“When did she leave?” he interrupted her.
“About thirty minutes ago. She should be getting there about now. But—”
Max didn’t wait to hear Lucy’s next words. He ran for the door, bursting through before the doorman could open it. The footman was halfway down the block in the rented phaeton. Max pounded after them, a shout choked in his throat. That little idiot. Even with Bob, Rufus, and Sam down, there were still plenty of other servants she could have taken with her. Or better yet, she could have missed the meeting and given Max the letter, letting him handle the situation. He was going to throttle her when he found her.
The footman had set the horse at a slow clop, and Max soon caught up. Without a word, he hauled the footman down from his seat, ignoring his yelp. He put a foot on the step then changed his mind.
“Help me unharness the animal,” he shouted at the servant. In under a minute, the horse was free. Grabbing its mane, Max swung up onto its bare back and kicked his heels into the horse’s flanks. He shot forward, leaving an open-mouthed footman and listing phaeton behind.
Without hesitation, he guided the horse to his target. Thankfully, he was familiar with St. Katherine’s location. It was across from Simon’s, and he knew the way there almost as well as he knew his way home.
The horse pounded down the streets, rattling his bones. He hadn’t ridden bareback since he’d been a child and his seat wasn’t comfortable. After he throttled Colleen, he’d ask her to kiss it and make it better. If she forgave him for the fire.
If he found her alive.
Digging his heels into the heaving flanks of the horse, Max flew towards St. Katherine’s. And prayed.
He reached the creamy white cathedral and raced the horse up the broad steps. Before the front doors, he slid from his mount’s back, stumbled, and pounded into the narthex. Colleen would have been with the man for ten minutes. Ten minutes where she was unprotected. Vulnerable. A person could be beaten to death in moments. Choked to death in under sixty seconds. If the attacker had a knife or a gun …
He burst into the nave, chest heaving. The door slammed behind him, the hollow echo ringing through the empty church. Candles flickered along the walls, and a gray light filtered through the high windows.
Pacing the center aisle, Max looked down every row, expecting to see a crumpled body lying on a pew. He reached the altar and turned, resting his hands on his hips. Where was she? A shadow flickered to his right, the toe of a boot sliding behind a large pillar.
Max took a step towards the hidden figure, and the main door swung open.
A woman’s silhouette stood outlined in the rectangle of light. “Max?” Colleen called out. “What on earth are you doing here?”
His leg muscles gave way, and Max had to lock his knees to stay upright. “Colleen.” His voice was more whisper than rasp. She was alive. And whole.
Footsteps skittered to his right, running away from him. Max caught sight of the swirl of a black cloak and a squat hat. A side door clanged shut. He looked from Colleen, to the outlaw’s escape route, and back to Colleen. Shoulders tight, Max prowled towards the obstinate woman, not willing to take the chance that the man who’d fled had been the only cutthroat Zed had sent.
He grasped her elbow and hustled her from the church.
“Shouldn’t we go after him?”
“No,” he bit out. The horse was gone, and Max hoped the animal was smart enough to find its way back home. A hackney rested at the curb, the driver lounging against it, twirling his hat in his hands. He opened his mouth when he saw Colleen, but Max ignored him and pulled her around the conveyance. Max headed across the street, practically dragging Colleen behind him.
She twisted, looking back at St. Katherine’s. “I don’t understand. We’ve been afforded the opportunity to speak to another member of the blackmail ring. Why are we letting him get away?”
“Speak? Do you think all that man wanted was a conversation?” They climbed the steps of the stately building that faced the church.
A footman swung open the door at his approach and sketched a bow. “Lord Sutton.”
Max pressed Colleen into the foyer, his shoulders finally unclenching when she was safe within those four walls.
“Where are we?” Colleen tugged at the hem of her spencer, one of her new ones, Max noted, and peered around the lushly-decorated foyer. “What is this place?”
“My club.”
Her auburn brows disappeared beneath her sweep of hair.
“My other club. Simon’s. I’m a member here, as well.”
The head butler hurried towards them, deep creases marring the man’s forehead. “Lord Sutton. So nice to see you this evening.” Spreading his arms, he tried to herd them back towards the front door. “But I can’t allow your guest to enter. The members haven’t voted to allow women tonight.”
Nor almost any other night. Rothchild’s wife was the last woman to grace these halls. Max ground his back teeth together. The rules were starting to irritate him. “It’s not entry I need, but the use of a carriage. I assume my guest is allowed in one of those, even if it does belong to the club?”
“Of course.” The butler nodded at the footman, and the younger man stole from the room. “Can I bring you and your guest something to drink while you wait? A cup of tea, perhaps?” the man asked, giving Colleen an indulgent smile.
