Her Gentleman Protector

by Meg Alexander

Overview

Miss Emma Lynton was stranded in France, in the middle of a revolution, totally alone! Handsome aristocrat Simon Avedon came to her rescue and vowed to escort her home. But Emma began to find Simon's orders rather irksome-- until she was told of his past.

How could a man who had never been shown love understand how to win her heart? Emma was brave in helping others, and now she would have to be brave for herself-- for the prize of Simon's love was worth any risk!

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781426805677
Publisher:	Harlequin
Publication date:	11/29/2022
Series:	Harlequin Historical Series , #219
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	256
File size:	684 KB

Read an Excerpt

1793

Emma shuddered as a series of explosions rocked the port. She clutched at her father's sleeve.

"The guns are so close," she whispered. 'Will the royalists hold the town?"

"Toulon is lost, my dear." Frederick Lynton sighed as he closed his book and slipped it into his pocket. The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius was proving of little comfort in his present situation. Now his words were intended for Emma's ears alone as he drew her apart from the rest of her family.

"That was not the sound of gunfire," he said in a low voice. 'The defenders are blowing up the last of the ammunition dumps. They must not fall into enemy hands. You must be brave, my love. We should not distress your mother or the children further…'

Emma nodded. She was tired, hungry, thirsty and very frightened, but she knew that he was right. She slipped an affectionate arm about her mother's shoulders and hugged the older woman close.

"Not long now!" she comforted. 'Then we shall be aboard a British ship and on our way to England…'

Mrs Lynton did not reply, and Emma gave her an anxious look. Her mother was unrecognisable as the calm, efficient person who had run her household with such ease. The fair skin, so characteristic in her family, now had an unbecoming pallor, and beads of sweat were standing upon her upper lip. The long hours of waiting on the quayside had taken their toll, but it was the increasing danger to her family that had sapped her courage.

The threat was all too real. For days the British fleet had ferried thousands of refugees out to the waiting warships, but the numbers did not seem to lessen as crowds streamed from the narrow streets of the old town towards the sea and safety.

The sudden surge proved disastrous. Some of those closest to the harbour wall lost their footing and fell into the water. No attempt was made to save them. The few who could swim managed to regain the jetty. Others tried to climb aboard the already overladen boats, but they were beaten off without mercy.

Emma turned her back upon the scene as she attempted to shield the children from the dreadful sight, but she could not prevent the screams reaching their ears. The twins began to cry, but Julia, her younger sister, was too shocked for tears. Emma glanced at her father in despair, but his attention was elsewhere.

She followed his gaze to see a detachment of Sicilian troops being marched towards a waiting transport. The sight of the ship caused panic in the ranks and a sudden charge towards the gangways. A sharp volley of shots from the British pickets stopped the men in their tracks, forcing them to embark in a more orderly fashion.

Emma turned to her father in surprise. 'These are not wounded men,"she exclaimed. 'They still have their weapons. Could they not defend the town?"

"I'm afraid there is no hope of that, my dear." 'None whatsoever!"An ironic voice behind them broke into their conversation. 'What hypocrites you are—you British! Do you not claim to rescue women and children first?"

Emma stared at the speaker. He was a well-dressed man, possibly in his late thirties. She was about to fly to the defence of her fellow countrymen when her father laid a restraining hand upon her arm.

"My dear sir, this is distressing for all of us," he replied without the least trace of irritation. 'Unfortunately, the Allies will have need of every fighting man in the years to come. I expect that Admiral Hood is simply following orders—"

"And we are expendable?" the ironic voice continued. 'I hope not, sir. The evacuation is going well—" 'But will it continue?"

There was no time to reply. Another surge propelled the Lynton family towards the harbour wall. The sight of a waiting boat spurred Frederick into immediate action. Seizing his two young sons, he called to Emma, her sister and his wife to follow him as he hurried down the slippery steps.

The vessel was already crowded, but eager hands took his children from him. The bo'sun frowned as Julia and Mrs Lynton were helped aboard, but he made no demur. Then, as Emma was about to take her place, she was thrust aside.

