As for going after them . . .
He took a step in pursuit, but a hand caught his sleeve.
“Let them go, milord.”
The earl uttered a curse on recognizing the voice.
“They are dangerous men—perhaps more dangerous than you imagine.”
Wrexford couldn’t help but wonder how Ernst Josef von Münch—who on their first encounter several months ago had claimed to be the personal librarian to the king of Württemberg—appeared to know far more than he did about what was going on.
“They made short work of these three men,” continued von Münch. He gestured at the corpses. “One has to assume they are experienced assassins.”
The wordassassinsent a sudden rush of ice through his veins. He knew that von Münch was a crack shot . . .
He grabbed the so-called scholar by the lapels. “Where is my wife?”
“I sent her to alert Mr. Griffin and his men. They should be here shortly.” answered von Münch. “But given the circumstances of my previous visit to London and the awkward questions that might arise, it would be best if I’m not here when they arrive.”
“What the devil are you doing back here?” demanded Wrexford, grudgingly releasing his hold.
“I, for one, am exceedingly grateful for Herr von Münch’s presence,” interjected Sheffield, cradling the satchel he had just retrieved. “And for the fact that he’s a damnably good shot.” He took a peek inside the bag and let out a low whistle. “It looks like the French truly were willing to pay a king’s ransom—”
A small sound—a rasp of breath—caused all three of them to turn and then crouch down around Wayland’s body. Wrexford leaned in, close enough to feel the faint flutter of breath against his cheek.
“What happened here?”
Wayland was lying face up, a pulse of blood leaking from the bullet hole in his left breast with every fading heartbeat. His eyes were wet with tears as he struggled to form a word.
“A-Axe.”
“Do you know who he is?” coaxed the earl.
“He . . . he . . .” Wayland managed to move his hand and tried to lift it to his chest. “He . . .”
A gurgle. And the pulsing went still.
“Bloody hell,” intoned Sheffield as von Münch scrambled to his feet and cocked an ear.
Wrexford heard it, too. A shout from Griffin and the thud of boots as he and his men turned from the main walkway onto the side path.
“I must go.”
As von Münch turned, the earl responded. “I expect you to show your face at Berkeley Square within the hour.”
“With pleasure, milord. After all, nobody else in Town has such a fine selection of German wines.”
Wrexford didn’t smile as he began searching through Wayland’s coat and found a packet of papers. “Be assured that if you don’t show up, I will come find you. And the only cork I will be pulling is yours.”
CHAPTER 24
“Thank heaven you are all safe!” Cordelia shot up from the sofa as Sheffield followed Wrexford and Charlotte into the earl’s workroom. “Baz arrived a short while ago—” Her eyes suddenly narrowed on spotting the burn marks on their coats, prompting a suspicious sniff. “Why do I smell smoke?”
“Because where there’s smoke, there’s fire,” observed Henning after swallowing the last of the whisky in his glass. “And these three always manage to spark Trouble.”
McClellan rose from her chair by the sofa to refill his glass.
“We’re in no mood for sarcasm, Baz,” counseled Charlotte. She pulled off her urchin’s hat and tucked a bedraggled lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s been a bloody night—in every sense of the word.”
