“Oiy, well, the earl says a gentleman must always take care of his family and friends.”
She held back a skeptical laugh. Wrexford would rather eatnails than ever voice such a maudlin sentiment in her presence. But she found it rather endearing that he had said such a thing to the boys.
“Indeed. However, I think we’ll have no further need for swashbuckling adventure tonight. Pick up your sword and carry it back in your room.”
* * *
Quickening his pace, Wrexford emerged from the passageway and crossed the small square at the head of Adam Street, his boots beating a staccato tattoo on the uneven cobbles. Behind him, still hidden in the murky darkness, Raven broke into a run to catch up.
Theslap-slapof the hurried steps brought him out of his brooding. He came to a halt and turned, surprised the boy had been dawdling.
“You’re usually swift as quicksilver,” he said. “What’s—”
“There’s somebody following us,” whispered Raven.
Wrexford came instantly alert. If the boy sensed trouble, the earl was sure it was there.
Sure enough, an instant later, a man burst out from the shadows, a pistol in each hand. At the same time, a second figure clattered into the square from the adjoining alley. He, too, was armed, though only with a stout cudgel.
Wrexford cursed himself for a bloody fool. He had been one precious step ahead of the enemy but had let the advantage slip away. Mind whirring, he sought a way to salvage what he could of the situation.
“Don’t move, milord,” ordered the man with the pistols, as he slowed to a stop a short distance away. “I would dislike putting a bullet through your brain, but I’ll do so if necessary.”
“Aren’t blades more to your liking than bullets?”
The retort earned a nasty laugh. “I’m equally skilled with either.”
“No need to shed any blood,” said the earl calmly. “Let meget rid of the beggar boy and then we can conduct our business in a civilized manner.” From his pocket he pulled the folded paper and, keeping it hidden in his palm, quickly passed it to Raven.
“Here’s a farthing, brat, now be off,” he barked, punctuating the order with a sharp shove and praying the boy would understand that flight was a far better choice than senseless heroics.
Raven, to his credit, flew for cover.
The man with the pistols hesitated for a heartbeat, then seemed to realize his mistake and squeezed off a shot.
Shards of stone exploded just as Raven darted around the corner of a building.
Had the boy been hit?Wrexford couldn’t tell.
Swearing, the man took aim with the second pistol, then thought better of it. “Smythe!” he cried. “Go after the guttersnipe and finish him off.” To Wrexford, he demanded, “What did you give the filthy brat?”
“Naught but a coin,” said the earl calmly “I hope he spends it wisely.”
The man’s face darkened for an instant, but he quickly released his anger with a laugh. “You’re a clever fellow, milord. That bodes well.”
For what?But before Wrexford could begin to parse its meaning, the man’s accomplice returned.
“There’s a trail of blood—quite a bit of it—but it leads into a maze of alleys. Seemed a waste of time to follow,” called Smythe as he reappeared from the gloom. “I swear, I saw the bullet hit him. He won’t last long.”
“Say your prayers. You’ll soon be a dead man,” said Wrexford softly to his captor.
Another laugh. “No, I’ll soon be a very rich man,” sneered the man. He flashed a hand signal to his accomplice. The cudgel swung through the air with a sudden whoosh and cracked against the earl’s skull with a sickening thud.
* **
Feeling a tad guilty, Charlotte listened to the faint clatter of dishes being washed and dried in the kitchen before returning her attention to her sketchbook. McClellan had proved to be an excellent cook, and after the meal refused to allow any help with the cleaning. It would have seemed like a luxury, save for the fact that it forced her to confront the taunting, devil-cursed dangers still at large.
Who was the enemy?
