Free The Tory Widow by Christine Blevins Page A

and began pulling her down the alley. “C’mon—afore the rest of their mates come after us.”
    Anne glanced over her shoulder at the two broken men lying bleeding in the dirt. “Are they killed?”
    Jack shrugged. “Who cares?”
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    JACK’S heart pounded a retreat in his ears and he ran hard with the widow’s hand squeezed in his. Once they emerged onto Cortlandt Street, she began to drag and stumble. Without warning, Anne Merrick tore her hand from his, and slumped back against a wall. Her words expelled in exhausted puffs, “Please . . . I need . . .”
    Loose strands of hair escaped from the mobcap askew upon her head. Gasping for breath, her face shone as bright as a polished pippin. In a sudden panic, she turned her rescued pocket inside out, revealing a little gold brooch pinned to the inside. With an audible moan, she leaned forward, a bit wobbly with hands propped on knees, and studied the dirt patch in front of her feet like a drunk contemplating the best place to vomit.
    Jack paced a short course, checking up and down the street. The muscles corded taut in his arms and across his back like the springs in an over-wound clock. Waving the blood-spattered stave clutched in his fist, he checked over his shoulder and urged, “C’mon, c’mon—we need t’ get going!”
    Jack bounced on the balls of his feet and Anne pulled upright. Tugging the gold pin free and tossing the pocket, she slipped the brooch between her breasts. “It’s all I have from him.” Avoiding his eye, her thin voice cracked on his name. “Mr. Hampton . . . I don’t know how to begin to thank you . . .”
    â€œNo. No time for that.” Jack grabbed her by the arm and pulled her along.
    â€œStop pulling at me!” Anne’s angry eyes flashed lively as she struggled to jerk free.
    Jack gave her a rough turn, drawing her attention to a gang of sailors stepping out from the alley. He rasped in her ear. “I will not fare as well against six. Now run!”
    And she did—hand in hand they reached the crowded safety of Broad Way. With a palm pushed firm at the small of her back, Jack rushed Anne across the cobbles and down Maiden Lane. He pulled up to a halt at the corner and tossed his club into the gutter. Having lost both his hat and the ribbon from his queue in the tussle, Jack brushed his unruly hair from his face and drew a deep breath, releasing it in a whoosh. Fists on his hips, anger denting his brow, he demanded, “Now tell me—what in bloody hell were you up to?”
    Anne dropped her eyes. “I was going to see about a shipment of coffee beans . . .”
    â€œCoffee beans! Have you lost your wits?”
    Intent on her shuffling feet with fistfuls of skirt clutched in each hand, she did not answer.
    â€œCoffee!” Jack threw his arms up. “You stepped willingly into that nest of . . . of vipers, for coffee? What is wrong with you?”
    She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “It seems foolish now, but I . . .”
    â€œFoolish?” Jack loomed over her, jabbing a finger in her shoulder. “Foolishness does not begin to explain your recklessness. I question your sanity, madam—I do.”
    â€œYou are right—” Anne’s head bobbed in assent. “I am truly so thankful you found me, and . . .”
    â€œRavished with your throat cut on a pile of rubbish is how and where you would have been found if I had not been following you.”
    Anne’s head popped back. “Following? You were following me?”
    â€œI was—and lucky for you. Come along now.” He offered his hand.
    â€œI’ll see you safe home.”
    Anne ignored his outstretched hand. “Though I am apparently a witless idiot, I need trouble you no further. I can make my own way from here.”
    â€œDon’t be an ass.” He grabbed her by the hand and pulled her