Page 63 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

Chapter Fifteen

Keir heard the crack and something inside him cracked as well. His entire body reacted, already on painful alert since Sybil had casually strolled into his house and declared she had been taken off the damned street. And now even more on alert standing so close to him in the soft shadows as her lips parted on what he hoped was simply the word “yes.”

Instead: a rock, a broken window, a shot of cold fear down his spine.

At least, thank God, he was close enough to seize her up in his arms, if not exactly in the way he would have preferred. As he didn’t know immediately that it was a rock and not a musket ball or a gunpowder bomb, he had her tucked under his body before his brain could fully process what was happening.

She squeaked. He glanced down, making certain that every part of her was shielded by his body. He had the foresight to cradle her head when he tossed her down onto the floor. He was abruptly aware that gentlemen did not toss ladies onto the floor, no matter the plush quality of the hand-knotted carpets. Sybil blinked up at him, a flush on her cheeks, her breath startled from her lungs. Unharmed. Thank God.

He let out his own breath, every muscle still tense. “Are you hurt?”

“Not a bit,” she assured him. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Your face is funny.”

“Thanks very much.” He frowned. “I don’t know what to say to that.” That thought was a constant companion when they were together, and he found he did not mind it. He had missed it, in fact.

The attacks on her person, he minded very much.

“Goodness,” she said. “That lady earlier was quite right. You do growl.”

He eased off her purely to assess any remaining danger and because he did not wish to crush her. Not because he wished to be anywhere else, because he most certainly did not. His heart thundered in his chest as he helped her to her feet, tucking her behind him, where she, naturally, did not remain. “Sybil, stay behind me.”

He growled it, of course.

“Someone threw a rock through our window!” She didn’t weep or flutter. Not his Sybil. Instead, she swore like a sailor. A drunk sailor on leave. A pirate. He knew several men who considered themselves worldly and debauched who would have blushed. He might have also if he wasn’t occupied with making sure she was safe.

Nothing else was acceptable.

He was peering out the window as the footman burst through the door. Keir was gratified to see him wielding that dagger. “Bastard took off through the garden and over the fence into the park,” Keir said. “I can see his bloody footprints.”

The footman nodded. “I’ll follow.”

Keir would have dearly loved to join him, if only to tear that miscreant limb from limb. But the thought of leaving Sybil alone made him physically ill.

“I doubt he’ll find anyone,” Sybil muttered, bending to pick up the rock. “The very reason we are on the edge of the Park is because it affords so much space and privacy.”

Keir batted her hand away. “Give me that.”

“It’s just a rock.”

“So you say. But I don’t know of many drawing rooms that have rocks thrown through their windows.”

“You do not know terribly interesting people, then.”

“I think you might be right about that,” he said, examining the rock, which was just that: a rock. There was, however, a note tied round it with string.

Sybil peered around his shoulder to read it. “You were warned.” She scoffed. “That’s rather uninspired.”

Keir wrestled the waves of fury building inside his ribcage. “Who would do this?”

Sybil shrugged. “Who knows?” she asked, airily. So airily it set his teeth on edge.