Artemis stared, still kneeling, her hand gripping the little blade sheathed in her boot. She’d never seen anyone fight like this—with a kind of brutal grace, two swords flashing at once through the shadows, too swift for the human eye to follow. The first of the three men dropped, rolling to lie still and dazed. On the other side of the fight Artemis’s cousin, Lady Penelope Chadwicke, whimpered, cringing away from the bleeding man. A second man lunged, but the harlequin ducked, sweeping his outstretched leg under his opponent’s feet, kicking the man to the ground, and then kicking him once more—viciously—in the face. The masked man rose, already striking at the third man, hammering the butt of his sword against his opponent’s temple.
The man collapsed with a squishy thud.
Artemis swallowed drily.
The lane was suddenly quiet, the crumbling buildings on either side seeming to loom with decrepit menace. The harlequin pivoted, not even breathing hard, his boot heels scraping on cobblestones, and glanced at Penelope. She still sobbed fearfully against the wall.
His head swiveled silently as he looked from Penelope to Artemis.
Artemis inhaled as she met the cold eyes glittering behind his sinister mask.
Once upon a time she had believed that most people were kind. She also believed that God watched over her and that if she were honest and good and always offered the last piece of raspberry pie to someone else first, then even though sad things might happen, in the end everything would work out for the best. That was before, though. Before she’d lost both her family and the man who’d professed to love her more than the sun itself. Before her beloved brother had been committed wrongly to Bedlam. Before she’d been so wretchedly desperate and alone that she’d wept tears of gratitude when she’d been offered the position of her silly cousin’s lady’s companion.
Before, Artemis would’ve fallen upon this grim harlequin with cries of thanks for having rescued them in the nick of time.
Now, Artemis narrowed her eyes at the masked man and wondered why he’d come to the aid of two lone women, wandering the dangerous streets of St. Giles at midnight.
She winced.
Perhaps she had grown a trifle cynical.
He strode to her in two lithe steps and stood over her. She saw those intense eyes move from the hand on her pathetic knife to her face. His wide mouth twitched—in amusement? Irritation? Pity? She doubted the last, but she simply couldn’t tell—and bizarrely, she wanted to. It mattered, somehow, what this stranger thought of her—and, of course, what he intended to do to her.
Holding her gaze, he sheathed his short sword and pulled the gauntlet off his left hand with his teeth. He held out his bare hand to her.
She glanced at the proffered hand, noticing the dull glint of gold on the smallest finger, before laying her palm in his. Hot strength gripped her tightly as he pulled her upright before him, so close she would’ve had to move only inches to brush her lips across his throat. She watched the pulse of his blood beat there, strong and sure, before she lifted her gaze. His head was cocked almost as if he were examining her—searching for something in her face.
She drew in a breath, parting her lips to ask a question.
Which was when Penelope launched herself at his back. Penelope screamed, obviously nearly out of her mind with fear, as she beat at the harlequin’s broad shoulders uselessly.
He reacted of course, turning, yanking his hand from Artemis’s fingers as he lifted one arm to push Penelope aside. But Artemis tightened her hand on his. It must’ve been instinct, for she certainly wouldn’t have done it had she thought. As his fingers left hers, something fell into her palm.
Then he was shoving Penelope aside and loping swiftly down the lane.
Penelope panted, her hair half down, a scratch across her face. “He might’ve killed us!”
“What?” Artemis asked absently, tearing her gaze away from the end of the lane where the masked man had disappeared.
“That was the Ghost of St. Giles,” Penelope said. “Didn’t you recognize him? They say he’s a ravisher of maidens and a cold-blooded murderer!”
“He was rather helpful for a cold-blooded murderer,” Artemis said as she bent to lift the lantern. She’d set it down when the toughs had appeared at the end of the alley. Fortunately, it had survived the fight without being knocked over.