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bullet went wide, slamming up into the ceiling. As a flurry of plaster scattered down on Damien and
Miranda, he paused only to wrench the dead man s sleeve up over his forearm. Sure enough, there was
the tattoo of the bird of prey with a dagger in its talons. The Raptors. God damn it, what the hell did they
want with him now? This was not going to be pleasant.
He reached over and seized Miranda s wrist, pulling her at a run across the drawing room to the place
where he had pulled up the floorboards.
 Get down, get down! He thrust one of his pistols into her hand and shoved her down into the hiding
place under the floorboards. Tall as she was, she had to fold herself up to fit.  No matter what happens,
stay down there. If anyone sees you, shoot him.
 Damien 
 Quiet. I love you, he whispered, then fixed the floorboards back over the spot and threw the blankets
they had been sleeping in over it to help disguise the breach. He drew his sword and rushed to meet the
men who were pounding toward the drawing room from all directions in answer to the gunshot.
In the next moment, he was besieged on all sides as a dozen men crashed into the room, some hurtling in
at him through the main entrance, others bursting in through the white double door from the adjoining
music room and sweeping up on him from behind at a run. More plaster fell from the ceiling, and a
window shattered as bullets whizzed through the drawing room. But miraculously, Damien was not hit.
Having saved his pistol until after they had emptied theirs, he took cool, level aim at the first thug who
rushed at him with a sword. He squeezed the trigger, killing the man instantly with a bullet between the
eyes. The others roared with fury and charged him.
He fought two at once with his sword, thrust his dagger into the neck of another, kicked another man
away just in time to save himself from getting skewered. Another rushed up behind him, and he flipped
the man over his shoulder and drove his sword down into his heart. While he was fighting for his life
against the gang, he noticed a shadowy movement in the doorway; then Algernon, Lord Hubert,
sauntered into the room.
Damien s eyes turned red with fury when he saw him.He was the one behind all this?  Hubert! he
bellowed.
Algernon sent him a thin-lipped smile, but Damien was unable to go after him, for he had to keep fighting
off the Raptors.
 How positively shocking, Winterley, to find you, the flower of chivalry, here, debauching my niece.
 Go to hell! Damien spat, fighting for his life.
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 Ah, but then, I suppose you are not to be blamed. Her mother was a thoroughgoing harlot, after all, and
the apple does not fall far from the tree. What else could we expect of Fanny Blair s daughter, but to
prove a lascivious slut like her mama?
He let out a roar and drove his attackers back a step with a feint, then had to retreat himself a step or
two, blades clanging furiously. Sweat streamed down his face.
The viscount snickered and took an idle stroll around the large drawing room, poking his head into
Damien s tent. He gestured at the swarthy thug by his side to check the unused fireplace on the other end
of the room. He drifted over to the sole piece of furniture the previous owners had left behind in the
room, a great armoire, and opened it, peering inside. Damien knew they were looking for Miranda, and
though he had no inkling why they were after her, he felt the full power of his rage rushing into his veins,
doubling his determination to protect her.
He cut and slashed at the men who were trying to kill him, inching toward a more advantageous position
in the corner of the room so that he would not have to watch his back as well as fight the onslaught in
front of him.
 She s not here, the thug grunted, returning to Algernon after having checked the fireplace.
 Oh, she s here somewhere, the little hussy. We ll keep looking.
 You re a dead man, Hubert! Damien roared after him as Algernon drifted toward the doorway.
 No, Winterley, the viscount replied with a smirk.  You are.
Damien shouted as one of the thugs cut him across the leg, then bared his teeth and skewered the man
on his sword.
It had been an exceedingly rude awakening, and now the floorboards shuddered and reverberated with
the commotion as Miranda huddled in her cramped, musty hiding place. It sounded as though a full score
of men were attacking her fiancé. She had heard her Uncle Algernon s voice had heard him insulting
her mother s memory. First Crispin had acted so irrationally at the ball, and now her uncle had arrived
with an army of ruffians. But why? she wondered, her heart pounding in dread. What the devil was going
on?
Damien suddenly let out a harsh, barbaric cry from somewhere above she knew his voice. The blood
drained from her face. Had he just been wounded? She did not know what that cry had meant. She
strained to peer through the cracks in the floorboards, but could not see anything because he had
covered up her hiding place with the blankets. She could only tell by the thunderous footsteps that he was
badly outnumbered. If he had just gotten injured, that put him at an even greater disadvantage.
Her hands sweated with her indecision as she fingered the pistol. He had ordered her to stay here, but
surely he had not expected to be beset so viciously. She had to help him. She was afraid, but she steeled
herself. By God, as a child, she had watched helplessly while her parents drowned. She was not about to
let her future husband die in the very room with her and do nothing to help him. If he was killed, she did
not care what happened to her, but there was no reason to think that was going to happen. Damien had a
gift for battle like the mythical Sir Lancelot, she reasoned, and she, why, she had this gun.
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