London was laid out in tidy streets and squares, the River Thames curving through it. She had drawn a circle around a street, he noted. Nightingale Lane. He lifted the map and discovered a paper beneath it bearing a list, written in her tidy scrawl.
Known Fenians
Thomas Mulroney
Sean Flannery
Drummond McKenna
The Nightingale
“Of course!” he said aloud, realization dawning on him. “The Nightingale.”
The code name for the English Fenian, who had been supporting the Emerald Club with funds and shipments of dynamite. It all made sense. They had all been convinced The Nightingale was a person. But, if what he suspected Hazel had surmised was correct, The Nightingale was not a person at all.
Rather, The Nightingale was a place.
More specifically, a street.
And on that street, he would find Fenians. And on that street, he would find Hazel. Supposing he wasn’t too late. The thought made his blood run cold as ice and his gut clench. He let the list drift from his fingers, allowing it to flutter back to the desk.
He glanced up at Strathmore. “She’s gone to Nightingale Lane. I need to get there to find her. Now.”
But his brother-in-law blocked his path. “Stop, Arden. Miss Montgomery has been gone for hours, perhaps since first light. If she has not returned in all this time, the indication is strong that she has met with trouble. And if she has met with trouble, we will require all the reinforcements we can get. We need to summon Scotland Yard and all the League agents available to us.”
“Fuck you,” he growled, pushing at Strathmore’s chest. Nothing would stand in his way. He needed to protect his woman, damn it. He needed to be certain she was safe. To see her, touch her, hold her, kiss her,marry her.
Yes, damn it all, he would marry the woman. Just as soon as he upbraided her for doing something as foolish as attempting to take on a band of dynamite-loving criminals on her own.
But Strathmore had brute strength and gripped Lucien’s shoulders, fighting him for power. “Damn it, arsehole, listen to me for the first time in your life. If we want to give Miss Montgomery the best chance to escape these bastards’ clutches unscathed, we have to bring a bloody army and go to war. Do you understand me?”
The violent bloodlust coursing through his veins subsided enough for his brother-in-law’s words to penetrate Lucien’s mind. And damn it all, he had to admit Strathmore was not wrong in this. Rampaging into a den of Fenian vipers would likely only get both himself and Hazel killed.
If she hadn’t already been murdered by them.
Lucien refused to contemplate it.
He clenched his jaw so hard, his bloody ears popped. “I understand you perfectly, Strathmore. Let us assemble the damned army.”
“This can beeasy and as painless as possible, Miss Montgomery, or this can be painful and difficult. The choice is yours.”
Hazel gazed down the barrel of the pistol Sean Flannery held trained upon her head, before meeting the cold, flat eyes of Thomas Mulroney. “Painless and easy for whom, Mr. Mulroney?” she dared to ask defiantly.
Defiance was an easy choice, when one was faced with the potential knowledge of one’s impending death. She had nothing left to lose. The implacable man before her was going to attempt to dredge all the information he could from her, before he lodged a bullet in her brain.
“Arrogance does you no credit, Mrs. Mulligan,” Flannery snapped. “Or should I call you H.E. Montgomery?”
They knew who she was. But Hazel was not surprised. Of course they did after their run-in at the hotel and then thieving her carpetbag and her notes. She knew who they were also, and having faced death on many occasions before, she had the advantage of facing Mulroney and Flannery without shock or fear.
She tipped back her head, the only part of her body she could move, aside from her fingers and toes. “You may call me whatever you wish to call me, Mr. Flannery, just as long as you stop pointing that pistol at my head. Until then, you can go to hell.”
The bitter sting of failure hit her. She had taken a hired hack to the area and directed her driver to leave her, before she entered Nightingale Lane. Although she had made her way painstakingly through the maze of massive warehouses lining the docks, she had been overtaken from behind by Mulroney.
One moment, she had been navigating a warehouse, and the next, the barrel of a weapon had been jammed in her back, and Flannery had appeared before her, pistol at the ready. She had been out-manned, outgunned, and essentially, helpless. Her training told her that her best chance was to prolong her interaction with the two men. Fighting back would likely result in her being wounded, or worse.
And truly, there had been no opportunity to defend herself. The two men had forced her deep into the interior of the warehouse, to a small store room which appeared to serve as an office. They had confiscated her reticule, discovering her pistol with ease. Her hands had been bound, and her limbs had been lashed to an uncomfortable chair. The warehouse was cold and smelled of tobacco, sea brine, and mildew. It was not the place she wanted to meet her end, but then, her life had never been one of choices, so perhaps it would be fitting.
“Brave and foolish to the last, Miss Montgomery,” Flannery said, his tone snide. “Both will prove to be your downfall.”
