Ashlyn Macnamara by A Most Devilish Rogue Page B

Isabelle. He was most certainly not mooning. Should anyone suggest otherwise, he would call them out.
    A woman’s scream tore through the night’s stillness, a high, terrified note. Isabelle. Oh God.
    He took off down the lane at a dead run.
    He spotted them at the last possible moment, as he turned a corner past a high hedge. Two shadowy figures—one seeming to tower over the other—struggled in the middle of the lane.
    George didn’t stop to size up his opponent. He ran full-tilt into the beast, shouldering his way between Isabelle and her assailant. With a cry, she stumbled backward. George turned to grab the oaf by his lapels, but the man heaved himself, shoving his way out of George’s grip. George ducked just in time to avoid a flying fist. Next thing he knew, the thuds of the attacker’s footfalls faded into the night.
    George shook himself and straightened his sleeves, grateful for the shadows that hid the heat rising on his cheeks. But those same shadows had obscured the other man’s face.
    Isabelle had shrunk back against the hedge, her arms wrapped about herself, staring down the lane in her assailant’s wake. A quiet whimper escaped her lips, as if she’d tried in vain to hold it in.
    “Did he hurt you?” George asked.
    She glanced at him, eyes wide. “No. No. He’s gone back toward the village.”
    “I imagine it makes sense for the likes of him to retreat there, where he can hide among the houses.”
    “No, you don’t understand.” Her voice rose on a swell of panic.
    “If you’d rather not head straight home—”
    “
No
. I need to get home. Now.” She lunged down the path.
    “Now see here. I can’t let you run off unaccompanied with such as him lurking.”
    She ignored him. Her pace quickened to a jog.
    Well. Invited or not, he couldn’t let her go haring off when oafish thugs waylaid unsuspecting women. He strode after her. “What did he want with you?”
    “That’s none of your affair.” Isabelle clipped each syllable. She didn’t even favor him with a glance. “And no one asked you to come along.”
    He lengthened his stride to catch up with her. “As a gentleman, I cannot allow you to return home unaccompanied.”
    She glared at him over her shoulder. “You thought nothing of kissing me, and I won’t even get into what you suggested to me afterward. Hardly the act of a gentleman.” The words stung like so many tiny needles pricking his flesh, or more accurately, his conscience. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve spent far too much time away from Jack.”
    S HE had to get away from Upperton. No, she had to get away from
both
of them, and most urgent, she had to get home to Jack.
Something important
, the note had said. A wave of panic rose from her gut, rose and mounted as if a hurricane drove it to drown her. But, heaven help her, she could
not
let it show. Not when Mr. Upperton had already come running to her rescue. Lord save her, he was feeling protective, and if he came to the conclusion she needed protection against something more, she’d never be quit of him.
    And she had to get home to make sure Jack was all right, make sure some ruffian never got his hands onher little boy. Jack was hers, dash it all, hers to safeguard since his birth. He was all the family she had left.
    She fisted a hand in her skirt to mask her shaking fingers. That blasted Mr. Upperton was still following, and as long as he continued, she couldn’t allow herself the luxury of a full run. She settled for lengthening her stride until her teeth clenched with every exaggerated step.
    She ignored the man dogging her and squinted along the path ahead. Where had
he
got to? He’d left the note. He knew which among the village’s low huddled dwellings was hers. Had he taken a path directly there? Was he even now rousting Jack from his bed?
    Her throat closed on a sob that swelled until she ached. Oh, blast it all. She broke into a run. Behind her, Mr. Upperton let out a shout. She closed her ears