Julie Garwood - The Gift

The two ladies strolled arm in arm down the dark, narrow street, Sara's laughter trailing behind them. The hack was waiting for them at the corner. Sara was assisting her aunt inside the black vehicle when a hopeful assailant came rushing toward them. Nathan intervened by simply moving forward into the moonlight. The man took one look at him, did a hasty turnaround, and blended back into the shadows again.

Nathan thought the old woman might have gotten a look at him. She had glanced back over her shoulder just when he'd moved forward, but he decided her eyesight must have dimmed with age when she turned around again without shouting a warning to her niece.

Sara certainly hadn't noticed his presence. She had a heated discussion over the fare with the driver, finally agreed to his exorbitant fee, and then joined her aunt inside the vehicle. The hack was in motion when Nathan grabbed hold of the back rail and swung himself up on the ledge. The vehicle rocked from the added weight before picking up speed again.

Sara was certainly making her own kidnapping easy work. Nathan had heard her tell her aunt that they would be leaving London by ship. He therefore assumed their destination was the wharf. Then the hack veered off onto one of the side streets near the waterfront and came to an abrupt stop in front of one of the most notorious taverns in the city.

She was going after the damn wedding band, he supposed with a growl of irritation. Nathan jumped down from the ledge and moved into the light further behind the hack. He wanted the men loitering in front of the tavern to get a good look at him. He braced his legs apart for a fight, moved his right hand to the hilt of the coiled whip hooked to his belt, and scowled at the sizable group.

They noticed him. Three of the smaller ones edged their way back inside. The other four leaned back against the stone wall. Their gazes were directed on the ground.

The driver climbed down from his perch, received fresh instructions, and hurried inside. He came back outside a scant minute later, muttered that he'd best be getting a giant bonus for all the trouble he'd had to endure, and then climbed back up to his seat.

Another few minutes elapsed before the door of the tavern opened again. A sour-faced man with a grossly distended belly came outside. He was dressed in rumpled, soiled clothing that was ripe from wear. The stranger slicked his greasy hair back from his brow in a pitiful attempt at grooming as he swaggered over to the carriage.

"My employer, Henry Winchester, is too sotted to come outside," he announced. "We come to this part of town when we don't want to be noticed," he added. "I'm here in his stead, m'lady. Your driver said there be a woman in need of something, and I'm thinking I'm just the man you're needing."

The disgusting man scratched his groin while he eagerly waited for a reply to his offer.

The stench radiating from the foul-smelling man came in through the window. Sara almost gagged in reaction. She placed her perfumed hankerchief over her nose, turned to her aunt, and whispered, "Do you know this man?"

"I most certainly do," her aunt answered. "His name's Clifford Duggan, Sara, and he's the one who helped your uncle waylay me."

"Did he strike you?"

"Yes, dear, he did," Nora answered. "Several times, as a matter of fact."

The servant under discussion couldn't see inside the dark carriage. He leaned forward to get a better look at his prize.

Nathan walked over to the side of the carriage. His intent was to tear the man from aft to stern for daring to leer at his bride. He stopped when he saw the white-gloved fist fly through the open window and connect quite soundly with the side of the man's bulbous nose.

Clifford hadn't been prepared for the attack. He let out a howl of pain, staggered backwards, and tripped over his own feet. He landed with a thud on his knees. While he spewed one crude blasphemy after another he diligently tried to regain his feet.

Sara pressed her advantage. She threw the carriage door open, catching the villain in his midsection. The servant did a near somersault before landing in the gutter on his backside.

The men lounging against the wall hooted in appreciation of the spectacle they'd just witnessed. Sara ignored her audience as she climbed out of the carriage. She turned to hand her reticule to her aunt, took another minute to remove her gloves and pass those through the window to her aunt, too, and then finally gave her full attention to the man sprawled on the ground.

She was simply too infuriated to be afraid. She stood over her victim looking very like an avenging angel. Her voice shook with fury when she said, "If you ever mistreat a lady again, Clifford Duggan, I swear to God you'll die a slow, agonizing death."

"I ain't never mistreated a lady," Clifford whined. He was trying to catch his breath so he could pounce on her. "How would you be knowing my name?"

Nora leaned out the window. "You're a shameful liar, Clifford," she called out. "You're going to burn in hell for all your sins."

Clifford's eyes widened in astonishment. "How did you get out-"

Sara interrupted his question by giving him a sound kick. He turned his gaze back to her. His expression was insolent. "You think you got the meat to hurt me?" he sneered. He glanced back at the men leaning against the wall. In truth, the servant was more humiliated than injured by her paltry attack. The snickers echoing behind him stung far more than her little slap. "The only reason I ain't retaliating is because my employer will want to beat you good and sound afore he lets me have you."

"Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in, Clifford?" Sara asked. "My husband is going to hear about this atrocity, and he will certainly retaliate. The marquess of St. James is feared by everyone, even ignorant pigs like you, Clifford. When I tell him what you've been up to he'll give you equal measure. The marquess does whatever I tell him to do just like that." She paused to snap her fingers for effect. "Oh, I can see I've gotten your full attention with that promise," she added with a nod when Clifford's expression changed. The man looked downright terrified. He had quit trying to regain his feet and was actually scooting backward on his backside.

Sara was inordinately pleased with herself. Her bluff had worked quite well. She didn't realize that Clifford had just gotten a good look at the giant standing a scant ten feet behind her. She thought she'd just put the fear of a St. James into the servant. "A man who strikes a lady is a true coward," she announced. "My husband kills cowards as easily as he would a bothersome gnat, and if you doubt me, just remember he is a St. James through and through."

"Sara, dear," Nora called out. "Would you like me to accompany you inside?"

Sara didn't take her gaze off Clifford when she gave her aunt answer. "No, Nora. You aren't dressed for the occasion. I won't be long."

"Hurry, then," Nora called out. "You'll catch a chill, dear."

Nora continued to lean out the window, but her gaze was directed at Nathan. He returned her wide-eyed stare with a brisk nod before turning his attention back to his bride.

Nora was quick to notice how the big man was keeping the hounds at bay. His mere size was intimidating. It didn't take her any time at all to realize he was actually providing safety for Sara. Nora thought about calling a warning to her niece, then discounted the notion. Sara had enough to worry about. Nora would wait to mention the savior when she was finished with her important errand.

Nathan kept his attention on Sara. His bride was certainly full of surprises. He was having difficulty coming to terms with that fact. He'd seen what cowards the Winchesters were. The men in the family always did their dirty work under cover of darkness, or when a man's back was turned. Sara, however, wasn't acting at all like a Winchester. She was courageous in her defense of the old woman. And Lord, was she in a fury. He didn't think he would have been surprised if she'd pulled out a pistol and shot her victim between his eyes. She was definitely angry enough.