Jarvis gave a slow nod, something like pleasure flickering across his face. “Gimme two weeks. I gotta learn ’er ’abits.”
“Do whatever it takes.” He needed this handled quickly. His creditors had given him until April and time was running short.
With an exaggerated bow, Jarvis turned and left. At least the man did not waste time.
Jarvis
The shadows had ever been his ally. Raised in the slums of London, Jarvis learned young how to pick pockets and lift wares unnoticed. As he grew, his skills drew the attention of smugglers, who soon recruited him into their fold. The entire crew had eventually been arrested, but not Jarvis. No, he had sensed something was wrong as he neared their hideout. He could not have said what warned him, only that something felt off, and he had lingered in the shadows to wait.
And before the night ended, the entire hideout had been raided, the smugglers taken, and their goods seized. Jarvis had watched it all unfold from the darkness. After that, he realized it was time to seek more profitable—and safer—employment.
He worked only for himself. True, Winters might believe he had Jarvis’s loyalty, but that mistake would be his undoing. The man had offered the largest share he had ever been promised—half the proceeds once he controlled every share of the Montrose business.
Jarvis knew about the creditors. Winters fretted over being seen and rarely left his house, as though secrecy were protection enough. The fool did not realize his enemies already knew where he was. They had even employed Jarvis. He would play both sides—collect payment for keeping an eye on Winters and remove obstacles that kept him from seizing the business outright.
Everyone would win. The creditors would have their money, and Jarvis his share. Even Winters would be free of his debts. But the only way forward was to remove the Montrose brat from the picture.
Dressed like a common laborer, Jarvis loitered in Mayfair with the air of a man who belonged there. He kept his head down and eyes sharp, watching Montrose House at all hours. Days passed. Then, near the end of February, an opportunity presented itself.
Perched on a garden wall, half-concealed by a tree, he aimed for the front steps of Montrose House. Every morning at ten, the girl and the old woman left the house together, accompanied by a single servant. Predictable. Foolish.
The door opened, andshestepped outside. Jarvis drew a steady breath and took aim. He squeezed the trigger. The crack of the shot rang through the street, the noise bouncing off stone walls. Screams followed. Someone pulled the girl inside. He had missed.
Cursing under his breath, Jarvis dropped from the wall and fled into the alley. Another chance to finish the job would be nigh impossible.
Darcy
“I am well, I assure you!” Elizabeth patted her grandmother’s arm reassuringly. “See? Not a scratch anywhere.”
“There is a bullet hole in our door frame, Elizabeth.” Lady Montrose’s voice quavered. “That was too close for comfort. Darcy, what have your men to say for themselves?”
“Browning reports they are tracking the man now. He believes he escaped cleanly, but my men remain on his trail.”
“How long before this is over?” Lady Montrose sighed and pressed her face into her hand, elbow resting on the chair’s arm.
“Soon, we hope. Let us remain at home today. We can send our regrets to Mrs. Hiddleston.” Darcy’s bearing remained composed, but Elizabeth saw through the calm—beneath it, he trembled with fear.
Jameson entered. “Browning has more news.”
“Show him in,” Elizabeth said at once.
Darcy’s man stepped into the drawing room. Brown-haired and bearded, he bore the air of quiet confidence. Though his eyes held a spark of dry humor, his manner now was all business..
“He has holed up in Seven Dials, sir,” he said. “We will not reach him there. He must come to us.”
“What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked.
“I propose we set a trap. I know his type. He will alter his appearance and return. In his arrogance, he will strike again, believing we have relaxed our guard. You plan to leave for Hertfordshire in March, do you not?”
“Yes, we shall only be gone a few days. My sister is marrying.” Elizabeth’s face brightened briefly before settling again into solemnity.
“Very good.” Browning cast a purposeful glance about the room. “Encourage the servants to speak of the wedding. He is receiving information from somewhere, and your staff are the most likely source. They mean no harm, your ladyships,” he added quickly, noting their dismay. “You may lecture them on discretion later. For now, we need them to chatter. Once he hears of your plans to leave London, he will do just as I expect.”
“And what is that?” the Dowager Countess asked sharply.
“He will make another attempt on the North Road—mark my words. There are countless places where he may lie in wait. My men will continue to shadow him, and once he settles, we shall tighten the noose.”
“Do you require extra men?” Darcy asked. Richard had offered a few of his soldiers, but Browning, who operated under cover, had declined. Military men, he claimed, stood out—they were too stiff, too precise.
