Branford opened the trap with the tip of his cane.
“The hackney has stopped ahead, sir, and the … the passenger appears to be getting out.”
The earl moved quickly to open the door, pausing a moment to take the carriage pistol from its holster and place it in his greatcoat pocket.
“Wait around the corner,” he ordered, then disappeared with a cat-like stealth into the thickening mist.
Her figure ghosted in and out of the shadows, forcing him to draw nearer than he would have liked in order not to lose her. But instead of darting into the warren of passageways threading through the jumble of warehouses, Alex headed straight toward the embankment.
A gust of wind from off the water blew away the fog, forcing Branford to press up against a grimy brick wall to avoid beingseen. As Alex moved closer to the river, a man appeared near the steps leading down to the landing. Despite the gloom, the earl saw another movement—there was a second man lurking a short distance away from the first, trying to remain hidden in the shadows. As fellow crept toward the sound of Alex’s approaching footsteps, a glint of steel flashed in the pale moonlight.
“Alex!” he shouted, “Get down!” Pushing away from the wall, Branford broke into a run as he yanked the pistol from his coat pocket.
Alex froze in confusion.
A shot rang out and she crumpled to the ground.
Branford reached her a split-second later. Another bullet whistled past his ear as he crouched over to shield her body. The fog suddenly closed in once again, causing him to curse in frustration as the two assailants were lost in the impenetrable mist.
But then the instincts of a soldier took over. They knew where he was—he must change that.
He bent lower, gently turning her over to face him. Alex slowly opened her eyes, though she looked dazed.
“Where are you hurt?” he demanded.
“My shoulder.” A wince. “It feels like a bee sting …”
His fingers probed gently at the torn fabric.
“Ouch!”
He heaved a sigh of relief—it appeared to be a flesh wound, the bullet just nicking her shoulder rather than penetrating sinew and bone—then grasped her around the waist and half-carried her to the shelter of the nearest building.
“Can you manage to walk?” he asked, his gaze sweeping the darkness for any sign of movement.
“Of course I can,” she answered. “I’m not?—”
“Then do so—quickly and quietly!”
Taking up a position behind her, Branford hurried her through a gap in the warehouses and through several twisting alleyways to where his carriage was waiting. He thrust her none too gently inside. After a last, grim look around, he climbed in after her and rapped a signal to his coachman.
Wheels clattered over the worn cobblestones as the horses set off at a gallop.
Thirteen
Alex drew in several shaky breaths and closed her eyes. Her mind was reeling with questions, but try as she might, she felt too confused to think straight. Her body felt numb with shock, save for her shoulder, which was beginning to ache abominably. She swayed back and forth from the jostling of the carriage … and then slumped sideways until thudding up against something very solid and reassuringly warm.
A slight shiver ran through her as she realized that her head was resting on Branford’s shoulder.
The earl shifted slightly and shrugged out of his greatcoat. Alex felt herself enveloped in the heavy wool as he tucked it around her and pulled her close. With a small sigh, she relaxed against him, vaguely aware of his arm circling her waist.
She tried to speak but couldn’t seem to find her tongue … and then everything became very hazy …
It was the click of the latch that drew her back from a fitful dream, and she was groggily aware of Branford drawing his coat tighter around her and guiding her down from the carriage and through a side door.
“W-Where …”
He cut off her question by letting the coat drop to the floor and sweeping her up into his arms. As he strode down the hallway they met a gray-haired man dressed in the garb of butler and carrying a single candlestick.
