Page 116 of Rules for Ruin

He was back up with surprising speed for such a large man, coming at her again, too furious to employ strategy.

She deftly sidestepped him, delivering a sharp elbow to his spine as he passed.

Parker staggered forward, uttering an inarticulate roar of rage. Regaining his balance, he turned on her, his face contorted in a ferocious mask. He made another clumsy lunge.

Effie avoided him again. As he moved by her, she hooked his ankle with her foot, bringing him to one knee.

Panting heavily, the butler regained his footing. “What manner of female—”

“One whose business is no business of yours,” she said. “I’d advise you to—”

He barreled straight for her before she could finish, knocking the breath out of her lungs. His arms came around her midsection in a crushing bear hug, lifting her straight off the ground. “Demented doxy,” he growled. “I’ll carry you back if I have to.”

Effie struggled against him, pummeling him with her fists and kicking him in the legs with her booted feet. She couldn’t get to his eyes. His head was bent against her shoulder, protecting his face, and he had no hair she could pull to force him to raise it again.

She attempted to knee him in the nether regions, but her skirts were in the way, and he was holding her too close for her to do any appreciable damage. She vaguely registered that the book was still attached to the inside of her crinoline. Perhaps he could even feel it there, pressed as they were front to front. If he could, he gave no sign of it. He was too focused on subduing her and returning her to Grosvenor Square.

Scrunching his face against her repeated blows, he conveyed her down the alleyway. It would be the work of a moment to carry her back to Compton’s house. Once inside, Effie would be a prisoner, left at the mercy of the constable or of Lord Compton himself. There would be no escape.

She must free herself now or never.

With leverage no longer in her favor, she had but one option left. Reaching back, she tore one of her dragonfly pins from her plaited coiffure. She hesitated but an instant. She didn’t like to be brutal, but…

She had given the man multiple chances to desist.

Raising the hairpin, she stabbed it straight into his ear.

Parker emitted an animallike howl of pain. He immediately released her. Effie fell to the ground in a bruising heap as the butler staggered past. His cries were interspersed with foul words, calling her every vile name under the sun, as his hand reached uselessly for the protruding pin.

She scrambled up, breathless. The full import of what she’d just done struck her with a sickening clarity. Catching her skirts in her hands, Effie ran.

30

Effie held Franc tightly in her arms, her face buried in the soft black curls of his coat. She hadn’t stopped trembling since she’d returned to Brook Street ten minutes ago, hatless and disheveled, missing one of her dragonfly hairpins.

It hadn’t prevented her from doing what must be done.

Before withdrawing to her room, she’d first taken pains to hide the book. She’d put it in the Belwoods’ library, wedged behind a high shelf of leather-bound tomes on the history of the Roman Empire. It would have to be wrapped in brown paper and posted to the Academy. Effie must do it herself. She couldn’t trust the errand to one of the Belwoods’ footmen.

In the meanwhile, she didn’t dare keep the book on her person. Not when she expected Parker to appear at any moment, either alone or with the constable. They would almost certainly demand to search her, and very likely insist on searching her room.

Seated in an armchair by her chamber window, Effie cradled Franc, willing herself to remain calm. The little poodle pawed at her cheek in canine concern.

“If only Gabriel wasn’t at the dratted Derby,” she told him. “I’ve no doubt he would manage this situation impeccably.”

But Gabriel wasn’t in London. Effie was on her own. And she had no time to spare.

“We must away from here,” she said to Franc. “As soon as I catch my breath, we’ll pack a bag. I’ll post the book, and then we shall board the next steamer for Calais. Madame Dalhousie will give us shelter until Miss Corvus can determine what I’m to do next.”

Franc blinked up at her.

“What we’re to do next,” she amended.

Franc’s tail quivered. He licked her cheek.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll keep you safe.”

Ten minutes later, her carpetbag packed, Effie was just heading for the bedroom door to see about wrapping the book when a knock arrested her step.