“That’s me, all right.” Lizzie gulped the rest of her beverage.
“Aren’t you a fascinating one,” Devlin purred.
“You’re the only one who thinks so. No one else in ’ere believes me.” She waved drunkenly at the room. “But I ain’t making the story up…I saw the bugger wif me own eyes. Spoke wif ’im too.”
“Do tell us more, love.” Devlin aimed the full force of his charm on Miss Farley.
Oddly, she turned from him to look at Hawk. “Can’t talk wif a dry throat, can I, ’andsome? Need to wet me whistle.”
Hawk ordered another tankard for her.
She took a long swig, licking the foam from her lips.
“As I was saying, three nights ago, I was working in the scullery at the chop ’ouse o’er on King Street. I was taking me break in the back lane, just minding me own business, when a carriage comes through. Only it don’t go through on account o’ the lane being a dead end. Next thing I know, another carriage pulls up and blocks the other end, and these coves wearin’ masks leap out. Knowing trouble when I see it, I ’ide behind a stack o’ crates. Now the newcomers, they surround the first carriage, and I can tell they mean business because not only did they say so, but they were also waving pistols like bleedin’ flags.”
“How many masked men were there?” Devlin asked.
“I ain’t sure…five or six, maybe? I was too busy fearin’ for my life to be counting. But one o’ the men was clearly the leader. ’E ’ad a deep, raspy voice that carried, and I could tell ’e were a good-lookin’ cove, even wif a mask on. ’E were real polite, not wot you’d expect from a ’ighwayman, and ’e cut a fine figure. But he weren’t as tall and strapping as you, eh?”
At Lizzie’s suggestive wink, Hawk felt his neck heat.
“What happened next?” Devlin’s words were filtered through his teeth.
“Well, the leader gets the driver to lie on the ground. Then ’e tells the ’igh-kick couple in the carriage—a toff and ’is ladybird—that no one’ll get ’urt if they do what ’e says. ’E tells ’em to hand o’er their jewels and furs to ’is associates. After the pair gives up the goods, the leader thanks ’em, real elegant-like, for their”—she mimicked a man’s voice— “donation to the welfare o’ their fellow men.Then ’e bows like an actor in a play.”
The hairs tingled on Hawk’s nape. Miss Farley’s description of the leader—his appearance, theatrics, and modus operandi—matched the accounts of the victims. Her story seemed legitimate.
“Can you tell us anything else about the leader?” Hawk asked. “Or his gang?”
“Another round might jog me memory,” Miss Farley said.
After downing half of a fresh tankard, she continued her story.
“The transaction being finished, the leader turned to go when all o’ the sudden I lost me balance and fell, knocking o’er one of the crates. The cove whipped around, ’is gaze locking on me while I cowered there on the ground. Before I could open my mouth to scream, ’e were looming o’er me. I thought I were done for.
“Instead, the leader lays a finger to ’is lips. Like ’im and me, we’re sharing a secret. Then ’e gives me ’is hand, covered in soft leather, and ’e ’elps me to me feet like I’m a bleeding princess. And I’m lookin’ straight into his eyes and they’re the finest eyes I e’er saw. Pale…like moonlight. ’E says to me,‘I’ll give you a trinket, pretty lady, if you keep this a secret, hmm?’”
As Miss Farley sighed dramatically and took another long gulp, Devlin snorted. Hawk shot the other a warning glance. Now was not the time to upset the eyewitness. Miss Farley, with her ale-loosened lips and lack of discretion, was a godsend.
“When I nod,” she went on, “the cove reaches into the pocket o’ ’is greatcoat. I freeze, thinking ’e was about to pull out a knife and slit me bloody throat. Instead, ’e gives me this.”
She lifted her fingers to her neck, tugging on a thin silver chain to dislodge an object from the deep crevice of her bosom.
“Go on, take a closer look.” Smirking, she leaned toward Hawk, giving him an unwanted eyeful of her jiggling flesh.
Focusing on the jewelry, he saw that it was a vinaigrette. The oval piece looked to be crafted from silver plate, with holes along the perimeter to disperse the perfume stored inside. The front bore the stamp of a feather, with a distinctive curl at the end. Hawk knew fine craftsmanship when he saw it, and the scent that wafted toward his nostrils was an expensive mix of spice and musk.
Miss Farley batted her eyelashes at him. “You can touch it if you like, ’andsome.”
“As a matter of fact, I would like to.” Hawk withdrew a coin purse, seeing her eyes widen at the heavy jingle. “How much for the vinaigrette, Miss Farley?”
Nineteen
“Heavens,” his wife cried. “Hawk.”
“Do you like it like this, my sweet?” he growled. “Like being tupped against the wall?”
If Fiona’s moan wasn’t answer enough, then the lush constriction of her pussy certainly was. She’d already come, the gush of dew anointing his driving prick and making his neck arch with bliss. There was no better feeling than this. Not just being buried in his wife’s hot, tight cunny but knowing that he wasn’t alone in his insatiable hunger. She wanted him as badly as he wanted her.
