Through the crack he examined as much of the room as he could.Only two men with Tessa.But there could be more, out of his vision range.
“Good lad,” he told Joey again.“You wait behind when we go in.”
“Oh but—”the boy began.
Marcus said firmly, “On no account are you to enter.There will be a fight, and I don’t want you there when that happens.”The boy had done enough.He didn’t want him to get hurt.Or in the way.“Do you understand?”
The boy gave him a rebellious look.
“I need you to keep watch,” Marcus told him, “And if anything goes wrong, you must take the news to my aunt.It’s a very important job.”But nothing would go wrong, he vowed silently.His blood was ice in his veins.
The boy hesitated, then reluctantly nodded and secreted himself in a nearby alcove.
Marcus glanced at his men.“Ready?On the count of three.”
They burst in the door—there were three men.The odds and the element of surprise were in their favor.There were a few scuffles, and several punches were thrown, but Marcus had no intention of letting the fight run its course, not when Tessa was sitting tied to a chair in the middle of the room, in the path of the violence and unable to see or move.
“Stop!”He pulled out his pistols and fired one.The fighting stopped for an instant.Then one of the men made for the door, and Marcus fired the other pistol, wounding him in the leg and sending him sprawling.
His men moved to restrain the remaining kidnappers.
Flynn produced a small, wicked-looking knife from somewhere and handed it to Marcus, saying.“Cut the ropes.”
Marcus took it, first drawing the bag carefully over her head, murmuring, “Don’t worry, it’s me, Marcus.”
Incredibly, she laughed.“I knew as soon as you spoke.I knew you’d come for me.”
Her trust in him humbled him.He’d had no idea what to do.If it hadn’t been for young Joey’s heroism ...
“Can you stand?”She tried and wobbled and fell back.“My legs are numb,” she said rubbing them.“The ropes were so tight, I lost all feeling in them.And now it’s all pins and needles.”
“Ow, ow, that hurts!”a voice wailed.The two uninjured men were now trussed like fowls, and Flynn was standing over them wielding an even more wicked looking knife.“Now talk,” he growled.“Who’s behind this?”
Both men, clearly too frightened to talk, just shook their heads.But their eyes wandered to the wounded man who was moaning and wailing.The meaning was clear.He was the ringleader.
Flynn strode over and bent to examine the wound.“Barely even a scratch,” he said in disgust.“Big fuss about nothing.You’re lucky ‘is lordship missed killin’ you.”
“I didn’t aim to kill,” Marcus said coldly.He was an excellent shot and though he could happily have slaughtered the lot of them, he had no intention of having his wedding tied up because of legal nonsense.If Tessa had been hurt—or worse—it would have been a different matter.
“Take them all to Radcliffe.He’ll know what to do with them.”Sims and Jackson pulled the two bound the men to their feet.Flynn dragged their leader to his feet and dumped him on a chair.
A sharp whistle spilt the air and an instant later the door burst open and five men rushed in.Two of them were pointing pistols.
Marcus cursed.He’d discharged both his pistols.
One of the men was very elegantly dressed—in other circumstances Marcus would have called him a dandy.Of middle height he was dressed in the first stare of fashion, his thinning hair brushed à la Brutus and lavishly pomaded.
“Freeze,” he announced almost languidly and of course, Marcus and his men had to obey.They were outnumbered and outgunned.Again, Marcus cursed himself for not getting them all out of there sooner.
“Dear me, what a to-do,” the languid man murmured in a faint Cockney accent.
He strolled into the room, raised a quizzing glass and surveyed them dispassionately.“Oliver Greeling at your service,” he said to Marcus and bowed mockingly.Despite the thin veneer of gentility, he had the coldest eyes Marcus had ever seen.
One of the notorious Greelings.Marcus’s heart sank.This was a case of thieves—or kidnappers—falling out.
Marcus pushed Tessa onto the chair and stepped in front of her, putting himself between her and the Greeling brothers.
Greeling eyed Marcus with a cynical expression, but his real attention was on the kidnappers, one in particular; the wounded one who Flynn had dumped on a chair.“And this sorry specimen is my little brother Albert.”
