“Restrained?” Hazleton’s voice shook. “You don’t mean you’ll…”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Crowthorne barked. “Since Churton cottoned on to us, we are living on borrowed time.”
“It’s a wonder we haven’t been thrown into Newgate before this.” Hazelton sounded shaken. “Goodrich and Wensley expressed their distress at the way events were unfolding, and I have had trouble sleeping since you had Lord Churton killed.”
“Calm yourself, will you? Churton can’t have told anyone what he knew,” Crowthorne said. “It would not have been to his advantage.”
“What did he say before you.…”
“I planned to get more out of him when he met me in the alley. But Churton insisted we show him what we had. He wanted a share, or he’d give us away. I had one of our St. Giles pals with me who didn’t want to share. He acted rashly. Churton lay dead before he told me a thing.”
“Why the devil did you take that knife-wielding madman with you? You know how uncivilized these thugs are.”
“Because you’re all too soft!” Crowthorne yelled. “I can’t count on you! We’ve given things time to settle. It appears luck is still with us as our movements remain undetected. But we must act now!”
“But Montsimon is staying at the house. What does the fellow want?”
“I’m not sure,” Crowthorne mused. “It might be merely Lady Brookwood’s charms. She’s a prime article, wanted her for myself. I’ll warrant it’s merely an affair. Montsimon is popular with the ladies and a pet of the king’s. Better at employing elegant speech than firing a gun. He’ll be easy to deal with.”
Montsimon clenched his jaw. Crowthorne would learn how wrong he was soon enough.
“I won’t have any more blood on my hands,” Hazelton said in a querulous tone.
“Will you relax? I just learned in the village that Owltree Cottage is to be shut up, some sort of repair work.”
“Vacated?” Hazelton asked. “Are you sure?”
“Something to do with the foundations. It’s considered unsafe.”
“Well!” Hazelton’s voice raised a notch. “That is good news.”
“As soon as the house is empty we’ll break in and give it a thorough going over.”
Dogs barked excitedly somewhere behind the house.
“What the devil is that?” Crowthorne asked. A chair scraped across the floor.
“And you accuse me of being lily-livered,” Hazelton said, a degree of satisfaction in his tone. “My hunting dogs are probably on the scent of a fox.”
“For God’s sake, go and see!”
Before Hazelton had left the room, Flynn was crossing the drawing room carpet again. In another minute, he was back at the brick wall, searching for a foothold to scale it. A few minutes more and he dodged through the trees.
Althea sat on a rock. She leapt up. “Was Crowthorne there?”
“Yes. I’ll explain later. We need to get out of here.”
Flynn took her hand and they ran to the stream. Before he could take her delightful scented body in his arms, she’d pulled up her skirts and waded across.
“My, but you’re a spoil sport,” he said as they rounded up the horses.
“I didn’t want you to strain yourself,” she said as he cupped his hand and she placed her boot in it. He threw her up onto her horse.
“I was willing to risk it,” Flynn said, as he mounted his gray.
They cantered across the field and jumped the gate, then continued at a fast pace along the road. The horses, fresh from their rest, were keen for a gallop.
When they were a safe distance from Hazelton’s house, Flynn slowed his mount. With Althea trotting her horse beside him, Flynn related what he had overheard, omitting Crowthorne’s suggestion that they were having an affair. He saw no sense in embarrassing her. “If they don’t find what they seek at Owltree, they are going to come after you,” he said bluntly, hoping it might make her inclined to do as he wished.
