“Give me that,” ordered the slaver who had put the sack over her head.
“Get out or I’ll shoot.” She looked both men dead in the eye, showing them that she would kill them if it came to that. She’d seen her father use a pistol. She knew how they worked, and she cocked the hammer to prove her point. The men raised their hands and backed toward the door to The Greedy Vicar. Raeni pointed the pistol at them until they were out on the street again.
Then she collapsed into tears, dropping the pistol. Thomas took her into his arms, cradling her head. “Are you hurt? Raeni, did they hurt you?”
“Not really,” she said. “I’ll be fine. But I have to go. I have to run before they find me again.” She cupped his face, feeling the scratch of stubble under her palms. “You could have been killed. I can’t let that happen.” She pulled away from him and stood on shaky legs. He rose too.
“I can’t let you deal with those two alone. Raeni, I’ll hire Bow Street Runners to find them. I’ll take you to the Continent. Let me help you.”
How could she say no to that? And how could she say yes?
The door to The Greedy Vicar slammed open, and Raeni reached for the pistol again. But it wasn’t the slavers who stood in the doorway but a constable. “Miss, this lady here tells me these men were giving you trouble. Is that so?”
She looked past him and saw three other constables had the slavers restrained, clubs at the ready in case the men in custody put up a resistance.
“Yes. They were trying to abduct me,” she said.
The constable looked at Thomas. “You said there might be trouble, Mr. Gaines. Looks like you were right.” The constable nodded at Raeni. “Are you willing to come to headquarters and give a statement?”
“Yes,” she said, her head spinning.
Thomas stepped between her and the constable. “Give her a few minutes to recover. It’s been quite an ordeal. We’ll follow you in a quarter hour.”
“Very good, sir.” The constable looked at Raeni. “These men won’t bother you again, miss. We have them now.”
And for the first time in what felt like years, Raeni could breathe again.
Eight
Thomas wanted to take Raeni in his arms again. Her hair had come loose from its coiffure and her eyes looked wild, her cheeks flushed with color. “Come. Sit down for a moment. Let me get you some brandy.” He ushered her into The Greedy Vicar and asked the publican for a glass of brandy. He handed it to her and made her drink.
“I didn’t think the constables would be here in time,” she said after she’d sipped the brandy and made a face.
“I went to them and asked that they have a few nearby in case we needed them.”
She sipped the brandy again. “It’s not as bad after the first sip.”
He smiled.
“That was clever of you. To have the constables waiting,” she said.
“I didn’t want to take any chances.”
“How did you know I needed them? I needed you?”
“Someone said there was a commotion outside. I didn’t even check to see if it was you. I thought it was safer to act and ask questions later.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“So am I.” He took her hand. “Raeni, I know you will never feel completely safe, but I give you my word I will do all I can to make you as safe as possible. I’ll call in every favor I’m owed to make sure those men go to prison, and that your father is warned off sending any more men to try and fetch you back. And if you marry me, I can give you the protection of my name and—”
“Yes,” she said.
“I have enough blunt to hire additional footmen to keep watch over you...did you say yes?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
He snatched the glass of brandy out of her hand and pulled her close. “What are you saying yes to?”
“All of it.” She smiled. “The prison, the warning of my father, becoming your wife, the additional footmen.”
“Go back one. You’ll marry me?”
She gave him a stern look. “I hope this isn’t the proposal.”
He stared at her then began to laugh. “You want a proposal? I’ll write you a poem.”
“Please don’t.”
“Flowers then.”
“That I like. Go on.”
“And I’ll go down on one knee and profess my undying love for you.”
“And I’ll tell you I love you more.”
“And you’ll say yes.”
She pressed her lips together to stop the tears. “I’ll say yes,” she whispered.
“Raeni, I love you.” He jumped up, and she caught his hand before he could leave her.
“Where are you going?”
“I have some flowers to buy.”
“What about the constable?”
He paused. “After the constable then. I don’t want to wait to start my life with you.”
“Then don’t wait.” And she cupped his face in hers and kissed him.
If you enjoyed How to Brew a Perfect Kiss, read the book where Thomas Gaines is first introduced.
About the Author
Shana Galen is a three-time Rita award nominee and the bestselling author of passionate Regency romps, including the RT Reviewers' Choice The Making of a Gentleman. Kirkus says of her books, "The road to happily-ever-after is intense, conflicted, suspenseful and fun," and RT Bookreviews calls her books “lighthearted yet poignant, humorous yet touching." She taught English at the middle and high school level off and on for eleven years. Most of those years were spent working in Houston's inner city. Now she writes full time. She's happily married and has a daughter who is most definitely a romance heroine in the making.
Here’s an excerpt from The Claiming of the Shrew.
Catarina didn’t trust the soldier in front of her. By the same token, she had little choice but to trust him. Her time was up. Little as she liked it, this man was her only hope.
“I beg your pardon, miss,” he said, one eyebrow arching upward. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
She jerked her chin up. “You heard me.”
“You need a husband,” he said slowly. He was more handsome in close proximity than he’d appeared on horseback and from a distance. She’d chosen him not for good looks but because he was in command. He was large and strong—a man who could stand up to her father.
But now she saw he was not quite so large as he’d seemed when mounted. He was probably not even six feet. But she had not been wrong about his commanding presence. Even sitting and at the other end of the barrel of her pistol, he appeared calm and in control. His blue eyes, eyes that had crinkled slightly with confusion, met hers levelly and without any concern or anger. Only his red hair seemed immune to regulation. It jutted about his head in wild swirls and spikes. Catarina had the urge to tamp it down with her fingers.
“I see.” He began to stand, but she shook her head and raised the pistol higher. The soldier lowered himself again. Slowly. “Miss—?”