Regency Christmas Wishes(4)

Jenna blushed at her own thoughts. Heavens, when did she get so forward? Besides, the gentleman was most likely here to buy his sweetheart a special Christmas present, a ring or a brooch, she guessed from where he was headed. That was what everyone seemed to be doing so close to the holidays, even Jenna. Not that Miss Relaford was purchasing a treasure for her beloved, for she had none despite her advanced age of one and twenty, although she had suitors aplenty. After buying small gifts, handkerchiefs, perfumes and such, to go with the coins she would give to the servants, Jenna was shopping for the perfect offering for her uncle, her only remaining family.

She had settled on the beautifully carved wood bookends, a lion on one side, a unicorn on the other, that her maid was already carrying, for Uncle did love his library. Since Jenna did not wish to use her allowance—which was Uncle’s own money—to purchase his present, she was also going to ask the reputable Mr. Schott to appraise some of the curios her late father had collected on his seagoing travels. The sooner she concluded her business, the sooner the antiques dealer could assist the large gentleman, so she turned her back on his too-tempting smile and started to untie the strings of her reticule.

Once her back was turned again, Adam found his wits, or what was left of them after being knocked to flinders by the lady’s smile. Pretending to inspect the contents of the glass cases, he edged closer. Oh, how he wished his circumstances were different, that he could make her acquaintance, if she were not already wed or promised, of course. Undoubtedly she was, being such a beauty. Her garb bespoke wealth, besides elegant taste, and the combination had to be irresistible to any red-blooded—or blue-blooded—man. London chaps could not be such slowtops as to let this prize slip through their fingers. Adam’s own fingers were itching just to touch her cheek, to see if it could possibly be as satin-soft as it looked.

He would have to settle for another glimpse of her profile under the hooded cape, perhaps a whiff of her perfume. He stepped closer still, but only detected the ribbon-tied sprig of evergreen she had pinned to her cape. Gads, his angel even smelled like Christmas! He chuckled softly at his foolish notion. What a gift she would be for some fortunate fellow to unwrap.

Jenna turned at the pleasing sound, wondering at its cause. She looked over, to find the other customer closer than she thought, more handsome than she thought, with a smile on his lips. She might have been bold enough to ask what the gentleman had found amusing among the knickknacks—after all, both Mr. Schott and her maid were there to see to the proprieties, and it was the season of good cheer—but the bell on the door rang again.

This time a roughly dressed man entered the shop. He was unwashed and unshaven, and pushed rudely past Jenna’s maid, who grumbled about his manners. Bad manners were the least of the problem, for the man pulled a knife from out of his brown frieze coat, and not one of the other occupants of the store thought for an instant that he had come to have the weapon appraised.

“Right, then,” he said with a snarl, waving the knife and looking furtively toward the door. “I’ll be havin’ the gold an’ the gems an’ the cash in the till.” He picked up Adam’s satchel, dumped the contents on the floor, and threw it toward Mr. Schott. “Fill it, an’ be quick about it.”

Damnation, Adam thought, that was his only clean shirt and his shaving gear. He took a step toward the would-be thief, but felt a small hand on his arm, pulling him back. He patted the hand reassuringly. Nothing would happen to his angel, not while he had breath in his body. While the robber was watching Adam, waiting to see if he would take action, the maid dashed for the door, shrieking.

“Blast it! Move your stumps, old man.”

But instead of moving, Mr. Schott groaned once, clutched at his chest, and fell to the floor.

Jenna gasped. The thief cursed again and grabbed up the nearest valuables he could find, brandishing the knife while he shoved a collection of snuffboxes off the counter into Adam’s satchel. Then he waved the blade in the woman’s direction, his glittering, shifting eyes focused on her reticule.

That was too much for Adam. His shirt was one thing, but his Christmas lady was another. He pushed her out of harm’s way just as the thief snatched at her purse, and swung his fist at the knife-wielder’s arm.

The blade went spinning and the satchel went sailing, snuffboxes—and one last stocking of Adam’s—scattering across the floor. But the thief had the lady’s reticule and he was making a run for the door. Adam chased after him, then slipped on a snuffbox. He caught his balance and raced onto the walkway to see the robber getting away. He made a flying leap and almost caught the blackguard, but missed. He lost his footing, landing chin-first on the pavement, catching the reticule by its dangling strings as he fell. The thief would have stayed to wrestle over the purse, but the maid was calling for the Watch, people were coming out of doorways to see about the commotion, and carriages were halting in the street. Instead the felon let go, gave Adam a kick to the ribs, and started to turn for the nearby alley. Despite the agony, Adam reached out and grabbed the man’s leg, sending him, also, tumbling to the ground. The cutpurse lay still, his head against a lamppost.