So this was her nemesis at long last. He didn't look like a cold-blooded killer to her. His men all fitted the mold, but he didn't. He looked perfectly harm-less, in fact, and so out of place it was ludicrous.

Jocelyn might have smiled at that thought, for she was rather out of place herself in her heavy velvet riding habit, frothy lace neck scarf, and tall black riding hat, but she didn't feel like smiling. Longnose might not be what she had expected, but he was still the man who had doggedly pursued her for three years with his loathsome intent.

Jocelyn tensed as Angel headed down the slope to join his friends, who were no longer staring in silent awe. Some of their comments broke through her fran-tic thoughts, and even made her take her eyes off Longnose long enough to notice them. They were all her enemies by association, and if she did somehow manage to get out of this, it wouldn't hurt to know them by sight.

But looking them over only depressed her. They were a hard, dangerous-looking bunch, well suited to this line of work. She'd get no help there, and, she realized now, she really would need some help. She hadn't thought there would be so many of them, or that several of them would be looking at her with lustful gazes. Dear Lord, her courage was fast de-serting her, as were her hopes of escape.

"Well, hot damn! I didn't think she'd look like that, did you?"

"Ya whar 'spectin' an ol' broad maybe?"

"As a matter of fact—"

"You can forget what you owe me, boss," someone else yelled out. "I'll take the horse!"

There were a few chuckles, but they didn't stop the personal comments that were unnerving Jocelyn.

Un-consciously, she pressed even closer to Angel as he moved slowly toward Longnose.

"Damn, I ain't never seen hair that red."

"Too skinny."

"Who cares?"

"She gonna get passed around first or what? That's all I wanna know."

It was a question more than one of them wanted answered, apparently, for they looked toward the

Englishman. But he said nothing yet. He was still staring at Jocelyn, and he was smiling now.

That stiffened her spine. So he was gloating, was he? And he was thinking of handing her over to these lowlifes first for their amusement? _

She was ready when Angel stopped and lowered her to the ground. If Longnose had been just a bit closer, he would have had the point of her boot laid to his chin. That would have forced his hand. But there were other ways to provoke him into killing her immediately, before his men got serious in their de-mands. She was not about to suffer through a mauling and then be killed. That was asking too much.

But the moment Jocelyn determinedly started to-ward her countryman, she was whipped back around to face Angel. He had dismounted behind her, and she saw with some surprise that he wasn't nearly as tall as he had seemed in the saddle. Seeing him for the first time so close, she realized he wasn't much older than she was. But there was a wiry strength hidden beneath that rain slicker that fell to his boots.

She felt it in the steely grip on her arm. And he was angry. That she saw in those cold black eyes of his.

The feeling was confirmed by a soft, furious hiss that startled her. "Don't do it."

"What?" she asked warily.

"You were going to sock him one, weren't you?"

Her eyes flared incredulously. "How the devil did you know?"

"I could feel you preparing for battle."

She stiffened again, and demanded of him in a terse whisper, "Let go."

"Guess I was wrong when I figured you had some smarts. Figured you'd be working on delaying tactics rather than suicide, to give your guards a chance to find you in time."

She managed to jerk her arm away. "It's a matter of priority, of what one holds most dear."

"And you hold pride dearer than life?"

She blushed to hear it put that way, and to hear his disdain too. Blast the man, he was right. She should be willing to do anything to put off the inevitable. Was there really a chance she might be found in time?

Angel seemed to read her mind. "Don't worry about it. Today's not your day to die, honey."

She opened her mouth to demand he explain that cryptic remark, but another voice spoke first. "So good of you to join us, Your Grace."

She turned around slowly and waited until Longnose had closed the distance between them. She had to look up now, but that was all right. For some rea-son, even though she didn't understand what Angel had meant, she wasn't afraid with him standing behind her.

"Not at all, Longnose." She gave him a regal nod. "I should thank you for inviting me. I would have been quite devastated to have missed your little gath-ering."