Three young men had broken from the crowd to jump aboard. The bo'sun took immediate action. 'Stand off!" he shouted to his men. Then he seized an oar and laid about him. The latecomers were beaten off to flounder in the widening gap between the ship's boat and the jetty.

Emma struggled to regain her footing on the steps. She was too close to the water's edge, but she ignored the danger as she waited for the bo'sun to order his men back. Close though he was, he shook his head.

"Durstn't risk it, miss. We're from HMS Reculver. Remember the name and take the next boat…' With that he ordered his crew to row away.

Emma gazed after them in horror. How could they leave her? She could see her father pleading with the bo'sun to return, but to no avail. She caught a last glimpse of her mother's anguished face and then the boat was gone.

She took a few deep breaths. Nothing would be gained by giving way to despair. The next vessel to reach the steps would take her off and this time she would be prepared. She fingered the small pistol in her muff. She'd never fired it, but the weapon might be enough to deter anyone else who tried to take her place.

Meanwhile she was too close to the water's edge. The lapping waves were already soaking her half-boots. If the crowd behind her pressed too close, she would be thrown into the sea and she had seen what happened to anyone pleading for help. Panic was rife. From now on it would be the survival of the fittest. Wearily she climbed back to the quay.

Her back was to the harbour, but she sensed at once that something was amiss. As cries of despair and anger filled the air, she saw that the refugees were staring out to sea.

She watched in disbelief as the warships raised anchor and began to disappear beyond the headland. 'Well, miss, was I wrong?" The man who had spoken to her earlier now smiled with fatalistic calm. 'After the blood bath in Marseilles we know exactly what awaits us here… The British have left us to our fate."

"You are mistaken!" she cried fiercely. 'The ships will return for us."

"I think not! In any case, it will be too late. Do you not hear it? The Red Terror has begun…' He listened for a moment to the triumphant chanting from the town behind them. 'May I beg you to stand aside, mademoiselle?"

Emma stared at him. Perhaps he too was afraid of being forced from the edge of the quay. Obediently she moved aside.

She was completely unprepared for his next action. It was only when she saw the flashing blade that she realised his intention. With a single stroke he severed the main artery in his wrist, apologising wryly as he did so.

Emma screamed as a bright stream of arterial blood gushed towards her, soaking the skirt of her redingote. She sank to muscular grip.

"Stay on your feet!" a deep voice urged. 'Go down in this mob and they will trample you to death…'

Emma's senses were reeling. The stones of the cobbled quay appeared to be coming up to meet her and the voice of her companion seemed to be coming from a great distance. Speechless with shock, she found that her limbs were no longer under her control. There was a roaring in her ears and she began to sway.

The man beside her held her upright by main force. 'Come away," he said roughly. 'This is no place for you."

At last she found her voice. 'Please help him!" She forced out the words through stiff lips. 'He will bleed to death."

"It wouldn't be a kindness," came the blunt reply. 'In any case, he is already beyond our help."

"You can't be sure of that…'Emma struggled to free herself. 'I know a dying man when I see one. Now, Miss Lynton, will you come away? You can do no good by staying here—"

"No!" For the moment Emma did not notice that he had used her name. 'Let me alone! I must wait here…the ships will come back…'

"They will not do so, I assure you. The British navy is needed elsewhere. Admiral Hood has already exceeded his orders—"

"I don't believe you!" Emma pushed him away. 'The navy will not abandon us—"

"The navy has no choice, mademoiselle. However, if I can't persuade you…' He shrugged and turned away.

"Wait!" Emma realised that this man might be her last hope. 'You are English, are you not? How do you know my name?"

"Is it a secret, Miss Lynton?" A pair of hard grey eyes looked into her own.

"No, of course not…' Her head was beginning to clear as she studied her companion more closely. He was not much above the middle height and his clothing was unremarkable. He could have passed through the crowd unnoticed had he taken the trouble to hide an unmistakable air of authority. It was apparent in his carriage, the turn of his head, and his crisp way of speech.

Emma hesitated. If he was right and the ships did not return, she would be quite alone. She was torn between a strong desire to wait for rescue from the sea, which might or might not come, and a strange unwillingness to have this man abandon her.

He was English, he knew her name, and even on first acquaintance she guessed that he would handle himself well in an emergency. She decided to play for time.

