Jasper rubbed a long-fingered hand across his forehead, attempting to ease the pounding therein. What he’d paid for the girls would hardly be replenished by the funds he expected from Greydrake, and Jasper had missed his chance to cajole those few others he’d meant to approach at the ball. At this rate, he’d be forced to sell some of the holdings his father had left him in order to continue.
He required funds on hand to rescue the next innocent, unsuspecting girl grabbed from one of the coach or posting inns. Not to mention, to gain the votes needed to assign more dedicated guardsmen to those areas. Not that every peer whose vote he might win took bribes, but many expected them, and others needed to be met with and persuaded, which required the right clothes, invitations to events, and memberships at clubs. Nearly all the profits from The Black Aspen currently went to making new lives for women already affected. Jasper felt loathe to divert those funds. It would cut him to the quick to have to turn away anyone seeking a new start.
Perhaps if he approached his half-brother, begged Matthew to purchase some of the lands their father had left Jasper, the ones that bordered the ducal estate—
The carriage stopped.
Jasper threw his arms wide, braced against the walls to keep from flying from his seat. His coachman shouted at something, or someone, in the street.
Jasper clenched his teeth. Madam Dequenne. Well, all her men would find this time was Jasper and his driver. He righted himself in his seat and tugged straight his jacket and cravat. It wouldn’t do to meet the ruffians in a disheveled state. To command the situation, he must give the appearance of calm.
The carriage dipped. His driver getting down, or someone climbing up? Jasper forced his expression into a look of boredom. He leaned back against the plush cushions. The carriage bounced on its springs as someone jumped down. Then the door swung open, revealing a narrow figure, rendered little more than a silhouette by the lengthy distance between lighted lamps in that unfriendly corner of London. Jasper made out dark garments and a face obscured by a scarf and cap. In the dark shrouding the man’s face, two eyes glinted with distant lamplight.
His first thought was Lefthook, but Lefthook stood at least half a head taller and possessed a bulkier build than this youth. Besides, why would Lefthook halt Jasper’s driver so abruptly, or be there, at all? Per their agreement, the vigilante was to rescue the other six women.
And Lord Lefthook never carried a gun.
Jasper forced his gaze not to linger on the pistol barrel the would-be robber trained on him. Instead, he met the lad’s gaze with a look of even greater disinterest. “I assume, as you’ve only one shot and I heard none, that you haven’t harmed my driver?”
“I don’t harm the innocent,” the youth grated out.
So much anger smoldered in the other man’s tone that Jasper wondered if he’d personally wronged the lad somehow. “Well then, you and I should get along marvelously.”
“I doubt that. Where are the young women?”
Not someone he’d wronged, then, but simply another of Madam Dequenne’s lackies. One day soon, Jasper vowed, he would discover the whereabouts and identity of the mysterious madam and permanently end her half-century reign of evil, for no one else seemed able to curtail her villainy. For years now, he’d hoped the old woman would simply die, but she proved too tenacious for that, likely sustained by her wickedness.
“I asked you a question,” the youth said.
“I realize it’s dark, but I’m sure you can see for yourself that they aren’t here,” Jasper said. “What did you do to my driver, seeing how we both agree you didn’t shoot him?”
The black-clad youth leaned forward to look into the carriage, pistol pointed unwaveringly at Jasper’s chest. “Nothing permanent.”
Jasper found that hardly reassuring, but doubted he’d get more from the lad. He narrowed his gaze. Would this hired assailant, this lacky, know how to find Madam Dequenne? Early on, Jasper had attempted to locate her through her auctioneers, but they never knew her. Didn’t even work for her. They were men she threatened into holding her disgusting auctions, a different man and a different location every time.
The ruffian glared vitriol at Jasper. “Once more, and once more only will I ask. Where are the young women?” The pistol jabbed closer, closing the gap between the barrel and his chest.
Jasper studied the weapon. The pistol wasn’t cocked.
“If you’ve harmed them in any wa—”
Jasper sprang forward, swinging one arm wide. The pistol slammed into the door jam and flew free. It clattered to the cracked cobblestones as the rest of Jasper collided with the youth.
The lean body twisted away, avoiding Jasper’s bulk. Jasper flung out a hand to keep his face from meeting the gutter, then sprang to his feet.
The other man crouched low, arms spread wide and fists clenched. Jasper straightened and brushed off his gloves. With a snarl, his would-be robber charged.
At the last moment, Jasper stepped aside. One arm flung out to clothesline his opponent. The youth bent backwards, nearly folding in half in an amazing display of dexterity, and slid under Jasper’s arm.
Pain shot up Jasper’s side. He spun. For an incredulous moment, he thought the other man had stabbed him, but the hand he pressed to his back came away clean.
A fist flew at his face.
Jasper caught the youth’s smaller hand, engulfing it in his. “I’ve had about enough of this.”
“Really? I haven’t.” A boot collided with Jasper’s side, in nearly the same spot as the punch had landed.
Jasper grunted. It took all his will and a tightening of his grip on the lad’s fist to hold in a bellow of pain. “The young women are safe. Your madam can go hang.”
