The Unquiet - J. D. Robb [42]
“Your most valued possession.”
Her necklace? She forced herself not to touch the chain around her neck, hoping it was not visible. No, not her necklace. It only had value to her and Alexei.
He wanted the recipe for the purple dye. The recipe belonged to Grandmama, a family heirloom, really.
Despite her growing anxiety, Lydia’s mind worked as fast as the machine at the new cotton mill. She would not take this horrible man back to the shop to search for the recipe, not with Grandmama and the maid upstairs.
“Yes, I can see you know what I want. Hand it over or I will take it from you, wherever you hide it.”
The man took out a large knife and pretended he needed to clean his fingernails.
His crude threat upset her, but her whole body chilled at the sight of the nasty blade. Lydia choked back the scream that clogged her throat, all pretense of calm gone in an instant.
Holding her umbrella by the tip, she used the curled handle to hit him where the inseams met. The man bent double, cursing, and Lydia grabbed the moment to fling open the door and leap from the hackney, dragging her bags with her.
Stumbling on the wet cobblestones, Lydia twisted her ankle and cursed a little herself. Ignoring the pain and without the slightest idea of where she should go, she ran toward the noise coming from the one lighted building glimmering through the fog.
When she was within a few yards of safety, a man stepped out of the shadows.
She barreled into him, the feel of the fine wool of his greatcoat announcing his wealth to her as surely as a ring would have to a jeweler.
No gentleman should be walking these mean streets. With no time to ask and fearing that he might be part of the threat, Lydia raised the satchel holding the periodicals with strength born of desperation and clunked him on the head before his words registered.
“Do you need help, miss?” He then made a sound between an oof and ow.
Lydia stopped short. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“What in the world did you hit me with?” He stepped back and looked about for his hat but showed no sign of abandoning her. Finding his hat, he brushed it off, acting very much the gentleman, seemingly unaware of the scoundrel from the hackney hurtling down the street toward them. “I offer help, miss, not harm.”
The clothes of a gentleman and the voice of one as well, Lydia thought, her panic easing a bit.
With his hat firmly on his head, the man from the shadows waited until she nodded her understanding, then stood between her and her abductor, easing her anxiety enough so she could breathe again. In an instant the gentleman raised his walking stick as if it was a weapon to be respected. “Begone, you villainous thug. Leave this woman alone.”
Even though dread still had a hold, Lydia almost laughed. Her rescuer’s words could have come straight out of a Minerva Press novel.
The thug hesitated only slightly. “Leave us be. She’s my wife and trying to run off with her lover.”
“I am not his wife!” Lydia hoped she did not have to say that for the gentleman to recognize it for the truth. Her abductor was a disgusting example of a man, and she pitied the woman who might be married to him.
“Your wife? No, she is not. A lady would never even be seen with a pig like you.”
The ruffian lurched forward without a moment’s pause, knife at the ready. Her rescuer stepped toward him, disarming him so quickly that Lydia could not see how he did it. As the knife skittered across the cobblestones, her rescuer punched the man in his ample stomach and then in his jaw. The pig fell to the ground with a graceless thump.
With his foot on the man’s chest, the gentleman drew a fine sword from the sheath of his walking stick and held it to the villain’s throat.
“I would kill you and relieve the world of one more venomous pig, but it would most likely upset the lady.”
The gentleman stepped back, his sword still at the ready,