Thea finally arrived, along with Fletch and Damien as deputies, since Hunt continued holding court and required the bailiff’s presence.
With regret, Grey watched Andrew and Thea hustle Eleanor away. He desperately wished to follow, to hold her again and be certain he wasn’t responsible for any serious harm, but first—he had a Bradford to kill.
“Where is Tiny staying? Does he have a horse?” Grey threw open the back door, but no transportation miraculously appeared.
“We’ve sent men to block the road out of town in both directions. Unless he goes out Sutter’s Lane—which ends in a sheep farm—he can’t go far.” Fletch, the former soldier and current clockmaker, stepped into the alley. “Do any of the artists own a horse he might steal?”
While he was holding Ellie and people poured into the gallery, Grey had lost track of everyone present. A tug at his sleeve caused him to glance down at Ellie’s little maid. Silas stood beside her, wide-eyed.
“Mr. Tiny stole Mr. Andrew’s pony cart from the inn and has it down to the river, sir,” Peg said anxiously.
“I can speak for myself,” Silas muttered, pushing forward. “He said he’d pay me to help him load. When I said the cart weren’t mine, he knocked me down and stole it! I came to find you, sir.”
Fletch and Arnaud took off down the alley, in the direction of the river. Grey wanted to do the same, but these. . . He had staff and the burden of responsibilities weighing on him now.
“Silas found me so we could find you,” Peg said stalwartly. “But now I have to go find my lady again. It’s awful hard keeping up with gentry.”
Any other time, Grey would have laughed, but this was twice now that Peg had brought warnings. He gave them both coins and remanded them to Andrew, who was at the physician’s cottage with his sister. “Tell the women there what is happening. Stand guard. We don’t know what Tiny will do next or who is helping him.”
Not giving the boy time to argue, Grey finally raced after the others. If the scoundrel meant to make a run for the river, he wouldn’t find his oars. Grey wasn’t stupid enough to let another pirate waylay him.
By the time Grey reached the riverbank, Tiny already had the rowboat laden with canvas and was frantically attempting to steer into the current with part of a canvas frame. Arnaud and Fletch were on the bank, pulling off their boots.
Artists and clockmakers weren’t wealthy and couldn’t afford to ruin boots. Grey’s boots had been ruined so many times. . . He shed his coat and walked straight out into the slow current to confront the villain he meant to strangle.
Tiny struggled frantically to escape the reeds, into the faster-flowing current in the center.
Grey grabbed the side of the boat. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to bring an oar or I’d bash out your brains.”
In reply, Tiny swung his board. With the strength of fury, Grey caught it and flung it into the river. Both hands now free, he gripped Tiny by the coat collar and pounded his fist into the scoundrel’s nose with a satisfying crunch. Much as he would like to repeat the maneuver, Tiny was too tiny to put up much of a fight. He squalled and grabbed his nose.
Boots off, Arnaud and Fletch waded out to retrieve the rowboat and its load of canvas.
“Where are my oars?” Tiny screamed, kicking as Grey hauled him to shore.
“In the river, where they belong. I’m done with being hit over the head.” That wasn’t even a lie. Gray could retrieve the oars anytime he liked, from under the reeds where he’d tied them. If anyone swung an oar from here on out, it would be him.
That sounded as if he meant to stay.
Except now, he had an estate without anyone but a gouty steward maintaining it. If Grey had anything to say about it, Stew was never going back there again. Ever.
And he had a beautiful assistant who wanted to stay here, because she was exceptionally brilliant and knew better than to stay around a man who only brought disaster.
He needed an ivory tower.
Forty-one
Eleanor
Bathed and in a fresh gown Peg had brought to the physician’s cottage, Eleanor meekly accepted a ride in Andrew’s pony cart, uncertain if she was still dazed by Grey’s kiss or the blow to her head. Meera had said she didn’t have a concussion, that she’d most likely fainted. Tiny hadn’t been able to strike her hard enough with his hammer to do more than break skin. Head wounds apparently leaked a lot.
El tried to concentrate on what Andrew was excitedly telling her, but she only heard the part about Grey capturing Tiny. The professor had gone after a killer instead of seeing to her. That made good sense. She was the one with her head on backward over a few silly kisses. Amazing, soul-searing kisses that had ignited fires.
She’d never been kissed. It was perfectly reasonable that she lost her head a little. And that her pulse escalated and blazes reignited if she thought about them. She wasn’t entirely certain how she would stifle these feelings for the next six months though. Surely she’d be rational again once all the madness ended.
When they drove up Bradford House’s drive, they found their way blocked by an enormous mule cart overflowing with furniture. The furniture from Bath had finally arrived! Gaping at the towering load, she wondered if Grey had sent for the entire contents of his townhouse.
To her relief—and agitation—Greybourne rushed out as if he’d been watching for her. Leaving Andrew to manage the pony, he anxiously helped Eleanor down, holding her hand and placing it on his arm to assist her inside as if she might break. She’d like to protest she could walk, but she didn’t want to let him go just yet.
