hoped that was the case, but something about the note told him there was more to it. "Now, where may I drop you?"
She smiled. "Oh, I'll just tag along to the theatre, if you don't mind.""I do," he told her. "If this is some type of threat against Madame Fontaine, I don't want you mixed up init."
Cousin Felicity straightened her shoulders. "I am quite able to take care of myself. Look at how I
handled Lord Delander this morning-I diverted him most efficiently with my story about Riley."
"You certainly did that," Mason said, "but you made things more of a muddle by intimating that she is rich."
"Isn't she?" Cousin Felicity's gaze lit with hope.Shaking his head, he told her, "No, cousin, she isn't.""That's a dreadful shame, for if she were, then you could marry her."Mason sputtered and choked.Pounding him on the back, she continued, "She is quite a lovely girl and would make a beautiful bride."Given the way his cousin tended to mix things up, Mason knew he had to make his next point very clear.
"Cousin Felicity, I cannot marry Riley."
"Whyever not?"
"For one thing, she's an actress," he said, still too stunned by his cousin's suggestion to offer the million
other reasons as to why he couldn't take Riley as his wife.Cousin Felicity sighed, as if the entire world had gone mad.They drove along, rolling into the crowded streets of Covent Garden, drawing closer to the Queen's Gate.
He glanced out his window to get his bearings when he happened to spy Riley walking down the street.
Rather, he spotted those damnable plumes-undulating their way above the crowd with their haremlike
movements-announcing her impending arrival with their voluptuous dance.
In contrast, the lady below the feathers moved with an elegant grace that made her seem as if she were entering a ball rather than walking down the litter-strewn street. As passersby spoke to her or called out
a greeting, she inclined her head with nothing less than a royal nod, a gesture so regal that it left him almost believing the rumors that she had descended from the very Pharaohs of Egypt.
Lost in the reverie of such a notion, he didn't see the two men approaching her until it was too late to call
out a warning.
The evil shining out from their beady gazes as they closed in on her from either side betrayed their injurious intent.
Helpless to intervene through the throng separating them, he could only watch as one of them threw a hand over her mouth, while the other caught her arms and they dragged her into a narrow alley in the wink of an eye.
As the greasy hand clapped over Riley's mouth and nose, she gasped for air and her eyes began to water from the foul stench of her attacker. Before she could react, a second attacker caught her arms and pinned them to her sides. Her assailants quickly dragged her off the street and into the alley before anyone noticed her misfortune.
"Yer a right pretty one, ain't ye?" the first man whispered in her ear. "Well, ye won't be so nice when we get done with ye."
To her horror, he drew out a long knife that even in the dark of the alley flashed with a deadly glint. "Oh, this isn't the worst of it, my pretty," he told her. "I've me other blade that I intend to use as well."
"'E said no sport, Clyde," his companion complained. "No sport with 'er, if ye know what's good for ye."
"I'll have my sport for the measly coins 'e's givin' us for this job. Not likely as anyone will be listenin' to ' er when we git done," Clyde said, his foul breath wafting over her with a malodor akin to a cesspool on an August afternoon. "I don't intend to leave 'er breathin' or talkin'."
Riley kicked and struggled, making every attempt she could to escape as they continued to pull her deeper and deeper into the alley. The more she fought, the harder they cuffed and kicked her to keep her moving along.
She should have heeded the warning in the note. Let Hashim escort her on her errands, rather than sneaking out without him. Done a thousand different things...but now it seemed her unknown enemy would truly see her dead.
But who? And why?
"If ye think a little sport is in order, I say we do it before we cut 'er all up," the second man said, loosening his grip to fumble with the rope that held up his trousers.
In that instant, she freed a hand. Exactly as Hashim had taught her, she balled her fingers into a tight fist and swung with all her might at the one called Clyde, while her foot came up and down on the boot of the other.
As they howled in pain at her sudden attack, she bolted for the street.
But Clyde was too quick for her. "Ye little bitch," he cursed, catching her by the arm before she could take a second step and swinging her into the wall, the back of her head snapping against the bricks, leaving her stunned and slumping to the ground in a daze of stars. "Ye're a dead one now."
She closed her eyes and started to count her final moments...regrets flooded her mind, but the most outstanding one was Lord Ashlin.
If only she'd been able to do more than just kiss him. To discover for herself whether there lurked an unrepentant rake behind his starched demeanor, or whether the few moments in his arms had been
exactly what he'd said they'd been-an aberration.Now, she would never know. Yet as she braced herself for Clyde's murderous blow, she heard asudden commotion pounding down the alley toward them. She wiped at her eyes, but the stars stilldancing there obscured her vision.
"What the-" Clyde said, as a flash of silver seemed to light the entire alleyway, an avenging angelrescuing her from her plight.Hashim! He'd come looking for her. He'd heard the commotion and found her.
Clyde's piteous scream pierced the afternoon clamor of the streets."Leave off," the second man whined, his feet pedaling against the cobbles in desperate flight. "We meantno 'arm."
"Liar," she sputtered."She's the liar," Clyde spat back. "Invited us back 'ere for a little fun and then tried to rob us.""I tend to believe the lady," a smooth male voice responded.Her head jerked in that direction. Her rescuer spoke. So if it wasn't Hashim, who could it be?"Are you well, Riley?" the man asked. "Can you get away?"The voice-she recognized it, though she was certainly dreaming.Lord Ashlin? Here in Covent Garden?She shook her aching head, trying to clear her vision of its blurry haze. All she could make out was a figure clad in black swooping past her, blade in hand, chasing down the two henchmen who had threatened her life.
