Free Devil's Match by Anita Mills Page B

and kicked backward furiously. For a moment she thought he meant to choke her, and she struggled with all the force in her slender body. Suddenly he stiffened and his grasp slackened.
    â€œUnhand the lady,” came a perfectly level but totally chilling voice from somewhere behind her.
    â€œNow, guvnor—”
    She drove an elbow into her captor’s middle and spun around accusingly as he stepped back. “Blackguard! Miscreant! Toad!”
    â€œRavisher?” that voice supplied, this time with the barest hint of amusement. “Really, my dear child, but what can one expect alone and untended on a city street at night?”
    â€œI am not a child!” Juliana snapped. “And these men—”
    â€œI am perfectly aware of what they were about, miss.” The voice had grown cold again. “Do you want me to kill them for you?”
    â€œNow, guvnor—naught’s ’armed—hit ain’t! Oy wasn’t ter ’urt ’er, Oy swear!” The fellow who’d held Juliana backed away, his face a pasty yellow gray in the flickering light. “Oy swear!”
    The other man who had accosted her took the opportunity to run, and his footsteps faded rapidly into the mists. “Coward!” she shot after him before turning to her rescuer. “You let him get away!” Then she saw the gleam of his rapier resting against the remaining offender’s neck vein, and her eyes widened.
    â€œWell?”
    As angry and frightened as she was, Juliana still had no wish to see anybody’s throat slit. “No”—she shook her head decisively—“let the watch have him. Papa will …” Her voice trailed off as she realized that she dared not ever let her father know of it. Her eyes traveled from the fellow who’d held her to the man behind him. “Much as it distresses me,” she admitted, “ ’twould be best if you just let him go.”
    The blade made a brief swishing sound as it sliced through the air and into flesh. The fellow screeched and Juliana closed her eyes to keep from fainting. When she opened them cautiously, he was holding a gash closed on his cheek and blood was dripping between his fingers.
    â€œA reminder merely that one does not accost females of Quality, no matter how stupid they may be,” the tall man bit off precisely as he sheathed the rapier. “Count yourself fortunate that she didn’t ask for the ultimate penalty.”
    â€œM-my thanks, sir,” she managed. “Had you not come—”
    â€œHad I not chanced by, your virtue would be extinct,” he finished baldly. “As it is, how can you be sure that I am any better than those louts?” He gestured at the retreating figure of Juliana’s captor. “Tell me, Miss Canfield, how is it that Sir Max allows you out unprotected?”
    â€œYou know my name.”
    â€œI heard you shout it to your most recent acquaintances,” he admitted.
    â€œThen you have the advantage of me, sir,” she acknowledged stiffly.
    â€œI am Rotherfield.”
    Rotherfield. Juliana blinked and stared anew as she digested this startling revelation. The notorious Earl of Rotherfield. Even in the faint illumination of the street lantern, her shock must have been evident.
    â€œAlas, yes,” he murmured as he executed a mocking bow. “My shocking reputation precedes me—as always.”
    â€œN-no—not precisely, that is. I mean, of course I have heard of you, my lord. But it doesn’t signify to me—I daresay you cannot be all I have heard, after all. Ten to one, you are like my cousin Patrick, and half of it is untrue.”
    â€œPatrick?”
    â€œPatrick Danvers—Westover. He’s my cousin, you know, and he’s nothing like people think he is.” She caught the arrested expression in his black eyes. “Well, he isn’t!”
    â€œI am certain he is not.” His eyes met hers for