“I haven’t got your money. I’ve got money of my own, I can give you that...”
“Don’t be ridiculous! Belding had a fortune tucked away in that house—your paltry money couldn’t touch it. I want the money that’s owed me. If you don’t want your throat cut in an alleyway, you’ll get it for me.”
“First give me Miss Manning.”
“She’s fine where she is, ain’t you, darling?”
He could see her then in the dark confines of the coach, and if she’d looked terrified he would have lost his mind. Instead, her eyes met his, and there was no missing the anger in them. For Stiles, or for him? For both of them, he suspected. It would be no more than he deserved.
“I’d like to go home,” she said politely enough.
“And so you shall, me darling, if your lover would just take care of business.”
“He’s not my lover,” she said in an icy voice.
“I’ll bring you the money tonight,” Rafferty said rashly. “Where do you want me to come? Your house?”
“Oh, I don’t think so. Too many people about—if my men knew I’d found Belding’s pot, they’d want a piece of it.”
“I thought you were planning on sharing it,” Rafferty shot back.
“Now why would I do that? Meet me by Landon Bridge and I’ll bring you the girl. But no tricks. I can slice her throat faster than you can stop me.” He leaned over and caught Georgie’s chin in his hand. “Though I’d like to have a taste of her before I do it. See what you find so exciting about the other half.”
“Get your hands off her.”
Stiles released her with a little laugh. “Shall we say midnight, then? Why not be melodramatic with our little play?”
Rafferty wracked his brain. It would take time to get the money together, and too much of it was in land, but no one knew for sure how big Belding’s cache was, and in the darkness he could fool Stiles long enough to kill him. “Ten o’clock,” he said recklessly. He didn’t want Georgie in his hands for a minute longer than necessary.
“Too many witnesses. Midnight, at Landon Bridge. And I don’t need to warn you to come alone.”
“I’ll bring Martin.”
Stiles snorted. “Fat lot of good he’d do. Certainly, bring your catamite. But since you two are so close, I wonder you‘d want to bother with this young lady.”
“Touch her again and I’ll cut off your hands.”
Stiles merely laughed, and his teeth shone in the gaslight. “Midnight.”
She was going to die, Georgie thought. She was sitting in a room full of noisy men and women, and no one was paying any attention to her, thank God, but the ropes around her wrists and ankles were too tight, and the strip of cloth wrapped around her face was cutting into her mouth. All she could use was her eyes, and she didn’t want to be seeing half of what she was seeing. Where was Rafferty? She had no idea of the time, but he would be there, she knew he would. By Landon Bridge, wherever that was, carrying a fortune’s ransom.
Billy Stiles wasn’t going to let them go. Why should he, and risk retribution? Her ears were working too, for all that everyone seemed to have forgotten about her, and she heard Billy quite clearly. “You stay in the shadows, and when I give the signal you shoot him. I’ll cut the girl’s throat and we’ll be gone before you can say Bob’s your uncle.”
“Why don’t I shoot her too?” the man had demanded.
“Because you won’t have time to reload,” Stiles said patiently.
“I could bring two guns.”
“Because I want to see if the upper classes bleed blue.”
“Do they?” the first man said in wonder.
“No, you fool. Because two guns would make you clumsy, and I don’t want any mistakes. I want this over and done with.”
“But what if he really can’t find the money? Won’t killing him mean he’ll never find it?”
“Jonesy, when I want to explain my thinking to you, I’ll let you know,” Stiles said. “Go and bother someone else—I’ve got some drinking to do.”
