“Don’t you dare take a tone, Jonathan Morton,” the woman on the ground said smartly, sitting up. “She saved your life.”

The boy blinked up at Sophie. “She?”

Sophie smiled. “You saved my life, too. Now that we are friends, I suppose it is only fair that you know my secret.”

The boy’s brow furrowed. “You’re a girl.”

She nodded. “I am, indeed.”

Respect chased away confusion. “You stood up to Bear,” he said, looking to the still unconscious man on the ground by King. “To protect us.”

She followed the direction of his attention, until she found King’s boots and looked up to meet his gaze. The skin around her right eye was swelling, already turning black and blue, already forcing her eye closed. She’d been struck. Fury came again, this time directed at another. He wanted to knock the blighter unconscious again.

He took a step toward her. She turned from him, returning her focus to the boy. “I suppose I did.”

“But you don’t even know us.”

“You didn’t know me, and you tried to save me, did you not?” Sophie looked at him for a long while. “We don’t need to know a person to know how to do right by them.”

That seemed to make sense to the boy, and after a pause, he nodded and rose, going to help the young woman who appeared to have received a terrible blow to the head.

King could no longer hold himself back. He stepped forward and said the first thing that came to mind, words fueled by panic and fury. “That was an incredibly stupid thing to do.”

Sophie pushed herself to her feet slowly. “I was feeling nostalgic for your insults.” He ignored the guilt that came unbidden at the words. After a long moment, she sighed. “I suppose you came for your money.”

I came to save you, you madwoman, he suddenly, irrationally wanted to say. I came to keep you safe.

But it wasn’t true. He’d come to get his money back. To exact his revenge for her childish behavior the night before.

He’d come thinking that she was not his problem.

And, thankfully, she was unharmed and remained not his problem. “Among other things.”

She shook her head. “I can’t give it all to you. I need some of it. To get me north. To keep me until my father can send more.” She paused. “I shall pay you back. With interest.”

He crossed his arms. “You shall pay me back right now. And I will pay your passage back to London. Today. No mail coaches. I want you safe in a carriage and I don’t want you setting foot on terra firma until you reach the city limits. Far from me.”

She lifted her chin. “No.”

He shook his head. “You don’t have a choice. You stole from me. We’re going to have to call the magistrate for these idiots,” he said, indicating the men tied up at his feet. “We’ll kill three birds with a single stone, if we need to.” He leaned forward and whispered, “I wonder what they do to thieves out here in the middle of nowhere?”

She stiffened. “You wouldn’t.”

He narrowed his gaze. “Try me.”

“You’re ruining my plans.”

He spread his arms wide, enjoying the way she paled at his threat. “It’s what I do, darling.”

She stumbled then, and he noticed that she was not simply pale. She was white. Dread pooled as he stepped forward to catch her as her gaze lost focus for a long moment, then returned to him. “Sophie?”

She shook her head. “I haven’t given you . . . permission . . . to be so familiar.”

“You’re definitely not going to like what comes next, then,” He held her in one arm and opened the buttons on her liveried coat.

She batted his hands away. “Are you mad?”

He ignored her, pushing the fabric aside. “Shit.”

“And now you are cursing in front of me.” She closed her eyes again. “I don’t feel well.”

“I imagine you don’t, as you’ve been shot.”

“What? No I haven’t.” She struggled as he guided her to the ground and worked her coat off. She clasped his hand firmly, forcing him to meet her insistent gaze. “I haven’t been shot.”

“All right,” he said, returning his attention to his work. “You haven’t been shot.”

“I would know if I’d been shot.”

“I’m sure you would.” He clasped both edges of the linen shirt beneath, rending the fabric in two to get to the wound.

“Stop!” she shrieked, her hands coming to cover her bare skin. “Scoundrel! You cannot simply access women’s bosoms whenever you please!”

He would have laughed at the words if he hadn’t been so worried. “I assure you that I rarely have to resort to tearing clothing in order to access women’s bosoms.”

She looked down. Paused. “I’m bleeding.”

“That’s because you’ve been shot,” he said, extracting a clean handkerchief from his pocket and pressing it firmly to the wound in her shoulder. He pulled her forward to look at the back of her. “The bullet is still inside. We have to get you to a surgeon.”

She didn’t reply, and he looked up to find her unconscious. “Shit,” he said again. “Goddammit. Sophie.” He tapped her good cheek with his hand. “Sophie. Wake up.”

She opened her eyes for a moment, then let them fall closed.

Goddammit.

“No!” cried the other woman. “She can’t be hurt! She was fine! She was talking!”