“Get off him!” she yelled, grabbing at Lord Ramsgate’s shirt. She looked around for something—anything—with which to bash him over the head. The only chair was far too heavy to lift, so with a quick prayer, she balled her hand into a fist and swung hard.

“Ow!” She howled in pain and shook out her fist. No one had told her that punching a man in the face hurt.

“Jesus Christ, Sarah!” It was Daniel, gasping for breath and clutching his eye.

She’d punched the wrong man.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” she yelped. But at least she’d set the human tower off balance. Lord Ramsgate had been forced to let go of Daniel’s neck as both men tumbled to the floor.

“I’ll kill you,” Lord Ramsgate growled, scrambling back over to Daniel, who was in no condition to defend himself.

“Stop it,” Sarah snapped, stepping hard on Lord Ramsgate’s hand. “If you kill him, you kill Hugh.”

Lord Ramsgate looked up at her, and she couldn’t tell if he was confused or furious.

“I lied,” came Hugh’s voice from over on the bed. “I did tell her about our bargain.”

“Did you stop to think about that?” Sarah demanded. Because she had had it with these men. “Did you?” she fairly screamed.

Lord Ramsgate held up his hand—the one that she was not crunching under her boot—in supplication. Slowly, Sarah lifted her weight, not taking her eyes off him until he’d scooted several feet away from Daniel.

“Are you all right?” she asked Daniel perfunctorily. The skin under his eye was turning purple. He was not going to look pretty for his wedding.

He grunted in response.

“Good,” she said, deciding that his grunt had sounded healthy enough. And then it occurred to her. “Where are Marcus and Honoria?”

“Somewhere behind me in a carriage,” he said furiously. “I rode.”

Of course, Sarah thought. She didn’t know why it had not occurred to her that he would insist upon riding after her once it was discovered that she’d departed without them.

“I think you broke my hand,” Lord Ramsgate whined.

“It’s not broken,” Sarah said testily. “I would have heard it snap.”

From over on the bed, Hugh let out a choke of laughter. Sarah shot him a scowl. This wasn’t funny. None of this was funny. And if he couldn’t see that, he was not the man she thought he was. Gallows humor only counted when one wasn’t at actual gallows.

Swiftly, she turned to her cousin. “Do you have a knife?”

Daniel’s eyes widened.

“For his bindings.”

“Oh.” Daniel reached into his boot and pulled out a small dagger. She took it with some surprise; she hadn’t really thought she’d meet with success.

“I acquired the habit of carrying a weapon in Italy,” Daniel said in a flat voice.