Page 29 of Kiss the Scoundrel Farewell
“Ooh, oh, my leg. It’s cramping,” cried Farrell his forehead against the carpet as hunched his spine.and pulled himself into a half-sitting position. “I can’t take it.” The butler pushed back on one knee, then moved the other and sat back on his haunches. He did it twice more, so he was near Chester. Farrell made eye contact with Simon, who had leaned forward, rising onto his knees as if concerned for the butler.
Farrell threw his body back, his head colliding with the other man, sending his pistol skittering across the floor. The butler’s body landed hard on top Chester, sending Short Man to his feet. He yelled at the pair wrestling on the floor, and Simon jumped up, ran with his head down, and rammed into the second captor.
Short Man’s back slammed into the stone hearth, and his pistol fell with a thump on the carpet. Simon kicked the weapon out of reach and blocked the man from moving forward. Behind him, he heard Farrell struggling with his man, a whack, then a loud moan.
But Short Man pulled a blade from his boot and tossed it back and forth in his palms, grinning. Simon took a step back. Short Man’s cap had come off, and dirty blond hair stuck up in spikes. “Ye think I’d only carry one weapon on me? I was born in the rookeries, ye puppy. Let me teach ye some o’ the tricks I learned.”
“I think the show’s over for tonight,” said a deep voice from the doorway. All eyes turned to the man holding a pistol. “I apologize for our timing, but we made it all the same.”
“Who the devil is he?” Short Man asked Simon.
“I’m a friend of a friend, boyo,” the man said, leaning against the doorjamb. He was tall with dark hair, gray at the temples. He had a bushy beard that trembled when he spoke. “Now drop that wee blade, eh? It won’t do any more than get a man’s heckles up.”
Simon stared at their rescuer. Boyo. Paddy O’Brien! This was one of his men.
The knife fell to the floor.
“Good, now get on yer belly, nice and slow for me. That’s it. Put your hands above your head.”
Another younger man, slender with dark curly hair, was untying Farrell’s wrists while he kept his boot pressed on Chester’s chest. There was blood covering the butler’s back, but Simon couldn’t tell if it had come from the other man’s injury or if Farrell was injured.
The younger man then untied Simon’s hands. He rubbed his wrists as he walked to the pistol he’d kicked away from Short Man and picked it up. Simon looked down at the cracksman who had almost killed him, wanting to kick him in the gut. But that would only place Simon at the man’s level.
“Lady Drake,” Simon began, “she?—”
The Peeler put his finger to his mouth and half closed the parlor door, nodded at the rope in Simon’s hands, then at the prone man beside him.
Simon quickly tied the Short Man’s wrists, then pulled the rope over his head, and tied another knot around his ankles, connecting the appendages.
The younger man with the curly hair and green eyes came over, squatted down, and pulled Short Man’s head up. “Now, we want you to call for your friend and the lady. Make it real convincin’ cuz if you don’t, it’ll be the last thing you do. D’you understand?”
Short Man nodded as a knife was put to his throat. “Arthur,” he croaked.
The knife point poked into Short Man’s skin and drew blood. “That sounded like a cry for help, like a scared little boy. That could make Arthur suspicious. Try again.”
CHAPTER 14
“Arthur, I need ye down here right bloody now.”
A scream came from above, then footsteps—light and heavy—followed by muffled voices and a dog growling. Feet pounded down the stairs. “Ye little vixen, I’ll make ye pay for that.”
Simon dashed to the door, but Paddy’s man held out his hand to stay him. The man gave his partner a nod.
“Call again,” the partner said, flicking the knife once more.
“Arthur, get yer arse in here.”
The door flew open, and Meg burst in, her eyes wide, her hair coming loose. On her heels was Arthur with a growling fur ball attached to his pant leg. Paddy’s man stepped behind him, putting the pistol to his head and pulling back the lock.
Arthur froze, glaring at his men, both on the floor and tied like trussed pigs.
“If you move, I’ll pull this trigger. It’d be a shame to stain my new coat, but I suppose that’s one of the hazards of the job, eh, Arthur?”
Meg stifled another cry and looked around the room frantically, not understanding how there were even more men now. Her heart raced, and her gaze found Simon and stopped. In a breath, he was beside her, holding her, whispering soothing words as he rocked her back and forth.
The tears streamed down her face now. All the fear and panic came tumbling out, and she sobbed against his chest. Upstairs, she had heard a faint scratching at her bedchamber door. Chipper! She must have closed him inside earlier. Opening the door, the brute had pushed her in.
“Is that yer bed?” he’d asked laughing.
