Charlotte wanted to scream, but the authority in Cade’s voice was too compelling to resist. She stared at him.
“I must go, but know this. I will come back for you. I will come!” He kissed her hard, then released her just as the man behind the divan reached forward and caught her skirt again. Then she was tumbling down, her fall broken with the thud of her head against the floor.
The world fell down around her. She heard glass crunching beneath boots, muffled voices, shouts, and gunfire. Cade was beside her, struggling with the man behind the divan, and Charlotte took the opportunity to roll away. There was another gunshot, and just when she was certain the next bullet would be for her, she was grabbed by another man, hauled to her knees, and dragged across the room. She fought to rise to her feet, and when she finally succeeded, he was yelling at her.
She gaped at him. It was the blond man Cade had recognized, and this close he resembled a golden angel.
“I say, stop flailing about,” the angel said again. “You’re ruining my tailcoat.” He pulled her to her feet. “Can you stand, or shall I be forced to prop you up all afternoon?”
“I—I can stand.”
The angel nodded and released his hold. She stepped back, surveying the destruction with amazement. Cade was gone, and she couldn’t imagine how he’d escaped, unless—had he gone through the shattered window? Not only had the window been smashed, the divan was overturned, books and papers lay scattered on the floor, and there was a man with a pool of blood around his head lying not a foot from where she’d fallen. With a jolt, Charlotte clutched the thin fabric of her dress. Cade had deserted her.
I will come back for you. Trembling and petrified, Charlotte held on to Cade’s words like a lifeboat in stormy seas.
“You’re not going to faint, are you?” the angel said. Charlotte was in no danger of fainting, but she had to shove her fist up against her lips because she was in serious danger of screaming. The man gave her a stern look. “And don’t cry.” He turned to his companion. “How is he?”
The other man knelt on the floor beside the bloodied man and shook his head. “Pettigru, that bastard, shot him before he went out the window. He’s dead.”
Charlotte turned away, inadvertently landing in the angel’s arms. She tried to step away, but he took her elbow and held fast.
“This is a mare’s nest,” the angel said to his companion. “Pettigru’s escaped, the neighbors have probably called the watch, and where the devil did this bird come from?” He shook her arm, and Charlotte realized she must be the bird.
“Damned if I know,” the other man said, standing and wiping the blood from his hands on a rag. He removed his hat and lowered his collar then, and Charlotte was amazed at how much he resembled the angel. His eyes, a startling blue, met hers, and his angry expression changed to an engaging smile. “ ‘What lady’s that, which doth enrich the hand of yonder knight?’ ”
Charlotte blinked in confusion. Beside her, the angel muttered, “Oh, dash it. Not now.”
The angel’s companion came closer. He was dressed in Venetian breeches, a white shirt with pleated ruffles, and—Charlotte narrowed her eyes—a doublet? “ ‘O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night as a rich jewel—’ ”
“Stubble it, Romeo. We don’t have time for poetry at present.”
His companion ignored him and took her free hand, kissed it, and said, “Sir Sebastian Middleton. Charmed to make your acquaintance.”
Charlotte blinked again. A moment before, bullets had been flying and she’d been choking. Now this man was acting as though they were performing in a Shakespearean production. Had the lack of air caused her to hallucinate?
No, she was still in Cade’s office, and there was still a dead man on the floor. Charlotte glanced at the angel beside her. “Is he mad?” She pointed to the man called Middleton.
“Mad? Absolutely. No cure. We call the illness Fits of Shakespeare.”
Charlotte wasn’t sure if she should laugh or express sympathy, but then there was another crash, and Charlotte turned to see Addy kick the office door open. Charlotte was thankful for the angel’s hand on her arm, especially when three huffing men burst in after Addy. Once inside, they pounced on Addy, and one of them, red-faced though younger and stronger than Addy, said, “Caught her, my lord.” He nodded to the angel. “She put up a fight.”
“Wot’s going on in there?” Someone outside banged on the door.
“Ah, that would be the neighbors and the welcome party I predicted,” the angel said.
“What do we do with her?” one of the men holding Addy asked.
“To the ship!” Middleton cried, extracting a sword from the belt around his waist and brandishing it like a pirate.
“No!” Charlotte screamed at the same time the angel said, “Ship?”
“We’ll never make it through the crowds with these two.” Middleton waved the sword at Charlotte and Addy. “The river’s the only way. We’ll sail for Westminster.”
“No ships,” the angel said. Charlotte nodded. She had no intention of going anywhere with these lunatics.
“Buck up, man,” Middleton said. “It’s only a little water.” And then he jumped through the window and motioned for the rest to follow.
The angel’s grip tightened. “I suppose there’s nothing for it. Come on.”
