Tied With a Bow

face twisted. “Bitch.”
    He grabbed her hand, wrenching cruelly, wresting the clippers from her grasp. She opened her mouth to scream, and his meaty hand clamped on her jaw, stifling her cry. Ah, no. She fought as hard as she could, kicking him with her thin slippers, rolling and scratching to get away, but she was hampered by her skirts, her shawl, her tight sleeves. His weight, his strength, overpowered hers. The edge of the table ground into her back. His fingers dug painfully into her cheeks as his other hand scrabbled at her skirts.
    She struggled, panting and twisting. Inciting him. She could feel his erection pushing at her, and her gorge rose.
    Dear God. She could not scream. She could not breathe. Her mind grayed with terror. He was going to ravish her, and she could not stop him.
    She bit his hand.
    He swore, his breath hot and harsh against the side of her face.
    And then his weight was gone, plucked, ripped from her. She staggered, catching herself against the table, as he catapulted across the shed and crashed into a wall. Buckets overturned. Water sloshed onto the floor.
    Lucien stood over him with a face like thunder, flexing his knuckles. To her fevered imagination, he almost seemed to glow, lit from within by righteous anger.
    An angel come to save us.
    The answer to her prayers.
    “Get up,” he ordered, his voice low and deadly.
    Howard shook his head, sprawling in a puddle of water and branches. “She’s not worth it.”
    Lucien hauled him to his feet by his neckcloth and smashed a fist into his stomach. Howard doubled over, wheezing.
    She should stop them, Aimée thought numbly. But she could not find her voice, could not make her shaking limbs move. She clung to the table for support.
    “She is a lady,” Lucien said through his teeth. “Worthy of protection and regard.”
    Howard wiped blood from his chin. Licked his lips. “You don’t know her. Or maybe you do. She’s a hot little piece. I only gave her what she was panting for.”
    Aimée cringed.
    Lucien slammed Howard up against the wall. A pot fell from a shelf and shattered.
    Howard clawed at Lucien’s arms.
    Lucien shook him like a mastiff shakes a rat. “You don’t touch her.” More blows, hard and punishing, to Howard’s ribs and gut. “You don’t look at her. You don’t bother her ever again.”
    “This is my parents’ house,” Howard said thickly. “You have no authority here. I’ll have you thrown out.”
    “Not before I tell Sir Walter and everyone else the reason why.”
    Howard’s face was greenish white. “They won’t believe you. It will be your word against mine. The word of a bastard.”
    “An acknowledged bastard,” Lucien shot back. “The Earl of Amherst never abandoned his by-blows. My word will be accepted. And once the story of your villainy gets out, your family’s reputation will be ruined.”
    He released Howard, dropping him to the floor. “I cannot deal with you here as you deserve. But if I hear you have troubled Miss Blanchard again in any way, you will be lucky to escape with your life. Now take yourself out of my sight.”
    Howard stumbled to his feet, blood dripping from his chin, one eye swollen nearly shut. The other shot a hate-filled glance at Aimée. She shivered, pulling her shawl around her.
    “I will inform the company that you are indisposed,” Lucien said still in that deadly soft voice. “Doubtless you will wish to remain in your rooms until your return to London.”
    Howard lurched from the potting shed without answering. The door banged shut behind him.
    Lucien turned to Aimée. “Are you all right?”
    Her hands trembled. She made an effort to pull herself together. “Yes. Thank you.”
    Lucien’s brow creased. “I cannot prevent him from coming back in the future. But bullies prey on the defenseless. I believe he is sufficiently cowed now to leave you alone.”
    “I did not arrange to meet him here,” she said, twisting her hands together. “I did not invite his attentions.”
    “I know,” Lucien said.
    “How can you know?” she demanded. “I certainly threw myself at you. How can you not think I am ripe for any man’s attentions?”
    “I know because I know you,” Lucien said. “You are passionate, not promiscuous. And far too wise, too fine, for the likes of Basing. The man is an ass.”
    Startled, she met his gaze. Slowly, her lips curved. “He is an ass,” she admitted.
    Lucien made a move toward her, quickly checked. Understanding flooded