For one reason or another, his men found her remarks hilarious. He certainly didn't. His cheeks suf-fused with heated color, and his icy gray eyes prom-ised her a truly gruesome death. She had provoked him, and without having to damage her hand doing it. But before he did anything about it, she heard Angel mutter a vile oath behind her, and then she was forc-ibly moved aside.

Elliot's hands itched to get around her neck, but he wasn't so far immersed in that fantasy that he didn't notice Angel's movement. The man now stood par-tially in front of the duchess and was very casually folding back his coat to allow easy access to the gun on his hip.

The significance of that was not lost on the older man, but it didn't worry him in the least. Angel was only one man in eight, after all.

Elliot should never have taken him on in the first place, but it was rather late to concede that point. He'd been aware when he met him that he might have trouble with this one, a man so different from the others.

But he was the tracker Owen had found in Benson, and he'd picked up the duchess's trail almost immediately, enabling them with some hard riding to catch up with her.

There was really no need for trouble now. Elliot was, in fact, grateful to Angel for distracting him. To end this glorious triumph in a burst of rage was not the least bit fitting, nor what he had envisioned. The duchess deserved much more than that. So if the lad wanted her, if that was the reason for his subtle chal-lenge, he could have her. They could all bloody well have her. And when they were done with their sport, he would slowly choke the life from her while he had her himself.

Elliot smiled, savoring that thought, and was fur-ther delighted to see the duchess disconcerted by it.

Good. Her previous audacity had been unexpected and not at all appropriate. He wanted to see her fear, needed to see it.

"You have a bizarre sense of humor, Your Grace. I trust it won't desert you too soon." And then Elliot dismissed her for the moment, asking Angel, "Was there any difficulty with Mr. Dryden?"

"None to speak of."

"Excellent. I was beginning to wonder about him, but he's done his part admirably and will now further aid us by buying us time."

"How's that?"

"By sending her people to look for her in the wrong direction, of course. After all, it's to his benefit now, as well as ours, that she isn't found."

"It ain't gonna matter much to him," Pete volun-teered at that point. "Angel killed him."

There was a long pause before Elliot said, "I see," then another long moment before he added, "Well, so much for the additional time element. I assume you at least made good time getting back here?"

"Good enough," Angel drawled. "Now you answer me one. Why is it you never said she was a good-looking woman?"

"Because that fact is quite irrelevant."

"Oh, it's relevant, all right. Very relevant. A pretty thing like this shouldn't ought to be wasted."


Jocelyn slapped his hand away when his finger grazed her cheek to the accompaniment of those words.

So that was what he had meant by saying she wouldn't die today. It was almost dark. No one was going to find her in the dark. These men would have all night long to rape her, and Angel undoubtedly meant to be the first.

Longnose must have thought so too, for he was smiling again. "There's time enough for that, cer-tainly. I would have suggested it myself. Just be care-ful with her. The privilege of killing her is mine, after all."

If Jocelyn were prone to swooning, those words would have had her collapsing. As it was, she was overcome with panic. Sir George was her only chance now. If she could just get to him, she'd earn a swift, merciful bullet in the back, for that would be the only way they could then stop her.

But Angel must have read her thoughts again. His hand clamped on her arm like a vise, keeping her at his side. She would have killed him in that moment if she had the means. She was in fact reaching for one of her hairpins when his quiet voice arrested the movement.

"It don't sound to me like you took my meaning," he was telling Longnose. "I've decided to keep her—

until I get tired of her."

"That's out of the question!"

Angel's voice turned softly menacing. "I wasn't asking your permission, Englishman."

The older man's face mottled with color again. He even raised his cane, which was a mistake.

What ensued was becoming quite familiar to Jocelyn, seeing guns drawn at the blink of an eye. She only jumped slightly when the shot was fired, but to her everlasting disgust, Longnose was still standing there.

Angel's bullet had merely shot the cane out of his hand.

But the man didn't have the sense to calm down even then. "Mr. Owen!" he bellowed.

That gentleman apparently had more sense. "Fer-get it, boss. I ain't tanglin' with the likes o' him."