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scraping against her mind just as the cold blade scraped against her scalp.
    ---

    The cart rolled nearer, and with each roll of the wheels, Josiah felt the coil in his gut twist tighter. He gave brief thought to bargaining with either God or the devil to bring him victory but could not decide to which he should turn.
    Not that the Lord would have him. And the devil would only be jealous once he’d heard of all the infamous Josiah Carter had done since his break with the religion of his youth.
    Better to depend on no one and save himself. His skills had served him well thus far, and he’d needed neither the minions of Satan nor the angels of the Lord to do the work.
    With the eyes of a man trained for battle, Josiah surveyed the situation. The river lay at his back and the city ahead. On either side of the alley stood the Dumont and Sons warehouses, oversized brick buildings that offered no means of escape.  
    The girl in his arms would provide little cover should the men be outfitted with more than knives, but she might provide sufficient diversion to allow him to take the advantage.
    After all, he’d certainly been distracted by her.
    The two dark figures leaned together as if in conversation, then parted. One of them raised a hand in greeting but said nothing while the other seemed to cast a glance behind him to the covered load in the wagon. Still the cart rolled forward as the swaybacked horse plodded on.
    Clop-clop. Clop-clop. Rattle.  
    A moment more and they’d be upon them. The time for action had come.
    “Evening, mates,” he said in the slurred voice of a drunken Englishman, “have you a pint for me and me love?” He turned the woman toward them, being sure to cast sufficient light on her lace-covered attributes. “She’s a might thirsty, she is.”
    “Whoa there,” a youthful voice called. The driver pulled on the reins and leaned back in the seat to accentuate the motion. The wagon slowed to a stop as the pitiful mare snorted a protest and pawed at the ground.  
    Josiah suppressed a smile. If, as he suspected, the driver was a mere boy rather than a grown man, he stood a much better chance of escaping alive.
    And so did the lovely Mademoiselle Gayarre.
    “Mademoiselle Gayarre?” the driver called.
    Trapped. The word sprang to mind, and just as quickly, he disposed of it. Never could a sprite of a woman and two undersized lads take Josiah Carter. He’d not allow it.

Chapter 5

    So, mademoiselle,” Josiah whispered, trying in vain not to inhale the sweet scent of jasmine permeating her curls. “You’ve betrayed me.”
    “I’ve done nothing of the sort,” she answered. “This is—”
    “Her sister, Emilie,” the driver said. She lifted the cloak’s hood to reveal dark hair swept into a fashionable style. “Now please unhand Isabelle so we may proceed to board the vessel.”
    Josiah loosened his grip but did not relinquish his hold. “We?” he asked as he scanned both ends of the alley for the escort this woman surely had lurking about. “I see none fit for boarding my vessel in this company, and the payment was for a single passenger.”
    “I cannot let my sister travel alone, sir,” she said in the clipped tones of someone obviously used to giving orders. “It simply would not be proper.” Sweeping her cloak aside, she handed the reins to the lad beside her and climbed off the wagon to extend a gloved hand in Josiah’s direction. “Emilie Gayarre.”
    “And your companion, Madame Gayarre?”
    “Mademoiselle Gayarre,” she corrected as she turned to regard the shadowy figure on the wagon. “And my traveling companion is Mademoiselle Viola Rose Dumont, a friend of my youth. Vi, do show yourself, dear.”
    Dumont? The name rang loud in his ears, along with a warning. Flee this company, Carter. Flee while you can.  
    The aforementioned female slid the hood away from her face to reveal a mass of dark curls and an ugly purple bruise across her right cheek, visible even in the