Clawing at her, his fingers closed over her upper arm. She dropped the box and snatched up the slender rod. Steeling herself, she tightened her grip and plunged the probe into his hand.
His pain-filled bellow echoed off the ceiling. He reached for her again, but she plowed the rod into him again, piercing his shoulder as she missed the more vulnerable area of his chest.
Turning on her heel, she fled.
Frantic, she freed the latch and threw open the door. His footsteps pounded the floor behind her.
She darted from the room—and crashed into a man’s broad chest.
Harrison MacMasters stared down at her. Questions darkened his eyes.
“Watch out,” she cried as O’Hanlon followed close behind.
With the slightest of nods, Harrison pressed her behind his back.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, his calm, quiet voice not disguising its strength.
“Get out of my way,” O’Hanlon said. “Ye’ve no need to protect her. She’s nothing but a thief.”
“Is she now?” Harrison rubbed his jaw, as if contemplating the question. “In that case, shall we summon the authorities?”
“Bugger off,” the older man said. “I don’t need a copper meddling in my business.”
Harrison stood his ground. Steady and calm as a champion pugilist sizing up an opponent, he studied the other man. “And if I do, as you put it so eloquently,bugger off, precisely how do you intend to remedy the situation?”
O’Hanlon cocked his head. Suspicion flared in his eyes. “Ye’re working with her, aren’t ye?”
“Working?” Harrison glanced down at his ebony cutaway coat and paisley waistcoat. With a seemingly idle movement, he unfastened the button on his jacket. “I’d hardly say I’m dressed for labor. Or for thievery, for that matter. But rest assured, I’ve no intention of letting you put your hands on this woman.”
“Ye’re a damned fool. The tart’s got somethin’ that belongs to me. And I intend to get it.” O’Hanlon pulled a revolver from his pocket.
A fresh wave of fear crashed over Grace. Her heart raced. If O’Hanlon pulled the trigger—no, she would not think of it. She had to do something. She’d brought this about. She could not allow Harrison to suffer the consequences of the sins she’d committed.
“No,” she spoke up, finding her voice. “Lower your weapon—I’ll give you what you want.”
She attempted to step in front of Harrison, but with one arm, he pressed her back.
“Stay behind me,” he said, his tone edged with flint.
“I know ye took that damned book.” O’Hanlon ground the words between his teeth, his expression contorted with anger. “I need it.”
“Holster your weapon, or you will regret it,” Harrison said. Grace sensed the tensing of the muscles in his back and shoulders, like a tightly wound spring.
O’Hanlon scowled. “Hand over the book before this fool gets ye killed.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure we’re the ones in danger,” Harrison said, his tone hard as flint. “I’ve little tolerance for a man who attempts to intimidate me with a gun. And even less for a man who threatens a woman.”
Quick as the slice of a whip, Harrison struck. His motions smooth and fluid, he slammed the edge of one hand into O’Hanlon’s arm while his other hand cracked against the man’s wrist.
With a howl of pain, O’Hanlon released his grip. His weapon clattered to the floor.
Harrison seized him by the collar. His fingers dug into the fabric, tightening his grip as he pinned O’Hanlon to the wall. Beneath the fine wool of his jacket, his muscles bunched with restrained power. The gentleman she’d known had taken his leave, replaced by six feet of protective, dangerous male.
Grace’s mouth went dry.
“Take yer bleedin’ hands off me. Ye’re going to regret this,” O’Hanlon muttered.
“I suspect you’re right. But that doesn’t change a damned thing.”
