They were on the quay now. He waited for her to move away. When she didn’t, he couldn’t suppress his relief. She’d kept herself so separate during the last days that even this small concession seemed important.
“I still don’t think it’s necessary for you to accompany me,” she said in a stronger voice.
“Well, I do.”
Once that arrogant assertion would have roused an argument. Now she merely bent her head in silent acquiescence. The hand she’d placed on his sleeve trembled.
All the fight had been knocked out of her. He couldn’t understand it. She’d gotten what she wanted—the chance to leave him. She should be joyfully anticipating a new life. A new life, damn it, free from his interference.
Perhaps she was ill after all. Concern made him fr
own as he tried to see her face under the brim of her smart chip bonnet. As he bent over her with a protectiveness he knew to his chagrin she didn’t want, he was vaguely aware of someone looming up behind him.
“You bastard!”
A powerful hand grabbed him by the shoulder and swung him around. Kylemore had a moment to register a pair of furious black eyes before a huge fist powered into his face.
“Jesus!” He released Verity and staggered back.
“Better call to Satan, your master!”
Benjamin Ashton punched him in the face again, and this time he went down against the cobbles in an ungainly stumble. Uproar shook the crowd, but nobody stepped forward to manhandle his assailant or to help him to his feet.
“Ashton…” Kylemore said, trying to sit up. He shook his head to clear it and raised a shaking hand to his bruised jaw to check if it was broken.
Apparently not, although it hurt like the very devil.
“Ben, stop!” Verity screamed from somewhere in the crowd.
“I’ll stop when he’s a dead man,” Ashton snarled. “Get up, you whoreson. Damned if I’ll kick you when you’re down.”
“Ben!” Through the ringing in his ears, Kylemore heard Verity defend him. “Ben, he’s bringing me back to you.”
Unsteadily, Kylemore struggled to his feet and brushed himself off. “Get out of the way, Verity.”
“Aye, get out of the way, Verity,” Ashton said grimly. “I need to teach His Grace a lesson.”
He bunched his fists for another assault. Although Kylemore prepared to defend himself, his heart wasn’t in it. Ashton had every right to pound him to a pulp.
Hell, he hoped the brute killed him.
He shook his head again to bring the world back into kilter. He had trouble focusing his eyes, and his ears buzzed like a thousand angry bees.
In a whirl of claret merino, Verity threw herself in front of him. “Ben, if you want to hurt him, you’ll have to go through me first,” she snapped.
“So he’s hiding behind a lass’s skirts now,” Ben sneered.
“You heard me, Benjamin Ashton,” she said firmly.
“Verity, stand aside,” Kylemore said wearily. The hum in his head gradually subsided, but the side of his face stung like merry hell. “He won’t hurt me.”
“Yes, he will,” she said stubbornly and without moving. “He’ll kill you. You heard him.”
“Verity, there must be a hundred people watching us. Someone will stop him before he does too much damage.”
Now that he was capable of thought, he was actually surprised that no one had stepped in to restrain his assailant before now.
Ah, yes. Relief was on the way.