With one last attempt to convey his wishes, Devin summoned all his energy to clamp his lips closed when more of the opium would have been poured into him. His senses were dulled enough without the possibility that he would leave this world in such a manner.
“Th’ devil,” Luke whispered in near awe, before he addressed the other person in the room. “Take this brown bottle away. He won’t be needin’ anymore o’ it.”
“Are you sure? The agony he must be enduring—”
“’E doesn’t want it.”
Devin finally allowed himself to relax at the firm tone, as he knew there would be no more on the matter. When he’d been a younger man, Luke had caused him to shake in his boots when he spoke like that. He had an image of the mystery man feeling very much the same, especially when a grizzled thief like Luke House was staring at him.
He would have smiled if he could.
“Can I get ye anythin’, Dev?”
Devin hated to hear the helplessness in the man’s voice, and although he’d struggled in vain to make himself be heard, he vowed that he would utter one word. Whether or not it made sense, he couldn’t allow his friend to stand there and suffer as he was when Devin could prevent it.
And, honestly, if he did wake up, he would like to see a soft pair of moss green eyes looking at him.
Using everything that he had within him, Devin managed to croak out one pitiful word. “A…ch…illes.”
Darkness consumed him.
Chapter 4
He’s late.
Constance checked the small watch pinned on the front of her jacket and realized that it had just turned nine. So, while she had imagined that her dark stranger was running behind, she was, in fact, early to their little rendezvous.
She blew out a heavy breath and told herself she was a fool for even coming to this ridiculous statue again. She should have just gone to the coffee shop that she had recently found and sipped from a cup and smiled, knowing that she had the upper hand.
But no. Instead, she was sitting on a bench and waiting for an apparition, because while he might be real, she was quite sure that he was merely leading her on a merry chase and likely never intended to follow through with their little flirtation. Not only that, but Constance should have been smarter than to fall for his lies. But she’d allowed Madame Corressa to take the reins on this one and now she was sitting here looking completely ridiculous in her cornflower blue walking dress.
At least, that was how she felt inside. Outwardly, she supposed she looked like a lady who had chosen a lovely, London morning to venture out of doors and feed the pigeons.
She had nearly convinced herself not to stay when a horse and rider paused in front of her. “Good day, Mrs. Hartford.”
Constance nearly groaned aloud when she looked up and spied the countenance of Sir Brooks Isaacson. With his slicked back, dark blond hair and blue eyes that were more shocking than striking, she hadn’t particularly cared for his company the day before when he’d boldly introduced himself without a proper invitation to do so, and now it appeared that he believed that they were more than just a slight acquaintance at best.
“Sir.” She inclined her head with the slightest nod, hoping that he would get the message that she wasn’t in the mood for company. Instead, he must have decided it was an invitation, because he stepped down to the ground and secured his horse’s reins to a nearby tree.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked pleasantly. “It’s such a nice day.”
“Of course,” she murmured. She wanted to refuse, but if she wished to keep her newfound approval in society, then she had better tread lightly. The gentleman might be a lowly baronet, but he was still more influential than the former courtesan she was.
He adopted a relaxed pose and glanced at her with a lazy smile. She eyed him warily. “Will you be attending Lady Madsen’s soiree this evening?”
“I’m not sure what our plans are yet.” She wanted to ensure that he knew she was not free to move about on her own. It was already common knowledge that she joined the countess, along with the count and his wife quite frequently.
He leaned toward her slightly and lifted a light brow. “I can’t convince you to run away with me for the evening?”
Constance clenched her fists in her lap, as it was all she could do not to strike out at the man. “Sir, you are too presumptuous and entirely too bold.” She rose to her feet, for to remain would only anger her further. “I shall bid you good day.”
Dear heavens, did she have a sign that hung around her neck proclaiming, Former courtesan—feel free to proposition at will?
It might have been true that she’d planned to meet another gentleman that morning for illicit purposes, but that was her choice. She wasn’t a whore in a brothel to entertain any man that happened to come along, but apparently that was what Sir Isaacson believed. The question was if the rest of society would be expecting the same, and that certainly wasn’t why she’d returned to London, to pick up where she’d left off all those years ago.
She walked steadily down the path that led to the entrance to Hyde Park, intent on hailing down a hackney and returning to Lady Blessington’s residence post haste. She had imagined that if she were to meet the intriguing man this morning that they might need a carriage in order to be discreet. Now she rather wished she’d rode her mare, because at least then she could enjoy a brisk ride to cool off her frustration before she returned to the townhouse.
“’Scuse me.”
