He had not wanted to miss out on time with his wife tonight. Yet he would return too late to make love to her. He toyed with the idea of visiting her this eve, of not waking her but just sleeping beside her. Would Fiona want him in her bed if they weren’t making love?
Caroline hadn’t. In fact, she’d wanted privacy immediately after coupling. He’d become accustomed to sleeping alone, a policy he’d continued with his mistresses. With Fiona, however, he was reconsidering things. Several times, he’d come so hard that he’d almost fallen asleep while still inside her. He wondered what it would be like to hold her through the night. To wake up with her in the morning…
The carriage door opened, revealing Trent’s rugged mien. With his ability to blend in, Trent had gone into the public house to do some initial reconnaissance. He took the seat next to Devlin.
“Well?” Devlin demanded.
“Do you want the good news or bad news first?” Trent returned.
“Bad,” Hawk and his colleagues said as one.
At least we agree on something.
“The bad news is that the rumors I heard about Lizzie Farley appear to be true. She’s a sot. On her third tankard, and the only thing that’s stopping her from drinking more is lack of coin. No wonder people question her credibility. She’s an unreliable eyewitness, to say the least.”
Hawk lifted his brows. “What is the good news?”
Trent shrugged. “She’s here. And the only lead we’ve got.”
“Let’s go in,” Devlin said decisively. “I’ll take the lead with Lizzie Farley; Hawksmoor will be my second. Trent and Pearson can go in separately and keep watch for trouble.”
“What is our plan if things go awry?” Since they were about to enter a tavern that was barely a step above a flash-house, Hawk’s question was not unreasonable.
“Shoot first, ask questions later,” Pearson suggested.
“There’ll be no need for that.” Devlin straightened the lapels of his impeccably tailored jacket. Beneath the carriage lamp, his copper hair gleamed in fashionable waves. “It never takes me long to extract information from a female subject. I’ll be in and out.”
“That’s what he tells the ladies,” Pearson said.
Pearson and Trent both guffawed.
“If you’re quite done with the schoolboy humor,” Devlin said in frosty accents, “perhaps we can carry on with the mission?”
Trent grinned. “Whatever you say, guv.”
As the team headed to the tavern, Hawk hung back with Trent for a moment.
“Any progress on the favor I asked of you?” he said in an undertone.
“Still looking,” was Trent’s reply.
The inside of the tavern was dim and smoky, packed with local denizens swilling away their troubles. Hawk and Devlin made their way to the bar where Lizzie Farley sat at one end. Pretending to wait for a drink, Hawk studied her beneath his lashes. She appeared to be in her thirties and had a grubby appearance. Her low-cut bodice was stained, as was the mob cap sitting askew upon her greasy hair. As she glanced blearily his way, he noted the dirty smudges on her puffy cheeks.
“Lovely evening, isn’t it, miss?” Devlin appeared on her other side.
She turned her head to Devlin. “You talkin’ to me?”
Devlin flashed a charming white smile. “With whom do I have the honor of speaking?”
“Name’s Lizzie Farley.” She took a drink from her tankard, then twisted her head to look at Hawk. “You two coves together?”
Hawk nodded. Before he could say anything, Devlin cut in.
“I say, you’re nottheLizzie Farley I’ve been hearing about, are you?”
Lizzie belched. “Depends on what it is you’ve ’eard.”
Devlin lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone. “Some friends of mine were talking about a Lizzie Farley who met the leader of the Sherwood Band.”
