Seized by terror, Fi could barely get the words past the cinched ring of her throat.
“H-how badly is he hurt?”
“The wound is quite serious. I was told to bring you to him as quickly as possible.”
Fi felt the ground crack and crumble beneath her feet. In the tumult, she clung to one certainty: her and Hawk’s love could overcome anything...if they had the chance to make things right.
“Ma’am?” Sterling said. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes.” She willed her composure into place. “Please take me to my husband.”
Thirty-Seven
“You’re certain we’re not wasting our time?” Trent grumbled as he sifted through rolls of parchment. “Maybe we’d be better off searching for Wilkes.”
“The police are combing the city for him. We’re of more use here.” Hawk rifled through a ledger. “We found Wilkes last time by learning more about him. And that is what we are doing now.”
Hawk and the other members of the Quorum had been at the Old Bailey since early this morning. Swinburne had gained them access to the records room. Seated at a table piled with boxes, they were combing through court proceedings, looking for documentation on Wilkes’s case.
The work was a welcome distraction. Nearly losing Fiona haunted Hawk. He hadn’t slept; he kept reliving the moment Wilkes had pointed a gun at her. That instant of gut-shredding terror. Fiona was everything to Hawk. If he lost her…he couldn’t even contemplate it.
He knew he’d let his anger and fear get the best of him; he’d managed Fiona with the delicacy of a sledgehammer. He told himself that once he had Wilkes behind bars, he would find some way to make amends. Find a way to negotiate her need for independence with his need to protect her. He wouldn’t fail Fiona—would do everything in his power to make their marriage work.
If Fiona still loves you enough to try,his inner voice said starkly.
“I agree with Trent.” Devlin sounded exasperated. “Going through paperwork like a damned clerk is Hawksmoor’s idea of a good time, not mine.”
Devlin’s tone lacked bite, and he did not appear like his usual debonair self. Last night, he’d fought heroically to capture two of Wilkes’s men and had an ugly shiner and cut on his cheek to show for it. He also appeared to be limping.
Hawk felt a prick of guilt. On his list of possible moles, Devlin had occupied the top spot.
“My idea of a good time is wrapping up this mission. Which we’re close to, thanks to everyone’s efforts.” Hawk paused. “Including yours, Devlin.”
Devlin blinked. “Was that a compliment?”
“I am giving credit where it is due. You took down two of the Sherwood bastards.” Hawk shrugged. “That was no small feat.”
Devlin gave him a strange look. Almost one of…guilt.
“Hawksmoor.” Devlin took a breath. “I have something—oof.”
He lurched forward; Pearson had come up behind him, giving him a friendly slap between the shoulder blades.
“Too bad you had to sacrifice your pretty face for it,” Pearson chortled.
“Watch it, you brute,” Devlin snapped, straightening his lapels.
Grinning, Pearson returned to perusing papers. “Now ’ow do you spell ‘Wilkes’ again?”
Devlin groaned. “We’re going to be here forever.”
“Actually, I think I’ve found something.” Trent stabbed his finger at the parchment in front of him. “It’s the record of the proceedings against Wilkes.”
Hawk strode over, reading aloud over Trent’s shoulder.
“On this day of our Lord the 17thof March, 1847, Mr. Michael Anthony Wilkes stands accused of fraud by Mr. Robert Dolan, owner of Dolan’s Bakeshop on Roupell Street. Mr. Wilkes is an employee at the bakeshop. According to Mr. Dolan, Wilkes convinced Mr. Dolan’s wife, Betty Dolan, to give him the Dolans’ life savings, which he promised to invest in a shipping scheme. According to the plaintiff, the accused made no such investment, instead keeping the money for himself.
“Witnesses present today include bakery employee Herbert Smith, scullery maid Mary Lipton, arresting constable…”
