THE ANGRY MOBS DISPERSES

A shot rang out. Ian raised his head, probably searching for its source. Her heart in her throat, Annie stood on tiptoe, looking over his shoulder, hoping to see Dare's coachman brandishing the same kind of pistol Ian had used so effectively the night they had been attacked by highwaymen.

Instead, Doyle Travener stood in the middle of the street, aiming the second of a pair of pistols he held at the man who had been lifting the length of board to bring it down on the head of her guardian. With the sound of the first shot, the man had frozen, his makeshift weapon still raised.

"That's enough," Travener said.

So complete was the silence that had fallen after the gunshot, it seemed as if those quiet words had been spoken into a vacuum. The shouts of the angry throng and the screams of the boy were still echoing off the brick of the buildings, but no one was making any sound now.

And then, as quickly and inexplicably as they had appeared on this quiet stretch of expensive shops, the crowd who had supported the sweep's attempt to retrieve his property evaporated. They ran, each in a different direction, threading their ways through the pedestrians and then disappearing into the maze of street and alleys.

Within seconds it was as if the mob had never existed.

The faces of the shops' other patrons, those who had witnessed the fray, looked as stunned as Annie felt. For a few seconds, none of them moved. Then, seeming to recover more quickly than anyone else, Doyle Travener lowered the second, unfired pistol and began to walk towards her and Ian.

By then Annie had time to realize she was unhurt.

Of course, she wasn't the one who had borne the brunt of that attack. She was the one who had been protected from it, at a cost she was almost afraid to discover. She turned her head, no longer watching Travener's approach. Nor was Ian. He was looking at her instead. Looking into her eyes

There was a trickle of blood making its way down his lean cheek. Her gaze followed it upward until she found the cut that had been opened above his brow. Then her gaze shifted from the gash to his eyes, trying to read what was in them.

This was what he would have looked like in battle, she thought. This same savage determination in his features. It had been expended on her behalf today, but the will that had made him fight in, despite all odds, despite the blows, despite the seeming futility of his effort, had been forged years ago. It was obvious that no matter what he had laughingly claimed there had been far more to Ian Sinclair's military experience than dancing attendance on Portuguese ladies.

"Annie?"

Her name had been a breath, loud enough for her ears alone. And for a moment everything around them faded away.

There was nothing but his eyes on hers, his lips whispering her name.

"I'm all right," she said, her throat so tight with emotion it was hard to speak.

Her hand forced itself upward between their bodies. She wanted to put her fingers over the line of his lips.

To shape his cheek. To urge his mouth downward to align itself over hers.

She did none of those things, despite the fact that her body was pressed against his as closely as if they were lovers. Still holding his eyes, she put her gloved fingers over the slash above his eye instead, touching it gently.

Ian turned his head, moving it away from contact with her hand. It was not a flinch. It was, rather, a deliberate avoidance. And, realizing that, she curled her fingers into her palm.

'I never worried that his heart might be engaged.' It was. And hers were not the fingers he wanted on his face.

"Major Sinclair?"

Doyle Travener's voice was an intrusion, despite Ian's reaction to her touch. Reluctantly, Annie turned her head towards the sound. Travener was standing beside them, and she wondered if he had been close enough to see that small exchange.

After a second of two, Ian stepped away from her, creating a more acceptable distance between their bodies.

The movement drew her attention back to him. And she saw, despite Travener's approach, her guardian's gaze had not left her face. It didn't now.

"Are you hurt, Miss Darlington?" Travener asked.

Annie again broke the connection with those piercing hazel eyes and turned to face their saviour.

"See to Major Sinclair, if you will, Mr. Travener. I assure you I am not harmed."