“Back so soon, my lord?” Her brows had formed thin arches.
His neck had heated at the memory of his prior night’s visit. He’d let his desire for Fiona outweigh his good judgement, which was becoming a bad habit where his wife was concerned. He should have protected her; hedefinitelyshould not have tupped her in a pleasure house.
“Fret not, my lord.” Above the high ruffle of her chemisette, the bawd’s lips settled into what may have been a smile. “In my club, honest passion is rewarded with discretion. Now, what else may I do for you?”
Hawk had told her the truth: that he was on a covert mission to stop the Sherwood Band. He’d shown her Lizzy Farley’s vinaigrette and described the man he was looking for. To his surprise, Mrs. Swann had been forthcoming. She’d told him that the man in question had called himself Martin Wheatley and had visited the club on several occasions with a woman named Sarah Mallery. The bawd had apparently ejected Wheatley for abusing the woman three months ago and did not know the location of either.
“At least we have the bastard’s name to work with now,” Trent said.
“Martin Wheatley is likely an alias.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time I tracked down a cove using his alias.” Trent gave Hawk a considering look. “You didn’t learn anything else at Mrs. Swann’s?”
Feeling his face heat, Hawk was glad for the concealing darkness. He’d learned a great deal that he had no intention of sharing with Trent. About his wife’s desires and his own and how hot they could burn together.
The thought of Fiona sent a warm pulse through him. Peace had been restored in his marriage. Given his current endeavor, he could not escort her to the ball she was attending this eve. His excuse was that an old friend was in town; in true Fiona fashion, she hadn’t raised a fuss as they’d exchanged farewells in Lady Fayne’s antechamber.
“However shall I entertain myself without you tonight?”she’d teased.
“Your hordes of admirers will keep you occupied, I’m certain. Just don’t forget who your favorite dancing partner is.”
She’d fluttered her lashes at him.“Lord Sheffield, you mean?”
The vixen had given him no choice but to kiss her until she couldn’t recall any man’s name but his. He recalled with satisfaction the dreamy expression he’d left her with. She hadn’t even remembered to complain about his insistence that she take an escort to the ball. With the Sherwood Band lying in wait, Hawk wasn’t taking any chances with his wife’s safety. He’d asked Garrity to accompany Fiona; his father-in-law traveled with an armed retinue.
Fiona is safe. Nothing will happen to her. Concentrate on the assignment.
“I asked Mrs. Swann to show me the room Wheatley used at her club,” Hawk said.
Trent raised his brows. “And?”
“It resembled a prison cell. Apparently, Wheatley requested a flogging box be installed,” he said flatly. “Like the one used at Newgate. He derived pleasure from whipping his partner, and Mrs. Swann put an end to it when it became clear the enjoyment was not mutual.”
“Sadistic bugger,” Trent said in disgust. “What do we know about the woman he was with?”
“Sarah Mallery is petite, dark-haired, and young, probably not even twenty. Miss Mallery left with him even after he beat her,” Hawk said grimly.
“Do you think she’s involved in the robberies?” Trent’s brow furrowed. “The last hold-up…didn’t the driver report swerving into a back lane to avoid a woman who’d fallen in the street?”
“Aye. I would not put it past Wheatley to use her.”
“Crikey.” Trent ran a hand through his shaggy hair. “The bastard has a talent for manipulation, that’s for certain. The public, Lizzy Farley, this Sarah Mallery. Nobody seems to see him for what he is: a thief after his own interests.”
Before Hawk could agree, the driver’s voice filtered into the cabin. “Guvs, got a costermonger’s cart blocking the road ahead. What do you want me to do?”
Hawk looked out the window. They were on a narrow street flanked by shops, alleys branching off both sides. Through the drifting fog, he saw a man sitting atop a horse attached to an apple cart.
Hawk’s senses went on high alert. “Stop the carriage.”
As the vehicle slowed, he jumped out. He headed toward the rider on the horse, trying to see through the thick mist.
“You there,” he called. “What is going on?”
The man twisted to look at him.
Hawk glimpsed a neckerchief-covered face, then the glint of the pistol in the man’s hand. Hawk dove to the ground as the shot went off. Screams erupted, passersby running for cover. He rolled to his feet, drawing his own pistol and aiming in the direction of the enemy…but the man was no longer on the horse. People swarmed the street, shouting and moving in all directions. In the mayhem, Hawk strained to see where the bounder had gone.
“Bleeding hell.” Trent ran up to him, pistol in hand. “Did you see where the bastard went?”
