Val angled her head away and drew her close once more so that her cheek rested against his chest. “You did what you had to do in that moment, Myrtle,” he murmured. “You saved yourself . . . and me.”

Horace barked.

“And Horace,” Val added, as much for the dog’s benefit as for the truth that Myrtle needed to hear in this instant.

Still, he relinquished his hold and then fell to a knee, checking for a pulse first of one man—and finding it, strong and very much there. And then he checked the other. “They both live.”

Myrtle clapped, and closing her eyes, she jumped up and down as excitedly as if she were cheering on a mount at Ascot Racecourse, and not as though she’d just taken down two ruthless thieves.

Whereas Val? His hands shook. How close she’d come to . . . He forced his thoughts away from the path they were traveling.

Val came to his feet. “Come,” he said gruffly, taking her by the hand. “Let us get you out of here.”

“Me?” she asked as she let him pull her along. “Because we really should get you out of here as well, Val. And Horace.”

At hearing her speak his name, the dutifully silent-through-the-action dog bounded over. Without breaking stride, he bypassed Val and jumped, his front paws finding purchase on Myrtle’s shoulders.

She staggered under the dog’s enormous weight—Horace, on his hind legs, outsized her by several inches.

Any other lady or gentleman would have been horrified.

Myrtle, however, laughed, and proceeded to go through slight steps as if she were dancing with Val’s dog, and in that moment, his relief was so great that Val erupted with laughter, joining his amusement with hers.

“We will leave,” she promised Val.

He held his arm out.

“But just”—she held a finger up and wagged it about—“one more thing!”

Val groaned. “Yes, why don’t we stay and wait for them to awaken so we might join them for tea,” he called after her as she rushed from the room.

“Now, why would we ever do that?” she rejoined from the hall, her voice carrying but muffled slightly. “Having tea with the men who tried to . . .”

As her voice drifted farther away, despite himself, despite the sheer terror that had gripped him and threatened to swallow him whole, he found himself grinning.

Against all attempts to be indifferent toward the lady, she enthralled him at every turn.

A moment later, Myrtle returned. “Ta-da!” she exclaimed, and the metal in her hands clinked together.

His brow shot up. “What . . . are those?”

“They are manacles,” she said as she approached the downed brute nearest the fire.

“Wherever did you get . . . ?” Recalling her penchant for prattling, he thought better of it. “Never mind. I don’t want to kn—”

“My brother brought them back from his travels.”

“Of course he did,” he mumbled.