“Aye, I’ll summon a constable, miss,” the costermonger growled, doubling back on Hannah. “I’ll have you up on charges for interfering with my property.” He reached out to grab her arm. “Now get away from that beast before I—” “Before you what?” a cold, iron-backed voice interrupted. Hannah looked up with a jolt, straight into the arctic gaze of James Beresford, Viscount St. Clare.
