And then he tossed the man out it.
The man gave a shout a beat before he landed. Beck ran to the window. There was already another man on the ground. He was groaning as if bones were broken. The heavy one had landed on his back. He rolled over. “My legs,” he shouted. “You broke my legs.”
Cox took a wobbly step back from the window.
Beck looked at the last of the three assailants. He stood as if turned to stone. “You’d best join him,” Beck advised with a wave of his pistol.
The man tore off out the door and could be heard almost falling down the stairs in his haste to escape.
Cox leaned against the wall, the morning light falling on him. He pressed the back of his hand against a split lip. Beck knew from experience that he had to be in pain.
“What did you do to them?” he asked Cox.
“It is what I wouldn’t do.” He pressed a thumb and forefinger against his mouth. “Thank God I still have my teeth.”
“What wouldn’t you do?” Beck asked, curious.
“Holbert procures for London brothels. He’s angry because I helped a lass he’d kidnapped escape.”
“Not Miss Lanscarr?” Beck said with a start. Did he have the story all wrong? Could Holbert have been the one they described traveling with Elise?
No. Cox’s name had come up consistently and he’d seen them enter the inn together.
“No, not Elise,” Cox said. “This one was younger than her. I couldn’t let him have her. She was too scared. Holbert preys on country girls who yearn for something more in life.”
He spoke well in spite of his bleeding lip. His face had not started swelling yet, but it would soon—and that is when Beck experienced a flash of recognition.It couldn’t be.
And yet, this man was of the same age, the height, brown hair, gray eyes. Beck stared at the man’s features. However, the missing Duke of Winderton had been described as solidly built and soft. This man was as lean and hard as shoe leather. He had taken a beating that would have destroyed someone like the duke and he was still standing. Could it be the same man?
“I must go.” Cox pushed off from the wall and straightened. “I must tell Elise that she is safe—”
Those were the last words he spoke before his legs buckled and he crashed to the floor at Beck’s feet.
Chapter Twenty-One
God’s mill may grind slowly, but it grinds finely.
Irish proverb
Kit had trouble regaining consciousness. He sensed he was swimming upward toward it, but it was a struggle. It was as if he was in a silver pool of light and Elise was waiting for him. He attempted to reach for her—
“You are awake. Good. Don’t try to move right now. You experienced a vicious beating.”
The haze vanished at the man’s sharp words. Kit winced at them and slowly found consciousness. He squinted his eyes open. There was a candle burning on a night table. It hurt to look at it until his vision adjusted to the light.
Memory returned. He recalled tossing Holbert out the window, and he laughed.
The sound was hoarse and it hurt his ribs. Again with the ribs. He could have cursed. Only this time, he was fairly certain something wasbroken. Holbert had been very diligent in his attention to them. But before that happened, Kit had been giving all three of them a sound drubbing.
However, one question burned in his mind, and he called out her name as best as he could. “Elise?”
The room was dark save for the one candle. She could be here. He strained to see.“Elise?”
“Please, don’t struggle. You are not in good shape.”
That male voice again. Kit saw a shadow by the window. “Who are you?” Kit managed.
“Steele.”
