“’Elp me, milady!” The boy’s pleading gaze latched onto Bea. He couldn’t be more than eight years old, with a mop of brown hair and missing front teeth. “I ain’t done nufing, I swear!”
“You must put the boy down, Mr. Grigg,” Bea said as calmly as she could over her thundering heart. “I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding.”
“There’s no misunderstanding,” Grigg snarled. “This thief picked the wrong pigeon to pluck.”
“I swear on me ma’s grave that I didn’t steal nufing. Me pockets are empty, see?” The boy turned out the pockets of his threadbare trousers and jacket. “A wrong against me you’ll regret, but a favor to me I’ll ne’er forget. ’Elp me milady, please. Don’t let the cove ’urt me!”
The poor child…he’s babbling in pain. I have to do something!
“The child doesn’t have your purse,” Bea said. “I must insist that you let him go.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” Grigg raised his whip in a menacing manner.
Star let out a whinny, backing away. Bea steadied her mount.
“Kindly refrain from speaking to a lady in that tone,” Croydon said sharply.
“Gladly, Your Grace,” Grigg said with a sneer. “If herladyshipwill refrain from intruding in my business.”
After an exchange of stares with Grigg, Croydon turned to her.
“Let us continue on,” he said in a low tone. “It is not our affair, after all.”
Bea stared at him in shock. “We cannot abandon this child.”
“While your kindness is admirable, the boy is a street urchin,” Croydon said curtly. “You haven’t been in Town long enough to know what that sort is capable of—”
“Bloody hell!” Grigg roared in pain. “The filthy curbitmy hand!”
Bea’s breath held as the boy, freed from the industrialist’s grip, made a run for it. He darted away, quick as a minnow. Grigg recovered with equal speed.
Shaking his whip, he shouted, “You’re going to pay for this, you li’l bugger!”
He urged his mount forward; on instinct, Bea did the same. She was faster, cutting him off as he neared his prey with his whip raised. Barricading his path, she met Grigg’s gaze: whatever she meant to say evaporated at the rage blazing in his eyes. He paused with his whip held mid-air…then brought his arm down viciously, his lash slicing through the air.
With a terrified neigh, Star reared.
The mare’s sudden bucking jerked Bea’s grip from the reins. She flew from the sidesaddle, arcing backward, landing with a bone-jolting thud. Stars streaked across her vision, shouts exploding in her ears. She blinked up through a haze of pain, saw a shadow hovering over her face—a hoof, its edge glinting like a scythe.
A scream burst in her throat as it descended.
1
Staffordshire, Seven Years Later
Wickham Murray enteredthe ballroom of the country house wearing a domino over his evening clothes and a black demi-mask. Similarly disguised guests were twirling around the dance floor. The females—a mix of sophisticates and ladies of the night—were garbed in a variety of costumes, their jewels ranging from priceless diamonds to artfully cut pieces of glass.
Wick had selected the masquerade for his night’s diversion because of the anonymity it offered. He was, at the moment, travelling incognito. As the public face of one of the country’s most successful railway companies, Great London Northern Railway (also known as GLNR), he did not wish to be recognized on this trip to Staffordshire.
He was on a discreet and vital mission to obtain a tract of land that was the difference between success and failure for his company. Through great expense, GLNR had obtained the necessary Act of Parliament to run a route from London to Manchester. The ambitious venture had gained instant popularity with the investing public, who couldn’t get enough of the company’s shares, driving up the value.
The project had been poised to become GLNR’s greatest triumph…until the mistake had been uncovered.
While GLNR had been purchasing the necessary territory for the railway for months, a portion of the planned route through Staffordshire had somehow been overlooked. Obtaining that tract of land was turning out to be a surprisingly Herculean challenge. Since Wick handled GLNR’s negotiations—his partner, Adam Garrity, managed the company’s financial concerns while his other partner, Harry Kent, was the scientist in charge of research and development—it was up to Wick to get this last, but critical piece of the puzzle in place.
Wick prided himself on his ability to negotiate outcomes that satisfied both parties. Yet the owner of the land, a prickly and reclusive spinster named Beatrice Brown, was proving to be the most obstinate adversary he’d ever dealt with. He’d sent her multiple generous offers; she’d turned them all down flat. When he’d invited her to London to discuss the matter in person, she’d refused that too and in a decidedly unfriendly manner.
Wick was not one to give up, however. If the mountain would not come to Muhammed…
