That's the question you should be asking."
       He gave a gentle tug at her curl and leaned away from her, those muscular arms folded across his broad chest, and she noticed for the first time the dark stain spreading across his shoulder. "What makes you think it wasn't a robbery?"
       "You're hurt," she murmured, and that giddy hero-worship thing swept over her again. "Let's go inside so I can tend to it."
       "The bullet barely grazed my skin. Answer me first."
       Oh, he could fix her with that gaze, scarcely allowing her to breathe. "The look in the coach man's eyes."
       One golden brow rose. "You could see his eyes from four feet away, in the fog?"
       "Yes, if you know what to look for."
       "And what made you look for it?"
       She shrugged, finding it hard to verbalize what was mostly just a feeling. "The limping man didn't check your pockets. Now what honest thief wouldn't check a man's pockets for money?"
       He threw back his head and laughed, the sound of it making her own lips curl upward. "I don't know any thieves—honest or otherwise. But I'll take your word for it that you do. I can't say that I agree with your assessment of the situation, but for now we'll just agree to disagree, yes?"
       Summer nodded and laid her hand on top of his. What kind of man would say such a thing? Any other man, including Monte—who she'd gotten into several interesting arguments with—would've made her agree with him or told her that she was wrong. Tarnation, it was bad enough that she felt so physically attracted to him, but if his real character kept peeking out from behind that wall he'd built for the aristocracy, she'd be in great danger of breaking her vow to Monte.
       She squeezed his hand. He jerked back as if she'd struck him, then leaned toward her like he had a string attached to her body and felt automatically pulled back. Summer grinned. "Tell me how you learned to fight like that."
       He sighed, his breath warm across her face. "We're back to that again. I told you, no personal questions; this is supposed to be a strictly business relationship."
       "You saved my life tonight. I think it's safe to