The Rakehell of Roth (Everleigh Sisters #2) - Amalie Howard Page 0,92

of streets, set up like a spinning wheel, with each spoke leading somewhere else.

No wonder any wayfarers who got lost in the maze of any of these slums were never to be found…because by the time they would have gotten their bearings, they would have been robbed, stripped of all belongings, beaten to within an inch of their lives, and if they were lucky, killed. If they weren’t lucky, well, those were the ones sold into slavery and prostitution. And that was a grim outcome at best.

Suddenly, she heard a man’s bellow and what sounded like a scuffle. It wasn’t much to go on, but she didn’t have much choice. She moved Hellion in the direction of another loud grunt followed by a crashing noise. Her heart climbed into her throat when she rounded the corner, only to see her husband fighting like a devil at the center of a pack of grimy men.

Blood ran freely from a cut on his brow and he was covered in filth, but his sheer strength and viciousness took her breath away. One man flew into a nearby wall, crumpling to a heap at its base. He wrapped one thick arm around another’s neck while fending off a third.

A fourth crept closer, a knife in hand, and Isobel cried out.

“Roth! Behind you!”

He whirled, just in time to deflect the strike with his arm. Blood seeped through the light-colored fabric of his coat. Isobel didn’t think—she reached for one of her pistols, took aim, and fired. The lead ball caught the man in the leg, sending him howling in pain to the ground. The others turned at the sight of her on the horse, but she didn’t waste a second in cocking her second pistol and sliding from Hellion to fire it at the man fighting to take Winter down. The bullet caught him in the side. Her eyes darted to the man who Winter had catapulted into the wall earlier, but he wasn’t moving.

One to go.

She started forward and then stopped mid-step. In her haste, she was forgetting something…something important. Oh yes, her mask! She’d stuffed it into her pocket at the house, knowing it would have drawn more eyes riding through London than not. She cursed the few seconds it cost her to tie the scrap in place, but she couldn’t expose her secret to Winter, not yet and especially not here.

And then she was off and running toward him, holding pistols high. They were both empty, but maybe Winter’s assailants wouldn’t know that. Just as she reached them, Winter crumpled to the ground with an unconscious man splayed on top of him.

“Roth? Are you hurt? Can you get to your horse?”

Winter blinked, blood seeping into his eye. “Iz? Is that you? What the devil are you doing here?” He swiped at his bloody face. “Where’s your mistress? Is she safe?”

“Yes,” Isobel said, shoving the man off of him and half dragging him up by one arm. “Don’t talk. We need to get out of here. More will come when they smell opportunity.”

Places like these were filled with parasites. Locals protected their own, but God help any nob who wandered into their midst. Isobel could feel the stares of the hidden eyes watching her from the densely packed houses. They would wait until there was no danger to them and then run out to collect the spoils from whatever was left—clothing, coin, weapons, anything that could be reused or sold.

“What are you doing here?” her husband repeated on a slur as they stumbled toward Hellion where she pawed the ground beside Winter’s horse.

“Rescuing you,” she said.

Isobel glanced over her shoulder, feeling a prickle on the back of her neck, but there was no one there except for the four bodies…two insensible and two groaning from their wounds. She had to get them out of here before a mob ensued. “Do you have any shot or pistols?”

“One,” he rasped. “In saddle.”

Good, that was good. It meant they weren’t totally defenseless. Propping Winter against his horse, she debated how to get him into the saddle. He was a large man, and built of pure muscle. Even bolstered between her and the horse as he was, he was heavy.

“We need to go,” she urged. “Can you get up on your horse?”

Bloodshot gray eyes met hers as he blinked rapidly. “Where’s my wife? Need to tell her sorry.”

“You will, Roth, but for God’s sake, you need to mount that horse now.”

She frowned, watching his uncoordinated motions with