CHAPTER ONE
“You’ve a scarf, I hope.”
The words drifted to him through the fog as Mungo made his way along Crabbett Close. That one of the residents was out here in such weather didn’t surprise him. They were a hardy, eccentric lot, for all that their average age was a great deal older than his.
“I’ve plenty of clothing to keep me warm. Get inside, Mr. Greedy!”
“We’re making a wee fire, Mungo, and cooking crumpets!”
Mungo shook his head.
“You’re welcome to join us.”
“Perhaps later,” he said, striding toward the entrance. He had somewhere to be and didn’t want to miss a minute of it.
This is the last time you’ll see her.
The air around him was thick with ropes of fog. It curled around his boots and body, making visibility difficult. Mungo moved in slow, measured steps, all his senses open as he listened for others around him.
The hour wasn’t late, still afternoon, but winter inLondon meant dark was closing in. He should have told his niece no when she’d said she wished to meet him one last time, but he’d wanted to see her again. A final moment with someone who carried his blood.
When he heard the scrape of shoe leather in front of them, he moved left so as not to collide with anyone. Mungo was a big man and could knock someone over with ease. He heard the murmur of voices, but if other pedestrians weren’t directly in front of him, he couldn’t see them through the fog.
The tea shop they were to meet in was located where the wealthy lived in London, so at least Fenella would be safe there. Plus, she always brought her maid.
Left.The words slipped into his head.Left now.
Mungo had always heard voices, he’d just never told anyone about them, and why would he, considering he was surrounded by clairvoyants? If he said a word, they’d want to pick it apart until they were satisfied with his answers.
Left, left.The voice in his head was louder now. Sometimes they gave instructions, which he rarely followed, but then he regretted it when he took a wrong turn.Left.
Cursing silently, he took three steps to the left and hit a wall. His shoulder took the impact, and he cursed louder this time.
Danger.
Normally he blocked them out, but this one was frantic. Feeling along the wall, his gloved fingers curved around the edge of the brick. Waving a hand, he found it was an opening.
Hurry.
“To where?” he muttered, walking through it. Another street, he thought. He started moving, his hands out before him.
“Unhand me!”
The shriek filled the air suddenly, feminine, and from his right.
“Where is that coming from?” someone called up ahead.
“Quiet!” Mungo barked, and silence settled around him until the woman who’d screamed spoke again.
“Unhand me, you cur. I will never yield to you!”
Mungo didn’t like to involve himself in things that didn’t concern him or his people, yet something had him veering in the direction of those words. They were desperate, and if a woman was alone with a man who was hurting her, he could not walk by. He was not that much of a bastard, no matter that people thought he was.
“I’ll have you, bitch. It’s my right, and seeing as this is your last day, it’s fitting it’ll be now!” The words were a deep vicious growl.
If Mungo had hackles—which several of those closest to him believed he did—they’d be rising now.
“You want this. To lie with a nobleman!”