It was like a scene from her play.
Act Three, Scene Two. Aveline is rescued from the pirates by Geoffroi.
"Oh, my God," she muttered. She was dead and this was her hell-she was trapped in her own play with Lord Ashlin in the lead. As she felt herself slipping further into the darkness of unconsciousness, she tried to claw her way back.
Even she'd admit her plays were poor art, but to spend eternity in one was enough to make her fight for
her life.
Before she could struggle to her feet, she was swept up into a strong pair of arms and cradled in their masculine security. Her champion, her Geoffroi.
"You're safe now," a deep, soothing voice said too tenderly to be Lord Ashlin. "Your assailants are well
away."
She tried to open her eyes, but the lids were too heavy, and her head ached so that it made saying her lines back impossible, so instead, she raised her head as best she could and placed her lips on his.
The moment they touched her heart did a queer little flip-flop. His touch seemed gentle, and startled, and hungry.
Very hungry.
The kiss deepened and she poured her relief into her response. She was alive, so very alive, and this kiss seemed to show her just how much she would have missed.
"Geoffroi, my dearest Geoffroi," Madame Fontaine mumbled in his arms.
Mason thanked his good fortune that she was not asking for another kiss, for certainly he was beingtested. Riley's sweet lips clung to his with a tenderness and trust he'd never experienced.One that called on him to be there for her every time she needed rescuing.Still, it was one thing to kiss a woman, but quite another when she kissed you calling out another man's name.
He struggled along with her limp form in his arms, her eyes shut, her features pale. She wasn't bleeding,he knew that much, but she was dazed from the experience."Geoffroi," she murmured.He glanced down at his beautiful burden. Who the devil was this Geoffroi?A lover, perhaps? Probably some emigre comte or duc who'd offered her his charm, and fine manners, and carte blanche.
Great, he thought. He'd risked his life to save her and her lover would get the credit.
Mason brushed aside the niggling jealousy that rushed out of nowhere. What did he care if Madame
Fontaine had a lover? Or a legion of them, as gossip liked to favor her with? He certainly hadn't rushedto her aid to gain her favor, he'd just been on the corner when she'd needed him.Well, not him, exactly.
He supposed it could have been anyone, but it had just happened to be him.
And now that he'd rescued her, what the devil did he do with her? To his right he noticed a side door into the theatre. Nudging it open, he carried her down the short hallway, until it opened up into the orchestra pit.
On the stage above him, the rehearsal stumbled to a halt, the actors gaping at the sight of their mistress
being carried in by a complete stranger.
For a moment a deadly silence held the room, until an older man wearing a loose shirt and black trousers stepped forward. "Great devils of misfortune," he cried out in a booming baritone. "What have you done to my dearest girl?"
At this cue, the other actors and stagehands surged forward.
Mason held his ground, relieved to see Hashim at the edge of the hue and cry. At least there was one friendly face in the crowd.
Perhaps not overly friendly, for Hashim's murderous expression mirrored that of the rest of the company.
"Set her down, you villain, you knave, you heinous bounder!" the older man continued to rant. "And we shall deal with you as we would any other pestilence who would dare mar our Riley, our blessed muse, our virtuous queen."
Mason shook his head. "You have this all wrong. She was attacked. I came to her aid," he told them. Nodding over his shoulder at the door, he explained, "There were two men. They stole her off the street. I stopped them and brought her here."
"A likely tale to cover your misdeeds!" the man who seemed to be the rallying point cried out.
Even more unnerving, Mason watched Hashim draw his sword. The theatre company parted immediately and gave the furious Saracen a wide berth.
Hashim stalked forward until he towered over Mason. The man glanced down at Riley's inert form and then his piercing black gaze bore into Mason's.
"She took a blow to the head, but doesn't seem to be hurt anywhere else," Mason told him quickly. "I thought it best to bring her here rather than chase them down and leave her alone."
Hashim nodded and then raced to the alley after her attackers.
"'And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?'" the older man quoted after Hashim's departing figure. He turned back to Mason. "There you, what are you waiting for? Bring her up here." He turned to a man dressed like a pirate and another in a white shirt and breeches and said, "Daniel, Roderick, bring that chaise over." He turned back to Mason. "Well? What are you waiting for?" The man sighed. "If that walking Persian carpet of ours thought you had anything to do with this, we wouldn't be talking, but mopping the spot where you are standing. Now, bring her up here, gently."
Relieved by this about-face, Mason followed the man's directions, carrying Riley up the side steps and onto the stage, and over to the chaise the other actors had brought forward.
Gently he laid her down. Kneeling, he smoothed her hair back from her face. She was so pale, and at the same time, so startlingly beautiful. Her lips trembled for a moment and he recalled how it felt to have them pressed to his.
Why the devil would anyone want to harm her?
The company crowded around, the older man taking her other hand and patting it with great display. "Riley, sweet Riley, speak to me. Tell us what fiend did this to you."
Her lashes fluttered open and she turned toward Mason. "Geoffroi, Geoffroi, you came for me," she said, before her eyes closed once again.
"Huzzah!" the man beside him cried out. "That's my Riley. Even in her distress, she remembers her lines. You there, Hortense, go fetch that wretched Nanette and tell her to bring down a basin of cold water and a cloth for her mistress."
Mason was still stuck on the first part of the man's speech. "Her lines?" he asked. "This Geoffroi is part of a play?"