lurched lest it should be he. Every feeling shrank from the scene that must surely follow, for he would not hesitate to compel her return. After that she would be lost. She had no illusions about her ability to resist her uncle’s will: those had been beaten out of her long since. His maxim was: Spare the rod and spoil the child, a policy he had upheld with the utmost rigour. He would have her submission all right, and would use any means to get it.
At the thought of what that submission meant her stomach churned. Within the week she would become Lady Mortimer, married against her will to a man old enough to be her father, a portly, balding baronet with a lascivious gaze that made her flesh crawl. The memory of his proposal was still horribly vivid. She had been left alone with him, an occurrence that had set warning bells ringing immediately. Her aunt and uncle were usually sticklers for propriety. After a few minutes of stilted conversation Sir Charles had seized her hand, declaring his passion in the most ardent terms. Repelled by the words and the feel of his hot, damp palms she had tried to break free, only to find herself tipped backwards onto the sofa cushions. Claire swallowed hard. Almost she could still feel his paunch pressing her down, could smell the oily sweetness of hair pomade and fetid breath on her face as he tried to kiss her. Somehow she had got a hand free and struck him. Taken aback he had slackened his hold, allowing her to struggle free of that noxious embrace and run, knowing she’d rather be dead than married to such a man. How her refusal had been represented to her uncle afterwards she could only guess, but his anger was plain.
‘You stupid, ungrateful girl! Who do you think you are to be refusing such an offer? Do you imagine you will ever get another as good?’
All her protestations had counted for nothing. She could see her uncle’s cold and furious face.
‘You have until tomorrow morning to change your mind or I’ll know the reason why. By the time I’ve finished with you, my girl, you’ll be only too glad to marry Sir Charles, believe me.’
She had believed him, knowing full well it was no idle threat, and so she had run away the same night.
‘Now there’s a fancy bit of muslin.’
‘Aye, I wouldn’t mind ten minutes behind the tavern with her.’
The voices jolted Claire from her thoughts and, as their lewd import dawned, she reddened, recognising the group of loafers she had seen before. From their dress they were of the labouring class, but dirtier and more unkempt than was usual. Uncomfortably aware of their close scrutiny Claire kept walking, determined to ignore them, but as she drew nigh the group one of them stepped in front of her blocking the way. When she tried to go round him he sidestepped too, blocking the path again. He looked to be in his early twenties. Taller than her by several inches and sturdily built, he was dressed like the others in a brown drab coat and breeches. A soiled green neckcloth was carelessly tied about his throat. Lank fair hair straggled beneath a greasy cap and framed a narrow unshaven face with a thin-lipped mouth and cold blue eyes. These were now appraising her, missing no detail of her appearance from her straw bonnet to the dark blue pelisse and sprigged muslin frock. Although she had dressed as plainly as she could to avoid attracting attention, there was no mistaking the fine quality and cut of her garments.
‘Can you spare a coin, miss?’
‘I’m sorry, no.’
‘Just a shilling, miss.’
‘I have none to spare.’
‘I find that hard to believe, a fine young lady like yourself.’
‘Believe what you like.’
She made to step round him again, but again he prevented it.
‘Suppose I take a look for myself.’
Before she could anticipate it he grabbed her reticule. Claire tried to snatch it back, but he held on. His four companions gathered round, grinning. Seeing herself surrounded she fought panic, knowing instinctively it would be a mistake to show fear. He shook the reticule and heard the chink of coins. Her last few shillings!
‘Sounds like money to me,’ he remarked with a wink to the general audience.
‘Give that back.’
He grinned. ‘What if I don’t, eh?’
Claire glared at her tormentor. She had not risked so much and come all this way merely to fall victim to another bully. Resentment welled up, fuelling her anger, and without warning she lashed out, dealing him a ringing crack across the cheek.
‘Give it back, you oaf!’
In sheer surprise he let go of the reticule while his companions drew audible breaths and looked on in delighted anticipation. Claire lifted her chin.
‘Get out of my way!’
She would have pushed past, but he recovered and seized her arm in a painful grip.
‘You’ll pay for that, you little bitch.’
Glaring up at him, she forced herself to meet the cold blue eyes.
‘Unhand me.’
‘High and mighty, aren’t we? But I’ll take you down a peg or two.’
‘Aye, that’s it, Jed,’ said a voice from the group. ‘Show her.’
A chorus of agreement followed and with pounding heart Claire saw them move in closer. Jed smiled, revealing stained and decaying teeth.
‘Since you won’t give a coin I’ll take payment in kind. Perhaps we all will, eh, lads?’
A murmur of agreement followed. Her captor glanced toward the alley that ran alongside the tavern. Claire, following that look, felt her stomach lurch.
‘Let go of me.’
She tried to twist free, but his grip only tightened. In desperation she kicked out. The blow connected and she heard him swear, but it was a temporary victory. Moments later she was dragged into the alley and shoved up against the outer wall of the inn. Then his arm was round her waist and his free hand exploring her breast. She could feel his hot breath on her neck. Claire struggled harder.
‘Aye, go on, fight me. I like it better that way.’
‘Let me go!’
‘Not before I’ve given you what you need, lass.’
‘Save some for us, Jed,’ said a voice from behind him.
He grinned appreciatively. ‘I reckon there’s enough here to go round. You’ll get your turns when I’m done.’
More laughter greeted this. Claire screamed as Jed’s hands fumbled with her skirt.
‘Let her go!’
Hearing that hard, cold command, the group fell silent, turning to look at the newcomer who had approached unnoticed. Claire swallowed hard, her heart pounding even as her gaze drank in every detail of her rescuer’s appearance. An arresting figure, he was a head taller than any present. His dress proclaimed the working man, but there the similarity ended: if anything his upright bearing smacked more of a military background. The brown serge coat had seen better days but it was clean
