The four guards had started work yesterday. Newton had chosen well: they were a strapping and intimidating bunch.
Maggie wrapped her arms around her middle. “I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I. But we can’t have Sweeney and Garrity on our backs while we search for the treasure. Negotiating a truce with them is the only way.”
He knew he’d won when she fell silent, gnawing on her lip.
“Everything will be fine.” Pressing his advantage, he curled a finger under her chin. “Besides, you’ll be of more use here. By the time I return, I expect that you and Hypatia will have solved the remaining clues and the treasure will be waiting for me.”
“Very amusing.” Maggie sighed. “You will be careful, won’t you?”
With her and Glory to come back to? The life he longed to have with them within reach?
“Always, Maggie mine.”
Nightingale’s was not what Rhys expected. Coffee houses had reached their heyday in the last century, and the ones that remained carried the burden of time. Yet this one looked newly constructed: its name was proudly painted in fresh gilt, and pristine windows looked onto the busy Covent Garden street. As Rhys approached the entrance with his hired protection, he was met by the Kents.
“Weapons and guards stay outside,” Tessa said. “Same rules apply to all guests.”
Rhys looked at her entourage, which included Ming, all of whom were armed to the teeth.
“Except you, it seems,” he said.
“I’m not a guest.” She lifted her brows. “I called this meeting; I set the rules.”
“Point taken,” he muttered.
Sans his pistol and guards, he followed Tessa and her husband into Nightingale’s. Although the interior had the dark, dated look he associated with coffee houses, the shaved wood floors and paneled walls showed little wear. The rich scent of coffee permeated the spacious room; serving boys dashed around with silver pots, refilling the cups of customers chatting around long trestle tables.
“Grandpapa rebuilt the place after a fire,” Tessa said. “We’ll be meeting in the new wing.”
They arrived at a set of doors manned by a pair of guards. At Kent’s nod, the guards pushed open the heavy oak, and Rhys found himself entering a chamber with a soaring ceiling. A massive round table sat at the center; his pulse sped up when he saw that the others had already arrived.
Sweeney rose from one of the chairs. He was exactly as Rhys remembered: fat, pasty-skinned, with eyes a chilling ice blue. Next to him, Garrity stood as well. In some ways, Garrity was Sweeney’s opposite. Tall and lean, he was undoubtedly an elegant man with his ruthlessly slicked dark hair and eyes so dark they appeared black. While Sweeney had a sneering countenance, Garrity’s was impassive…but no less menacing.
Tessa directed everyone to their seats. Her husband took the seat to the right of her, Rhys to the left. Garrity was one chair over from Rhys, but the size of the table separated them by a safe distance.
“Thank you everyone for coming,” Tessa said. “I shan’t beat around the bush. I wish to negotiate an armistice on behalf of His Grace, the Duke of Ranelagh and Somerville.”
“The bastard owes me money,” Sweeney snarled. “Don’t see as how that’s any business of yours. Best keep your nose out of my affairs.”
“I’m the Duchess of Covent Garden. What happens in my territoryismy affair.” Tessa’s hard gaze circled the room. “While Ransom is in Covent Garden—nay, in London—he is my guest. I am asking you to respect that fact.”
Her tone was more of a command than a request. For once, Rhys appreciated her strong-willed nature.
“Pardon, duchess,” Garrity said in smooth, cultured tones, “but I must ask why you wish to intervene on behalf of His Grace?”
“My reasons are my own. Now do we have an agreement?”
Sweeney slammed his hands on the table, rising. “The bugger owes me blunt. Got his vowels that say so. Been chasing him for months—and I ain’t waiting no more!”
“I must concur with my…esteemed colleague.” Garrity’s tone held a hint of irony. “Ransom and I had a business agreement, and he has reneged. In addition, he has caused me no small amount of trouble.” His predatory glance fixed on Rhys. “I am, at this moment, having my men bailed out from a Dorset gaol.”
“They assaulted my man-of-business,” Rhys bit out.
He wanted to say more: that the bastards had broken into Maggie’s house, terrorized her and her family and deserved more than gaol…but he held himself back. If there was even a chance that Garrity or Sweeney didn’t know about her, he would keep it that way.
“They were following orders.” Garrity steepled his hands. “I expect loyalty from my men—and those I conduct business with.”
