Grunt. “Correct. You must aid in the tracking and capturing of a madman.” Thomas leaned a hip against her chest of drawers and crossed one ankle over the other, his face twitching into a grimace. “You’ve been among the ranks of the women of Bow Street for above a month but have yet to take charge of your own assignment. Tell me, h—”grunt.“—how do you plan to undertake such an ambitious task?”
CHAPTER2
Muffled voices carried up through the building to reach Francis Sinclair’s ears. The voices would soon turn to alarm and excitement as the news broke that he had not attended his own hanging. Miles had, though. And it was Francis’ duty to ensure that his brother’s death had not been in vain.
Not only was Jasper, the bastard, responsible for Miles’ death, but the man’s father had been responsible for Jean’s. Francis was alone in the world. So Jasper would be the one to pay. Him, and everyone close to him.
Francis and Miles’ tactics thus far—written threats and feigned attempts on Jasper’s life—had been child’s play. Enjoyable, to be sure, but they had not yielded the hoped-for results. Francis wanted Jasper to feel afraid. To feel pain. For that reason, Francis’ efforts must be redoubled.
The door to his little home opened, admitting his woman, Sarah. Her blue dining gown accentuated her slender frame and small, pert breasts. The smile she always wore was pleasant enough, but it was her merciless nature that he so enjoyed. It fed his own.
She sat beside him on his cot. “My husband just left for his country seat—some emergency with his steward. And I had to come and see you. What a shame about your brother.” Her soft voice failed to echo in his secret, diminutive quarters with its roughened wood ceiling and damp wood-panelled walls. Only a small dormer window allowed a thread of light.
Francis nodded. “I haven’t time to feel the devastation that threatens. Instead, I shall focus on ways in which Jasper will suffer the consequences of Miles’ death.”
A smile quirked the corner of Sarah’s mouth, and her eyes gleamed. “That’s right, dove. You’ll get him.”
And he would. He wanted Jasper weeping and pleading for mercy before he killed the blackguard and took his rightful place in the ducal line.
Indeed, the dukedom was within his grasp, for with the correct alliances made and the seamlessly forged documents in his possession, he’d been assured success.
Francis spread his bare toes over the moth-eaten once-blue rug that covered a small portion of his floor, letting his hatred of his cousin—and his anticipation of what was to come—sink deeper into his soul.
* * *
“Don’t be silly,Jasper. We simplymustreport this to Grace,” said Jasper’s sister, Juliana, the new Marchioness of Livingston. Her green-and-slate–coloured eyes—that very nearly matched his—were shadowed by worry.
Jasper had just sent a footman to the magistrate with an urgent missive when Juliana, her husband Leonard Notley—the Marquess—and the man’s shadow, Mr. Percy Baxter, appeared in his foyer to discuss the news.
Jasper’s stomach lurched with trepidation. “Who is Grace, and why is she privy to my?—”
Juliana’s gaze turned scornful. “You mightn’t approve of my new profession, brother, but you could at least deign to listen when I speak of it.”
Sodding hell.
“Grace Huntsbury is the founder of our runner offices,” Juliana continued, “and my superior. She oversaw the handling of my first assignment, and I daresay she will do much the same now that Francis has slipped the noose.”
“Very well, then,” Jasper capitulated. “If this meeting is to take place in your runner offices, and will deliberate over what we might do to solve my family’s quandary, will I be privy to what is discussed?”
Juliana narrowed her eyes at him. “Of course.”
“What will you have us do?” Leonard asked. “Percy and I are at your disposal, should you desire aid.”
Percy nodded. The former pirate was one of few words, often communicating with Livingston without speaking at all. He was tall, lean, and muscular, his face one of sharp angles and dark eyes that held pain, experience, and what was sure to be a wealth of knowledge.
“I’ve already sent word to the magistrate?—”
“Are you privy to Francis’ haunts?” Juliana asked, cutting over Jasper. “Surely he hasn’t ventured out of town if his intent is to torture us.”
“Indeed,” Livingston put in. “Percy and I could conduct a search.”
The fictional blade in Jasper’s gut twisted. “Before this assault on our family began, I hadn’t seen or heard from our cousins since our youth. Truth be known, I do not know if he has any vices at all, let alone places that he might frequent.”
“What do you mean?” Percy inquired, his dark eyebrows furrowed. “Surely the man must dosomething.”
Jasper shook his head and shifted his stance. “After Juliana fled our country seat and I journeyed to London, I had men searching for Francis and Miles as well as Juliana. We scoured every louche and squalid establishment—in addition to the reputable ones—but found no sign of them. I was left to conclude that they either hadn’t any vices or had sequestered themselves out of self-preservation.”
“And yet,” Juliana put in, placing a hand upon her husband’s sleeve, “I’m certain that an additional search would do no harm. I will accompany Jasper to Bow Street and see you both at home.” She lifted a brow at Jasper. “Come along, brother.”
