“I owe you an extra apple tart for rushing to my rescue,” replied the earl.
A flash of humor sparked beneath the Runner’s heavily lidded eyes. “And a wedge of Stilton.” His gaze then moved back to the bodies of Blodgett and Blackstone.
Wrexford looked down as well, watching the dark rivulets of liquid pooling together on the planked floor.Tied together by blood, in life and in death.
“On second thought, milord, you owe me the whole bloody wheel of cheese,” murmured Griffin with a martyred sigh. “You’ve given me an unholy mess to explain to the government.”
“Actually it’s as simple as the Seven Deadly Sins to explain. Greed, envy—mankind simply can’t resist the Devil’s temptation,” said the earl. “To spare themselves the embarrassment ofhaving to admit that we aristocratic arses are as bad as the rest of humanity, your superiors can blame it all on Blodgett, a bastard son who murdered Blackstone and Kirkland, as well as Ashton, in hopes of stealing the patent for himself.”
“That will likely work,” mused the Runner. “The only trouble is, given the swarm of your urchin informants flitting around here, it’s almost certain word of what really happened here will reach that infernal scribbler, A. J. Quill. He has eyes and ears everywhere.”
“The urchins and I have an understanding. Trust me, A. J. Quill will have nothing to say on what transpired here today.”
“Hmmph. If you manage that miracle, then it’sIwho owe you dinner.”
“Given the fact that you kept me from sticking my spoon in the wall, I’m happy to fork over the blunt for a beefsteak and ale.” As Wrexford paused to blink the grit from his eyes, he suddenly realized that Sheffield had come to stand beside the Runner. And behind Sheffield was a slender figure wreathed in shadows . . .
And then suddenly, the figure—moving nearly as quickly as the pistol’s bullet—shot past Griffin. The Runner made to follow, but Sheffield grabbed the latch of the open door and swung it shut in both their faces.
CHAPTER 29
“What the devil—” began Griffin.
“Come, come—don’t you think you and your men ought to search and secure the rest of the building before badgering Wrexford with any more tedious questions?” Sheffield released his hold on the latch, and spun around to place a restraining hand on the Runner’s chest. “The corpses aren’t going anywhere, whereas their villainous minions might be making their escape.”
Griffin’s gaze narrowed to a suspicious squint.
Sheffield batted at the ghostly puffs of steam that were swirling up from the floor below. “Not to speak of all the devil-cursed racket the machinery is making. Shouldn’t you see to having the bloody things shut off so they don’t blow us all to Kingdom Come?”
“Why is it I smell a rat, Mr. Sheffield?” growled Griffin, looking to the oaken door and then back at the earl’s friend. “Was that Phoenix—”
A shout from one of his men echoed from the bowels of the building before he could go on.
“We’ve found another prisoner!” A flurry of muffled bangs and thumps followed. “Says his name is Hillhouse!”
“Ah, Ashton’s missing assistant!” Sheffield gave Griffin a little shove. “Let us hurry. Surely he’ll know what to do about all the infernal hissing and clanking.”
* * *
The perversely sweet stink of death clogged her nostrils as Charlotte darted around the slowly spreading pools of blood and flung her arms around the earl. His coat smelled of horse dung, noxious chemicals—and some indescribable male essence that she had come to recognize as uniquely his own.
“Wrexford!” She pulled him into a fierce hug and held him tightly, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart shudder through every tiny fiber of her body.
Thud, thud.Its pulsing warmth slowly penetrated through the layers of damp wool and softened the clench of dread that had hold of her vitals.
Thud, thud.
Filling her lungs with a ragged inhale, Charlotte pulled back in one swift, herky-jerky motion and smacked her fists against his chest.
Thud, thud.
“Of all the bacon-brained, beef-witted,foolhardythings to do!”Thud, thud.“God in heaven, you bloody idiotic, infuriating man! What were you thinking to confront a vicious killer and goad him into a fury?”
Wrexford raised a dark brow. “I am,” he drawled, “assuming that is a rhetorical question.”
How dare he appear amused!One didn’t taunt the gods by cocking a snoot at Death. Not when its snapping, snarling jaws were a mere hairsbreadth away.
“However, as to my state of mind—” He stopped abruptly, his gaze pinching to a wary stare. “Are you crying?”
