You will deal with her,he told himself.As soon as you wrap up this damned business.
“Now that we have some of the gang, Wilkes and the others won’t get far.” Sterling paused. “I am curious how you discovered the villain’s identity and his foxhole.”
“The credit goes to Hawksmoor,” Trent said. “My interviews at Newgate yielded nothing, even though I suspected a few of the prisoners knew Wilkes but were keeping mum in support of the Sherwood Band’s purported cause. Hawksmoor suggested looking up the register of guards to see if there were others we could talk to—men no longer at their posts but who might know of Wilkes. We started going down the list of former prison keepers; the second fellow we spoke to, Alvin Camden, recalled a prisoner who fit the description of Martin Wheatley. Camden told us the prisoner’s name was Michael Wilkes.
“According to Camden, Wilkes was a baker convicted for stealing from his employer, although he, like every other inmate, professed his innocence. The difference was that people believed Wilkes. Camden described him as charismatic and manipulative, popular with the other prisoners and guards alike. Wilkes was swarmed by visitors, especially females. Some of Camden’s own colleagues vouched for Wilkes’s ‘good character,’ allowing for his early release over a year ago.”
“Well done,” Sterling said. “How did you track Wilkes down to the Lyon’s Den?”
“I went through the Newgate visitor’s logs,” Hawk said curtly. “Mrs. Lyon, owner of the Lyon’s Den, paid frequent visits to Wilkes. The pub seemed like a prime location for Wilkes to hide and carry out his operations. When we searched the vicinity and found the stables and the carriage, which had bloodstains on the interior, we knew we just had to wait for Wilkes to show himself.”
“How did Wilkes manage to escape the trap we laid?” Swinburne’s brows formed a foreboding line. “And what in God’s name is your wife doing here, Hawksmoor?”
Frustrated rage rattled at Hawk’s cage of control. Despite Fiona’s foolish and reckless actions, he had to protect her. If her addlepated plan to help Wilkes’s accomplice came to light…Hawk clenched his jaw. He could not let Fiona bear the consequences of her behavior.
“She followed me, sir.” He hated lying—hated that he was sacrificing his honor to cover up his wife’s perfidy. “Apparently, she has suspected for some time that I’ve been up to something and trailed me here. My surprise at seeing her compromised my ability to capture Wilkes. I bear the responsibility for his escape.”
“I see.” Frowning, Swinburne said, “In the future, my lord, you will have to keep a firm rein on your lady. She cannot be allowed to run amok. You did say that she can be trusted?”
That was before I knew the bloody secrets she was keeping from me.
Gut twisting, Hawk realized that he probably didn’t know the half of what Fiona was up to. How often had she risked her neck as part of her damned society? What shady places had she been, what dodgy people had she consorted with?
How close have I come to losing her without even knowing it?
A vise clamping around his temples, he gritted out, “I will make sure of it, sir.”
Swinburne gave him a meaningful look. “See that you do.”
Sterling cleared his throat. “Now, I’ve never been married, but I do have a cat. She doesn’t listen to me either.”
“My wife will do as I say,” Hawk snarled.
From now on, I will monitor Fiona. Iwillprotect her—from her own damned self.
“Easy there, guv,” Trent murmured.
“I was jesting. Didn’t mean anything by it,” Sterling said hurriedly.
The inspector’s apologetic expression made Hawk feel like even more of a fool. More out of control. He tried to call upon his numbness, to shield the parts of himself that felt like raw nerve endings.
“It’s late,” Swinburne cut in. “We all need rest. Let’s reconvene in the morning to plan Wilkes’s capture.”
Hawk’s stoic expression, the icy detachment in his eyes when he entered the carriage, spiked fear in Fiona’s chest. He positioned himself across from her. It was as if the weeks of passion and intimacy had never happened, and he’d reverted to being a judgmental stranger. The clip-clop of the horses counted out the seconds. As her apprehension surged, so did her defiance.
Taking a breath, Fi plunged in. “I told you from the start that I had my own interests.”
A muscle leapt in Hawk’s jaw. “You led me to believe that you were part of a bloody charity. You and your friends put on quite a show at Lady Fayne’s. Did you enjoy having fun at my expense?”
“We weren’t making fun of you,” she protested. “The reason I couldn’t tell you the truth was because I feared you would react the way you are reacting now.”
“How am I supposed to react when my wife suddenly tells me she and her friends have a harebrained notion that they are investigators?” His voice vibrated with barely repressed anger. “When she nearly gets shot because of her foolish and reckless behavior?”
“I had everything in hand until you distracted me.” She straightened her shoulders. “And if I’ve been assigned the role of the pot, then you are clearly the kettle. I fail to recall you informing me of your clandestine activities.”
Discovering that Hawk was a spy had been shocking. Yet it also made sense and explained his presence in von Essen’s study that night. Knowing the adventurous, hot-blooded man beneath Hawk’s staid surface, she could see why the work appealed to him. Why he would be good at it.
“This is not about me. This is about you,” he said coldly.
