He thought not for the first time that he really had to make a few changes in his life. He needed a girlfriend, one who could tell him to go to hell without sounding as though she’d never considered the thought before. He answered his phone, surprised that Oliver would ring him instead of texting.
“You’re surrounded,” Oliver said urgently. “You need to move, now.”
He almost dropped his phone. “What?”
“Two behind you and two up the way. Two we know, two we don’t. Very unpleasant sorts.”
“Perfect,” Derrick said. “I’ll find a cab—”
“Rufus will be pulling up to the curb if you can last another two minutes,” Oliver said. “Though that may be a stretch—”
“I’ll manage.”
“Thought you might. Must dash.”
Derrick supposed he must as well. He hung up, then realized that Samantha was ten feet away from him, engaging in a bit of a dash herself. He caught up with her easily and took her by the arm.
“Let’s go.”
“Are you insane?” she squeaked. “Let go of me!”
He stopped abruptly and glared at her. “Listen, you silly girl, someone is after you and it isn’t me. If you want to die, just stand here and wait. Otherwise, stop acting like an idiot and come with me.”
“Are you out of your mind?” she wheezed.
He pointed back over his shoulder. “Would you rather take your chances with those lads back there?”
She looked, then blanched. He thought that was a show of good sense after all, so he continued on until they’d reached the curb, then looked over his shoulder. They were being followed, hard, which might not have alarmed him except that the woman next to him was carrying an enormous piece of priceless lace. He looked to his right, then didn’t bother to suppress his sigh of relief. He continued to hold on to Samantha Drummond until Rufus glided to a stop right there where the handle to the back door was within reach. He opened it, urged Samantha inside as gently as possible, then dove in himself.
“Get off me!”
He heaved himself up into the seat, trying not to crush her in the process, and fumbled for the door to pull it shut as Rufus sped off. He sat back, dragged his hands through his hair, and sighed deeply.
“Thank you, Rufus,” he said. It seemed a rather feeble display of appreciation, but he supposed he might frighten the good Miss Drummond if he fell upon Rufus’s neck and sobbed like a bairn.
“Where to now, Master Derrick?”
“Away is enough for the moment,” Derrick said. He shifted on his seat and looked at Samantha, who was still fumbling with her seat belt. Safety first, he supposed, which he wasn’t going to argue with. Far easier to get his lace back if she wasn’t trying to get out of the backseat.
He watched her for another moment or two, then reached over and buckled her seat belt for her. Her hands were shaking too badly to manage it herself. A guilty conscience, no doubt. Add to that her absolutely white features and there he had a criminal caught red-handed.
And on the subject of being red-handed, he looked down at his own hand, covered as it was in blood that had dripped down his arm. He was fairly sure it wasn’t anything more than a scratch, so he ignored it in favor of staring down the miscreant sitting next to him.
“Where is the lace?” he demanded.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said faintly.
“Of course you know what I’m talking about.”
He watched her hand creep under her apron. He wasn’t altogether sure she didn’t have a knife with her, but he supposed being stabbed by that couldn’t make his arm hurt any more than it hurt at present. Plus, he wouldn’t have any trouble disarming her. He waited until she had started to fumble with whatever she’d found before he lifted the apron of her dress and removed what turned out to be a small notebook from her trembling fingers.
“Give that back,” she said, reaching for it.
He held it away, then glared at her. “Give me back the lace first.”
“I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Listen, Miss Drummond—”
“How do you know who I am?”
He shot her what he hoped had come out as a supercilious look. “I know all kinds of things,” he said curtly, “including the fact that you have in your possession a piece of lace that does not belong to you, a piece of Edwardian