he’d been able to get her to happily chatter on.
In no time at all they reached her door and he put the key in the lock.
She reached up on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Thank you so much, Xavier. You have made me very happy tonight.’
Her lips felt soft and warm.
He wrapped his arms around her and brought his lips within a hair’s breadth of hers. He felt her breasts rise and fall against his chest, further tantalising him. Her eyes grew wide as her mouth opened in alarm.
Banking his impulses, he lightly touched his lips to hers.
When he released her, his breath came faster. ‘I want you always to be happy, Phillipa,’ he murmured. ‘Same time tomorrow?’
She blinked up him, her brow puzzled. ‘Same time tomorrow.’
He opened the door and she slipped inside.
It took him a moment to move away.
He’d appointed himself her protector, but perhaps his hardest task would be to protect her from himself.
* * *
For the next four nights Xavier met Phillipa at her town house and returned her home again. They walked side by side through the night with only the occasional gaslight or rush light to break through the darkness. There were few carriages in the streets and fewer still pedestrians sharing the pavement. They talked of her music and the patrons who attended the gaming house, traded stories of what transpired in the supper room and in the game room.
Xavier was careful not to touch her, at least not to touch her in the way he most desired. The old camaraderie from their childhood days might have returned, but what consumed Xavier’s senses was the woman Phillipa had become. So graceful. So quick-witted. So passionate.
So unaffected by him.
How ironic that he should desire a woman who gave no sign at all of desiring him.
It was fortunate, he supposed, because this idyll could not continue indefinitely. When Rhys returned her performances would stop, and, Xavier suspected, Phillipa would have no more use for him. Still, he did not regret his decision to allow her to perform.
It brought her joy.
It even brought increased profits. People came to The Masquerade Club to hear her play and they stayed to gamble.
Could he contrive to see her when it was over? Would she receive him? Did he want to push himself on a woman who did not want him? God knew, he detested being pursued by someone he did not want.
This night she performed for two hours, as had become her custom, and sent word to Xavier that she was ready to leave. As they’d done on previous nights, they stepped out into the night air and began to share the night’s events with each other. This night, though, when they crossed Piccadilly and made their way to the unlit streets of Mayfair, Xavier felt a change in the air. It was nothing more than an odd sound, an unfamiliar shadow, but the soldier in him went on alert.
When he and Phillipa reached Hay Hill, the hairs on the back of his neck rose and he could almost hear the drum beat of the pas de charge.
He stopped her and lowered his voice. ‘Do you still carry your dagger?’
‘Yes.’ She caught his nerves.
‘Pull it and hand it to me now.’
She did as he asked.
As soon as the knife was in his hands, three men burst from the darkness. One, stinking of drink, seized him from behind and dragged him into the Brunton Mews. Xavier twisted his way free and slashed the dagger at the man, slicing in to a tattered uniform. In his ears he heard the sounds of battle. Muskets firing. Cannons booming. Men and horses screaming.
But this was not battle.
Another man grabbed for his wrist and tried to wrest the knife from his grasp. Xavier whirled on him, kicked him in the groin and sent him sprawling.
The third man had Phillipa in his grip. Xavier strained to come to her aid, but the first man set on him again.
‘We need money,’ the man cried. No doubt he was a former soldier now driven to theft and violence.
‘Leave us! Release her!’ Xavier lunged at him, slicing the man’s cheek and neck with his blade.
The man cried out and clapped his hand to his face. Blood dripped through the man’s fingers and on to his uniform. Xavier turned away at the sight and saw the second man regain his feet. Xavier’s thoughts were only on Phillipa.
She struggled to free herself. She gripped her captor’s hair and pulled it hard, before stomping on the man’s foot.
The second man went to aid the man fighting with Phillipa. Xavier launched himself forwards and seized the man’s collar, pulling him away.
That man pulled a knife. ‘Not so brave now, pretty boy.’ He laughed. ‘Give us your money.’
One more man underestimating him.
Xavier lifted his hands as if surrendering. ‘I want no trouble.’
The man sneered in contempt and lowered his hands slightly, the chance Xavier anticipated. He let out a cry, so fierce and wild, the man shrank back. Xavier charged straight for him, his fist connecting to the man’s chin. The man’s knife dropped to the street.
Xavier slammed him against the wall of the building and put the dagger to his throat. ‘Not so brave now, are you?’
‘Don’t cut me! Don’t cut me!’ the man pleaded.
Xavier snarled, ‘Leave now and you leave with your lives.’
The man nodded in fear. ‘We’re leaving. We’re leaving!’ He raised his hands in the air and Xavier stepped away. The man sidled away and grabbed the arm of the man still trying to stop the bleeding of the cut to his face.
The third man now had Phillipa’s reticule in his grip. She would not release it. His eyes widened when his companions ran off and Xavier advanced on him. Phillipa blocked the man’s escape. He picked her up and thrust her aside.
She hit the pavement flat on her face, her forehead bouncing on to its hard surface.
She did not move.
‘Phillipa!’ Xavier ran to her.
* * *
Phillipa heard a man call her name.
She scented sea air and heard waves rolling on to the shore. She felt small and frightened and in pain. Her face hurt and she tasted blood.
She tried to move, but the wind had been knocked out of her. ‘Phillipa!’ the voice called again.
A man’s hands turned her on her back. The darkness had melded into dusk and the air was briny.
‘Wake up, my girl,’
