Smitten by the Spinster (25 page)

Lizzie sighed. Quinn had barely been able to look at her, but he’d agreed to take her with him and help her get home. It wasn’t much. It could have been the same kindness he’d offer a stranger, but she had to have hope.

She looked around, her eyes settling on Oliver, who chivalrously didn’t seem to want to leave her alone.

“I’m going,” he said stubbornly. “I love Catie, and need to see she’s safe.”

“I think he was serious about breaking your nose,” she said.

Oliver traced his finger down the bridge of his aristocratic nose. “My mother always says I’m too handsome, anyway.”

Lizzie shrugged and followed him to his carriage. “Then I guess you should be ready at dawn.”

Lizzie barely slept, just enough to keep from feeling sick on the journey. She didn’t know if they would travel by carriage or on horseback and she’d stuffed everything she owned, which wasn’t much, into a slightly larger bag than the one she’d taken with her on her failed attempt to get back to her own time.

She snuck out of the Amberly townhouse, glad Lady Amberly was a late riser. She may not know about her niece’s disappearance and Lizzie’s own perfidy for several hours yet. Lizzie hoped to be miles away by then. She turned and took a last look at the place, not sure if she’d walk down this street and look for it in her own century. She wasn’t sure she remembered properly, but she thought it was all expensive gift shops in that time.

More than she thought about getting back, she worried about Quinn. She wanted to fight for his forgiveness, and prove she was worthy of it, but didn’t know how. The fact of the matter was, she’d done every damn thing wrong, and had realized it all too late.

She stumbled over something she didn’t care to identify and decided to take a shortcut when she realized the sky was getting brighter by the second. She knew Quinn wasn’t joking around when he said first light, and she didn’t want to risk getting left behind.

The side street that stretched ahead of her was deserted and she closed her eyes for a moment, trying to conjure a sense memory of Quinn’s arms around her. A lumpy splash from the other side of the street made her open her eyes in a hurry, and keep them open, not wanting to get something gross tossed on her.

What would her grandmother say about her predicament, she wondered? She knew she could make up a bunch of consoling words and assign Gran’s voice to the encouragement. But in truth, she hadn’t been all that encouraging. She had plain common sense, something that Lizzie lacked and sorely needed right now. She couldn’t seem to live a day-to-day life without turning it into a dramatic farce. She wanted so much to have her grandma tell her what to do. It would probably be so simple, too.

Something like, ‘Do better next time.’ Gran’s brisk old lady voice echoed in Lizzie’s ears, and she looked  all around. A produce vendor was readying his cart a bit further up the street, but otherwise she was alone.

“I’ll try, Gran,” she whispered.

Lizzie wanted to stop her rapid pace. The memories of her grandmother, coupled with the fact that she’d most likely lost Quinn forever, caused her to lose her breath. She still had a few blocks to go and she needed to hurry, not slow down. She held no illusions that Quinn would wait for her.

She turned a corner into a short alley and set off at a jog, feeling a strange concoction of emotions as she drew nearer to the inn. She was scared to death of how Quinn would act, nervous about the extreme level of awkwardness they were sure to experience on the journey, mixed with completely unwarranted happiness at getting to spend time with him again. And hope. Underneath it all, hope. Because she still loved him, and if he still loved her, even a little, then things might turn out all right.

At the end of the alley, she stopped and swore, not sure if she’d gone the right way. She turned to go back to the side street to get her bearings. God, she missed cell phones. She really needed to run now. Halfway down the alley, an arm reached out from a doorway and grabbed her elbow, nearly yanking her shoulder out of its socket. Scared enough it might be a drunk staggering home and wanting some company, she whirled to face her attacker and knew true terror.

Solomon Wodge stood in the doorway, wearing an even more outlandish outfit than the first time she’d met him. He had on his skinny jeans, but instead of motorcycle boots he wore lime green high tops with ratty legwarmers bunched around his ankles. A tailored pinstripe suit jacket covered a black suede tunic of some sort, topped off with a silk ascot tied jauntily around his neck. Something about his lack of caring at all about fitting in added to her fear.

And the sun already glinted into the alley. Was that first light? Why couldn’t Quinn have been more specific about their departure time? She needed to get away from Wodge, and fast.

“Mr. Wodge, if you’ll please unhand me,” she said firmly, praying her inner spinster would get him to back down.

He shook his head. “Terribly sorry, miss. But you’ll have to come with me.”

Her stomach lurched. Quinn wasn’t going to save her this time and if she didn’t save herself, she might never see him again.

“No. I’m sorry Mr. Wodge, but like hell, will I ever come with you.”

She pulled back her arm and calling up all the frustration of the last year, smashed her fist into his nose. It was disgusting and it hurt her hand something awful, but at the same time, she’d never felt so exhilarated as when she saw blood gush from his nostrils and his head snap back.

She jerked free of his hold and took off running down the alley, feeling like she had wings on her feet. She flew through the air. She actually found herself flying through the air, hitting the ground hard enough to knock the air from her lungs. That bastard had grabbed her skirt and tripped her and now dragged her backwards by her foot.

Coughing and sucking air, but still giddy from her first ever violence, she kicked him ruthlessly, aiming for his injured face but mostly getting him in the shoulders and hands as he grabbed at her. She rolled onto her back and crab scrambled away from him, finding a rotten half of a potato and chucking it at him.

Her skirts were all tangled and she couldn’t get to her feet, and she frantically looked around for a better piece of garbage to throw. He gripped one of her ankles, and she raised her other foot high, bringing her heel down on his wrist with all the force she could muster. He yelped and recoiled, giving her enough time to finally gain her feet. She was on her hands and knees, about to hoist herself into a sprint when she felt something hard dig into her ribs.

“That’s enough now, Miss Burnet,” he said, slightly winded, but sounding bored with her antics.

She looked down to see he held a gun to her side, and not a slightly amusing, often unreliable flintlock pistol like what Quinn had taken off of Oliver the night before. Solomon Wodge had a completely serious, probably deadly accurate, automatic weapon the likes of which belonged on an American tv show.

He wiped his bloody nose on his jacket sleeve and smiled at her. Some of his blood had dripped down and stained his teeth. She closed her eyes against the sight.

“Now, as we were discussing earlier,” Wodge said, taking her arm and pulling her the rest of the way up. “You’ll have to come with me.”

Thank you for reading Smitten by the Spinster!

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Book cover by Clarissa at Yocla Designs