Well.
He put his back to the only wall left to him and straightened.
He rather wished he’d tasted the wine. He was fond of Viennese wine.
A tall man in a ragged brown coat and a filthy red neckcloth stepped forward. Hugh half expected him to make some sort of speech. Instead he drew a knife the size of a man’s forearm, grinned, and licked the blade.
Hugh didn’t wait for whatever other disgusting preliminaries Knife Licker might feel were appropriate to the occasion. He stepped forward and smashed the bottle of very fine Viennese wine over the man’s head.
Then they were on him.
He slashed and felt the jolt to his arm as he hit flesh.
Swung and raked the sword across another’s face.
Staggered as he was slammed into by two men.
Another hit him hard in the jaw.
And then someone clubbed him behind the knees.
He fell to his knees on the icy ground, growling like a bleeding, baited bear.
Raised an arm to defend his head…
And…
Someone dropped from the sky right in front of him.
Facing his attackers.
Darting, wheeling, spinning.
Defending him so gracefully.
With a sword.
Hugh staggered upright again, blinking blood out of his eyes—when had he been cut?
And saw a boy? No, a slight man in a half mask, and floppy hat, and boots, fighting with two swords. Hugh just had time to think, Insane, before the man was thrown back against him.
Hugh caught the man and had another thought, which was: Tits?
And then he set the woman—most definitely a woman, although in a man’s clothing—on her feet and put his back to hers and fought as if their lives depended on it.
Which they did.
There were still eight or so of the attackers left and although they weren’t trained, they were determined. Hugh slashed and punched and kicked, while his feminine savior danced an elegant dance of death with her sword. When he smashed the butt of his sword into the skull of one of the last men, the remaining two looked at each other, picked up a third, and took to their heels.
Panting, Hugh glanced around the courtyard. It was strewn with groaning men, most still very much alive, though not dangerous at the moment.
He peered at the masked woman. She was tiny, barely reaching his shoulder. How was it she’d saved him from certain, ignoble death? But she had. She surely had.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice gruff. “I—”
She grinned, a quicksilver flash, and put her left hand on the back of his neck to pull his head down to her face to kiss him.
She might be a deadly sword fighter, but her lips were soft and trembling. Almost innocent. He groaned and pushed closer. Nine months.
But she laughed—a low, husky sound that went straight to his cock—and skipped away. She disappeared down one of the tiny alleys leading off the courtyard.
And as Hugh stared after her, he had but one thought: when had the Ghost of St Giles become a woman?
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To Desire a Devil
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Notorious Pleasures
Scandalous Desires
Thief of Shadows
Lord of Darkness
Duke of Midnight
Darling Beast
Dearest Rogue
Sweetest Scoundrel
Duke of Sin
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Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Welcome
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
About the Author
A Preview of DUKE OF PLEASURE
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Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by Nancy M. Finney
Excerpt from Duke of Pleasure copyright © 2016 by Nancy M. Finney
Cover design by Elizabeth Turner
Cover illustration by Alan Ayers
Cover copyright © 2016 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
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ISBN 978-1-4555-3917-8 (ebook)
E3-20160601-DA-NF