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filthy nails cut through the flimsy linen of my shirtwaist. “Yedon’ tell Big Marv what ’e kin and kinnat touch. Ain’t no one ’oo does ’at.”
    â€œTwo.”
    The obnoxious beast’s nasty grin turned nastier, and he reached over and yanked at the edge of my corset, causing me to jolt. “Oh yeah?” His words were tainted with whiskey and rotting teeth. Then he moved his hand down and rested it flat on my leg, curling those fingers tightly
over my thigh
.
    My breath caught. I’d never been touched so intimately in my life. I wasn’t ashamed. I was furious. Definitely a finger was going to get broken. No, two.
    â€œYe kin stop countin’ now, jenny. Ye’re gonna ’ave some oth—”
    â€œThree.” My voice was steady and I allowed the fury to show in my gaze. Other than that, I didn’t flicker an eyelash. One would think the numbfist would be wondering why I wasn’t writhing on the floor in agony, for his indecent grip was tight as a vise.
    Instead, Big Marv chuckled and nodded for another drink from Bilbo as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
    â€œFour,” I said, then reached up with my free hand, grabbed one of the sausage-sized fingers digging into my shoulder, and twisted.
    He squealed like a train coming into the station. Before he could react, I snatched up his other hand from my thigh and smashed it into the edge of the table. Marv gave anotherroar of pain and rage and swung out at me, teeth bared, eyes burning with fury. I ducked half under the table and, with one slick, smooth move, used my hand and foot to yank the leg of his chair out from under him. The dinkus landed on his arse on the floor with a loud, satisfying thud.
    â€œI told you not to touch me.” I don’t think he heard me over his howls.
    Then I stood, shoving the chair away from the table. When Garf made a halfhearted move to stop me, I looked at him. “You can’t be that stupid. At least you know how to shave.”
    Sinking back down onto his seat, he picked up Marv’s new whiskey and glugged it down.
    Every eye in the place was on me, of course. “I’m finished here.” I dusted off my hands then smoothed my hair. Not one curl out of place, my hat still intact.
    â€œâ€™Oo
are
ye?” whispered Bilbo.
    â€œA tempest in a bloody teapot is wot she is.”
    I turned. Pix was leaning against the wall beyond the countertop where Bilbo reigned. I had no idea how long he’d been standing there or where he’d come from, but it didn’t matter. I’d accomplished what I set out to do.
    Tonight he wore a long dark overcoat that covered everything but his hands (ungloved) and his lower legs and feet (booted). He was hatless, revealing a dark head of thick and mussed hair and long sideburns, which likely were fake. He also needed to shave the rest of his face. Other than that,he wasn’t in disguise—at least, as far as I could tell. But then again, I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen him when he
wasn’t
somehow altering his appearance or hiding in the shadows.
    â€œAh. Just the man I was looking for.”
    â€œI should’a known ye’d be makin’ an appearance.” He moved with easy strides across the room. His dark eyes gleamed beneath heavy brows and I saw a hint of exasperation in them as he came closer. “Per’aps next time, ye migh’ gi’ the bloke to a count o’
five
, ye ken? Marv ’ere . . . ’e don’t remember ’is numbers too well.”
    A low ripple of laughter trundled through the pub. Marv growled, but remained where I’d left him, nursing his hand.
    â€œI gave him fair warning. If he’d listened, I wouldn’t have had to count in the first place.”
    Pix shook his head and I saw his jaw move. Then he turned to Bilbo and said, “A gatter for me and the lady. In the back.”
    â€œBut she prefers