Lady Lockhart took another step forward, her voice lowering. “There are men who require certain things to pass unnoticed. Money. Movement. Silence.” Her gaze sharpened. “And when such men are crossed…” She paused. A flicker of something colder. “They are not inconvenienced for long.”
Rose’s breath caught, and Lady Lockhart lunged.
She darted from the woman’s murderess eyes and the deadly weapon she thrust out, but Lady Lockhart’s steps faltered, and she fell forward.
A sickening crack against the marble-floored hearth reverberated throughout the room. Rose squeezed her eyes shut, nausea rising sharp and sudden.
The silence grew unbearable. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to blood pooling darkly beneath Lady Lockhart’s head, and her gaze piercing Rose—wide, empty, lifeless. Slowly, she registered Lord Norfolk’s hand firmly gripped about the older woman’s ankle.
With a hand flattened against her torso, Rose tore her gaze away, the pulse thundering her ears, then fading to the faint hiss of the fire and Ben’s hopeless groan from the floor.
Ben!
She hurried to his side and assisted him to sitting. “I fear this was not one of my better ideas,” she choked out.
“What…what happened?” Just as the question left his lips, she followed his gaze to Lady Lockhart’s stilled body.
“Oh, God,” he whispered, then slumped back down, his head landing in her lap.
~~~
The duke roared orders to the coachman, his voice cracking the rafters like a whip while Emerson lowered Oscar carefully to the planks of the carriage. He tore the cravat from his neck and bound it around his cousin’s shredded wrists to slow the bleeding, thanking God that Ben wasn’t with him to witness the gory sight. Oscar’s pulse beat frail against his fingers—there, then nearly not.
Faulk groaned.
In two strides, Emerson crossed to the cart upon which Faulk had been dumped and hauled the man’s head up. “Who?”
“’Twas Billy,” Faulk rasped. “Did yer cousin in.” He coughed, blood surging up. “He wants blood…goin’ after the lady in blue.”
“Why?” Emerson’s grip tightened despite himself.
“Said the lady ye brought round…stoled his wife. Couldn’t get to her…so he took yer cousin.”
The hair lifted at Emerson’s nape. “Who’s Cutter?”
“Owns a bawdy house…in Whitefriars,” he choked out.
“Billy sent him?” Emerson demanded.
“Cooked up some scheme b’tween ’em.”
Boots scraped over the planked floors and Emerson glanced up to find Tatton striding in his direction with the authority of a man accustomed to being obeyed. His gaze quickly took in the situation before settling on Emerson. “I understand there’s…an incident.”
Emerson didn’t bother with niceties. “You suspected something at the docks. You were right.”
Tatton moved to his side, expression unchanged. He gave Emerson a sharp nod.
Emerson returned his gaze to Faulk. “Just where did Billy know to find Oscar?”
Faulk’s mouth worked, blood at the corners. “Didn’t,” he rasped. “I found ’im.” A shallow breath. “Dockside…hidin’ where no lord would look.” His gaze flickered. “Marked ’im. Sent Billy after.”
“Why was Oscar at the docks, Faulk? Why?”
Faulk’s brow twitched, as if the answer cost him. “Watchin’,” he rasped. “Pryin’ where he shouldn’t.” A shallow breath. “Askin’ after cargo…coin…girls…”
“Girls,” he whispered.Good God.
“Aye…things what don’t belong in ledgers.” His lips dragged into something like a grimace. “Too close…he got too close.”
