"I'll let that bitch Barnes drag 'er arse back. And I'll 'ave 'er brought to you."
"Thank you, Mr. Black." Inhaling back the tears of relief, Marianne forced herself to ask, "And what shall I offer in return?"
His black gaze did not waver. "Don't know as yet. But one day soon I'll come lookin' for my due, an' I'll 'ave your word that you'll fulfill your end o' the bargain."
A deal with the devil. Though her stomach churned, she didn't hesitate.
"You have it," she said.
11
The gentleman waitedin the shadows as the door swung open on creaky hinges. The cutthroat, who went by the name of Murdoch, staggered into the filthy hovel, bringing with him a malodorous mix of gin, urine, and God only knew what else. The gentleman fought the urge to bring a handkerchief to his nostrils. Instead, he struck a match and lit the tallow stub upon the table.
"What the bloody 'ell?" Murdoch squinted at the sudden light. "What're you doin' 'ere?"
The gentlemen rose, stretching his lips into a smile. "I came to check in on your progress. Haven't heard from you for days now, Murdoch. You took my gold but you've yet to produce results."
The cutthroat blinked bloodshot eyes. "It ain't like I 'aven't tried," he said, "but that Draven bitch is bloody 'ard to kill. She shot me—right in the arm!"
The big brute held up his left arm, which did indeed have a dirty-looking bandage wrapped around the jacket sleeve. A nasty crust had formed along the edges of the crude dressing. A shudder ran through the gentleman. Not so much at the other's festering wound, but at the failure.
You'll never amount to anything. You're just like your Papa—a disappointment through and through!
Though his pulse skittered, the gentleman shut out his mother's voice. The harridan was dead, Praise God. Now he answered to no one but himself.
"How unfortunate," he said. "When will you try again?"
With a sudden show of bravado, Murdoch slammed his bottle of blue ruin on the table. "When I get paid eno' for the job, that's when. I ain't riskin' my neck for naught, your lordship."
"I paid you fifty pounds."
"Ain't nothin' compared to what I suffered."
Seeing the greed in Murdoch's beady gaze, the gentleman stifled a sigh. He'd suspected it would come to this. He'd had to deal with a similar situation with Murdoch's predecessor; cutthroats were an unreliable bunch.
From his leather satchel, he removed a bottle of whiskey. He placed it upon the table along with two glasses he'd had the foresight to bring along. Murdoch's eyes widened, and the disgusting fellow actually licked his lips.
"What would be adequate recompense then?" the gentleman inquired as he poured out the fine spirits.
Murdoch's gaze remained glued to the stream of liquor. "One 'undred quid."
"Done. Shall we drink to it?" the gentlemen held out a glass.
A feral expression sharpened the cutthroat's face. "Answered that a might quickly, didn't you, guv? Know what that tells me?"
"I haven't the faintest idea."
"That you'd be willin' to pay a whole lot more. That maybe you've been sellin' me short all this time," Murdoch sneered. "Well, I'll 'ave my due."
"Fine. How much do you want?"
The cutthroat's forehead lined in concentration. Likely the brute had difficulty counting as high as his greed demanded. "A thousand quid," Murdoch said triumphantly.
"That's ridiculous," the gentleman snapped. "I'd never pay you such a sum."
"You will if you don't want it bandied 'bout that you 'ired me to kill Lady Draven," Murdoch said, chortling.
The gentleman's teeth ground together. He told himself to relax, that such strain was not good for his delicate stomach. Exhaling, he said, "So you mean to blackmail me?"
