Benedict glanced down at the small, lumpy bag he carried, and Georgie recognized it as her favorite beadwork reticule.

“Here.” He tossed the bag carelessly onto the floor. A puff of dust flew up and a pile of jewelry slithered out across the dirty boards. Diamonds caught the light, sparkling even in the gloom.

“Well done.” Josiah smiled and lifted the pistol.

A deafening report echoed through the room. Georgie screamed behind the gag and swung to Benedict, expecting to see a terrible red stain spreading over his chest, but he merely sent her a cocky smile that made her heart trip over. It took her a stunned moment to comprehend that he was holding a smoking pistol and that it was her cousin who was bent over in his chair, clutching his arm and wailing in agony. Blood dripped onto the dusty floor beneath him.

“You shot me!” Josiah screeched.

Benedict stepped forward and used his boot to kick away Josiah’s pistol, which had fallen to the side of the chair. “Stop sniveling,” he said harshly. “I was in the Rifles. I once shot a man on horseback from eight hundred yards away. You’re lucky I didn’t blow a hole in your forehead, you bastard. How dare you take her?”

Josiah cringed. Benedict caught him by the collar, jerked him to his feet—and punched him clean across the jaw. Josiah’s head snapped back, and he slid to the floor in a boneless, unconscious heap.

Benedict stepped back, a look of utter contempt on his face, then glanced over at Georgie. In two strides, he was in front of her, ripping the gag from her mouth and pulling her into his arms. Georgie let out a whimper of relief and buried her nose against his shirtfront. His hold on her was so crushingly tight, she could scarcely breathe.

“God, I thought he’d hurt you,” he groaned, kissing the top of her head.

She tried to shake her head against his chest, but he’d left her no room to move. She wriggled, and his hold slackened. “It’s all right. I’m fine,” she gasped.

He clamped her cheeks between his palms, searching her features with a fierce expression, and then he pressed his mouth to hers in a desperate, hungry kiss.

A thousand conflicting emotions flowed into her: relief and desperation, fury and desire. Georgie yielded to them joyously, loving the rough tenderness of his hands in her hair, the frantic kisses he pressed to her nose, her cheeks, the corners of her eyes. Her hands were still tied, trapped between them, so she couldn’t wrap her arms around his neck as she wanted to, but she leaned into him.