Page 11 of Marigold and the Marquess
She cast him a stubborn look. “You were the one in danger. That despicable fiend was about to stab you. I could not just stand there and do nothing. My aim was straight on, wasn’t it?” she remarked proudly. “I got him squarely in the face. Of course, you were quite brilliant. Did they injure you?”
“No. I am unscathed.” It wasn’t quite the truth. His right hand throbbed since it was the one he had used to punch his attackers. But he expected it was merely bruised and no bones were broken.
As a precaution, he switched hold of the knife to his left hand.
Despite assurances he would never harm her, Marigold approached him cautiously. “Um, may I introduce you to the museum’s head curator, Mr. Smythe-Owens? And these gentlemen standing over these fiends are part of the museum’s security, Mr. Carver and Mr. Finn.”
“My lord,” each of them mumbled in turn.
Leo nodded to acknowledge them. “These curs need to be bound and held for the magistrate. Send someone off to fetch his constables. I fully intend to see them charged with assault on a marquess.”
More guards came running out of the museum to assist in securing them. At Mr. Smythe-Owens’ instruction, one of the guards ran off to the magistrate’s office.
“My lord,” Marigold said softly, looking up at him with worry.
“I am fine, Miss Farthingale. You needn’t be concerned about me.”
She took the knife gently out of his hand and gave it over to the man she had introduced as the head curator. He was a little fellow, but quite efficient as he issued brisk instructions to the guards. “Bind their hands behind their back. Yes, that’s it. Now bind the three of them together so they will trip over each other if they think to run.”
Marigold cradled Leo’s hand in both of hers. “You’ve bruised your knuckles. They are swelling noticeably.”
He cast her a lopsided grin. “All worth it. I enjoyed that fight, perhaps a little too much. Those knaves got the worst of it.”
“No doubt of that.” She nibbled her fleshy, lower lip. “Um, my lord…where has your driver taken my crate? And my maid?”
He was too busy watching the soft nip of her teeth to her lower lip to respond. Lord, she had a mouth as sweet as cherries, and he liked the pouting way it pursed whenever she was worried.
She also had the deepest, blue eyes, perhaps seeming bluer because of the long, black lashes surrounding those magnificent orbs.
He bent his head toward hers, aching to touch his lips to hers. “Not far. He will return your skull, bones, and maidservant to you shortly. Just wait here with me and he ought to be circling around at any moment.”
“All right, but as soon as he is back, Mr. Smythe-Owens will have the crate brought inside. Then I must treat your hand.”
“It isn’t broken,” he assured Marigold.
What a lovely thing she was.
She regarded him thoughtfully. “I suppose you know best. Where did you learn to fight like that? You were fierce as a lion, but I knew you would be. You could not have been named Leonides for nothing. Those men did not stand a chance of winning, even though they had you outnumbered.”
“I had the better odds. Their only weapons were knives and fists. Although they were big men and looked rough, I quickly saw they were undisciplined fighters. The odds would have shifted in their favor had one of them drawn a pistol.”
Her eyes widened. “They would have to be mad to shoot a marquess.”
“Is it not just as mad to attack a marquess with knives and fists? They must have noticed the crest on my carriage door when we drew up.”
“We had the door open. They might not have realized. Still, your carriage is quite magnificent. They had to know you were someone important. And yet, they did not care. I warned you, some of these relic hunters are unabashed villains. I recognize these three as Fellows in the Royal Society. They are the lowest creatures you shall ever meet.”
He glanced around. “Marigold, are they always lurking around here? How did they know to expect your crate? They also seemed to know exactly what was in it.”
“Someone could have mentioned it,” she said, looking up at him with her eyes wide. “A news reporter. Or someone working in the Devonshire caves. Do not make too much of it. We do not have a traitor in our midst. This delivery was never meant to be a secret, although after this incident, we ought to consider moving precious cargo about with more discretion. Our cave finds have been getting a lot of public notice for quite some time now. People are fascinated with the myth of dragons, and the museum staff has been touting the “new” dragons about to arrive. I’m sure it was reported in all the papers.”
She rubbed her thumbs gently over his fisted hand as she spoke. “We really ought to get you treated. Your entire hand is dangerously swelling. My uncle, George Farthingale, is a highly respected doctor and his infirmary is not far from here. Do you mind if we unload the crate first? Then I’ll assist Mr. Smythe-Owens in taking quick inventory. Immediately afterward, we’ll go off to see Uncle George. How does that sound?”
“It isn’t necessary.”
“What? The inventory? Or your visit to the doctor? I think both are quite necessary. However, I will put off most of the cataloguing work until tomorrow. You are welcome to join me here tomorrow, as well. That is, if you feel up to it. My work won’t take very long and then I can show you around the museum. That is, if Uncle George says you are fit to go out.”
“Marigold,” he said with a chuckle, “it is just a bruised hand. By the way, I know your uncle quite well.” He was not going to reveal to this delightful girl how many months it took for George to treat his injuries after he had come out of that devil’s hole of a foreign prison on the verge of death.