"Have we met before?" she asked. 'I do not recall—" 'Good God, woman! This is no time for introductions. You may wish to make the acquaintance of Madame Guillotine, but I do not. My name is Avedon…Simon Avedon… though why it should be of interest to you now I can't imagine." He turned away again.

Emma looked about her. If she had imagined that matters could not get worse, she was now disabused of that idea. Others beside her companion had realised that the British Fleet would not return. Screams of panic filled the air and men began to fall as shots rang out.

A wave of nausea threatened to overcome her. The man who had slashed his wrists was not the only suicide. Now the crowd began to thin as the refugees fled in all directions. Some made for the surrounding countryside, whilst others made their way back into the town, hoping to find sanctuary in one or other of the churches still standing in Toulon.

Emma came to a quick decision. 'Will you help me, sir?" she pleaded. 'I have money. Perhaps we might hire a boat?"

She heard an ironic laugh. 'Are you mad?" her companion said. 'Anything that will float was snapped up long ago. The merchants were the first to leave, in their own cargo vessels. Look about you, Miss Lynton! Would you trust your person to any of these craft?"

Emma followed his pointing finger. The harbour was a scene of chaos. Much that was unseaworthy had already sunk.

Other boats had been manned by those who had never sailed or rowed before. Collisions were frequent, throwing their occupants into the water.

"I don't know what to do," she said in a low voice. 'May I suggest that you start by keeping the fact that you have money to yourself? These people are desperate. They will do anything to survive, including robbing you."

"I'm sorry…I did not think…'

'Then it is time that you began to do so. Will you come with me or not? There is no time to lose…'

From his tone she guessed that he was losing patience and, with a last despairing glance at the empty horizon, she turned to follow him.

"Where are you taking me?" she faltered. 'You'll soon see. Keep up, and pray stay close to me. If we are stopped, I beg that you do not speak. I will do the talking…'

Emma gasped. She was unaccustomed to such curt treatment. What an arrogant creature! Her dislike of Simon Avedon grew as she followed him back into the town.

Here too there was chaos, but the crowds were different. The stench of unwashed humanity rose like a miasma from the ragged mob. It was clear that the shops and the warehouses had been looted in search of wine, and drunkards littered the streets.

Others were still on their feet, arms linked with their womenfolk, who were in no better case. They formed a barrier across the street, preventing Emma's passage.

A huge man clutched at her sleeve. 'Here's a pretty one!" he growled. 'Keeping her all to yourself, citizen?"

"Nay, friend, she ain't for the likes of me. I'm taking her to the committee. Like as not she'll be another to lose her head tomorrow…'

Emma forgot the horror of those words in her astonishment. Simon had spoken the patois so fluently that he might have been taken for a native of those parts. His air of authority had disappeared, to be replaced by one of friendly camaraderie.

"Pity! She's a prime bit o' goods!" A filthy paw reached out to fondle Emma's breast, but somehow Simon Avedon was in the way.

"Do me a favour, citizen?" he pleaded. 'The biggest warehouse in the town is just down yonder street. There will be naught left by the time that I get back. Wilt save me a flask or two?"

It was enough to divert the man's attention. With a fervent promise that he had no intention of keeping, he set off for the warehouse, taking his companions with him.

Simon Avedon scanned the empty street. Then he ducked into an alleyway, dragging Emma behind him. He paused at a battered doorway and gave a series of staccato knocks.

Emma flinched as the door opened, revealing a dark interior, but Simon drew her forward.

"Upstairs!" he ordered. 'Take the first door to your right." She could only obey him. Her life had taken on a dreamlike quality. Was it truly Emma Lynton who had stepped from a quiet and well-ordered life in the France she loved to life as a hunted creature in the slums of Toulon?

And this was most certainly a slum. It was little better than a hovel. She had never entered such a place in her entire existence, and the men who rose to greet her did nothing to allay her fears.

For one frightful moment she thought that Simon Avedon had deceived her. These creatures in their rough garments were indistinguishable from the men who had just accosted her. She shrank back in terror, only to be reassured by a bow of exquisite grace and a smile that seemed to light the room.