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trouble; he must’ve brought along some mercenary colleagues for assistance. Beau’s reaction was instantaneous; aiming for the leg, he pulled the trigger.
    Nick cursed and reached down, grabbing his thigh. But as a well-trained agent, his counterattack was equally swift. He fired back as Beau whirled to meet the new arrival in the doorway.
    Beau heard the shot and cursed as Nick’s bullet sliced across his biceps. But the bullet kept going to graze the new arrival, too.
    No mercenary henchman.
    Knife already in hand, Beau stopped himself from attacking.
    Carissa!
    Her face went white as she lifted her gloved hand and touched the right side of her head.
    Nick cursed.
    Time seemed to stop as she looked down at her white satin glove, smeared with blood.
    Then she lifted her gaze uncomprehendingly to his; Beau stared back at her, aghast.
    “Ugh,” she murmured. Her eyes rolled up into her head, and she crumpled.
    Beau caught her as she fainted, but glancing over his shoulder, he began cursing like a sea dog.
    Nick had disappeared, and the girl of his dreams lay unconscious and bleeding in his arms.

Chapter 4
    C arissa awoke to darkness and the sensation of speed. She was in a rocking carriage. The clatter of hooves and wheels racing over uneven cobblestones made her head pound harder. Suddenly, terror gripped her innards because, beyond that, she did not know where she was or what had happened. The side of her skull felt like it was on fire.
    Struggling to orient herself, she began panicking all over again to find her usually busy mind a blank. When she started to rise, strong arms stilled her.
    “Shh, lie back,” said a silken whisper by her ear.
    “Beauchamp?” It was only then that she realized he was holding her, keeping some sort of cloth pressed against the side of her head.
    “I’ve got you, sweeting. Just lie still. It’s going to be all right,” he assured her, but she heard the tension in his voice.
    His arms felt wonderful around her, so protective—but as she wondered why they were speeding through the dark streets in a carriage, she remembered abruptly.
    That bang the moment she had opened the theatre door to go and warn him. She had been shot! In the head.
    By a bullet meant for him.
    “Am I going to die?” she mumbled.
    “No, sweet, of course not,” he assured her. “You’re going to be just fine.” The strangled tone of his voice wasn’t very convincing, however. She rather thought he was trying too hard to sound calm. “I’m going to take care of you, I promise. You just need to relax now. Stay calm. Hold still and let me keep the pressure on the wound, or you’ll only make it worse.”
    “I’m scared,” she whimpered.
    “I know, sweet. But you’ve got to be brave for me just a little longer. We’re almost there.”
    “Where?” Struggling to keep her eyes open, she saw through the carriage window the black silhouette of twisty spires in the moonlight, shrouded in fog. She gasped and tried to sit up.
    The Inferno Club!
    “No! I can’t go in there!” she cried frantically—or so she thought. In truth, her voice only came out as a mumble.
    “It’s all right. You’ll be safe—”
    “No decent girl goes in there. I’ll be ruined . . .”
    “Shh,” he whispered again, giving her a reassuring little squeeze. “Sweetheart, you’ve got to trust me,” he whispered. “Trust me.”
    “Ugh.” Her pounding pulse and struggles made the blood seep faster from her wound, as he had warned. She felt it trickling hotly past her ear and down the side of her neck, and the sensation was so sickening, so horrifying, that much to her chagrin, like a blasted ninny, she passed out once again.
    B eau cradled her in his arms, trying to keep her from being jostled about as they approached the Order’s headquarters. His heart was pounding with utter dread.
    He had seen plenty of men get shot in his lifetime. He’d been responsible for more than he had any care to count. But that was