Page 43 of The Heart of an Earl

The carriage door opened and Des peeked his head around the back corner of the coach. The driver sat stone still, the rough man next to him holding a pistol to the side of his torso.

A man jumped from the interior of the coach, landing with a splash in the muck of the street. Des squinted at the man’s profile.

Dammit to hell. The ass was part of theRed Dragoncrew. One of the pirates he’d almost killed—shouldhavekilled.

Shit.

What in the blazes was he doing free, walking about?

If he was here, that could only mean one thing. Johnson and the crew that went with him were dead, and theRed Dragonhad fallen.

Swearing, the brute spun around to face the interior of the coach.

Feet first, kicking, Jules was manhandled out the door and tossed into the brute’s arms. She didn’t stop the fight, kicking—scratching—anything to injure the brute that was double her size.

The carriage leaned to the side and a second man jumped down behind her.

Des pounced, grabbing the head of the second man and slamming it into the side of the carriage. The man dropped in front of him and Des turned to the brute that held Jules just as the man sitting on the driver’s perch whipped around, his pistol flashing.

The driver lifted his leg and with a swift kick, sent him flying off the high bench. The man landed, bones crunching as the pistol fired its sole shot into an adjoining building.

The dagger from his boot drawn in an instant, Des sent it into the back side of the pirate holding Jules. He dropped her instantly, spinning, and Des met him with a fist ramming into his face.

The man dropped, his eyes rolling up into his head.

The pirate that had held the driver captive started to crawl away and Des leapt to him, his leg swinging. His boot met the man’s jaw with a crunch. It sent the man flying, landing face first into the muck of the roadway.

Three bodies.

Three inert bodies.

Though probably not dead.

All of that in five breaths, some of his quickest work ever.

Des spun around. Jules.

She had fallen toward the coach, her hands gripping onto the edge of the doorframe, staring at him.

Her hands—her body—shaking. Fear. Stark cold fear in her eyes as she looked at him. Fear that the bowels of the underworld had opened and demons were after her.

Her head started shaking. “I wasn’t with them, Des. I wasn’t. They—they came from nowhere—I wasn’t with them, Des, I swear. I fought. I wasn’t with them. I didn’t go. I—”

He grabbed her, yanking her into him, his arms collapsing around her, a wall between her and the bodies. Between her and the world.

His right hand angled up, his palm clutching the back of her head tucked under his chin. “I know, Jules. I know.”

Her body crumpled into him at the words.

The fear in her hadn’t been at the pirates. It’d been at him.

Fear of him.

Fear that he would think she went with them, willingly.

Heaven help him, had her spirit been so warped during the past six years that she couldn’t trust him to see her for who she was?

He looked up at the driver still on his perch. “Good man—thank you for the assist.”

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