Poole had a blade pressed to Sophia’s neck. All it would take was an unexpected noise or movement for Poole to startle and for thedagger to slip…
No. He couldn’t risk it. Before he had a chance to stir a step, Poole would spill Sophia’s blood all over the ground at their feet. There was only one way, and it wasn’t a battle of blows.
It was abattle of wits.
He crept as close as he dared, his footfalls silent against the soft ground. “You’ve saved me a good deal of trouble this evening, Poole. I oweyou my thanks.”
Poole’s head jerked up, and his entire body went rigid when he saw Tristan emerge from the shadows. His arm tightened around Sophia’s neck, and his fingers curled on the hilt of his dagger. “Stay where you are, Gray. Not one bloody step, or I’ll carve a slit in her throat before you’ve drawn asingle breath.”
Sophia was retching and choking against the pressure on her throat, and it took every ounce of Tristan’s control not to look at her, to wipe all expression from his face. “Go ahead. I don’t give a damn what you do to her, though it occurs to me she’d be far more useful to us alive than dead.”
“Us?” Poole gave a scornful laugh. “Who’s ‘us,’ Gray?”
“You, me, Everly, and Willis, of course. Sharpe’s part is finished, by the look of him. Willis told me you’d manage it, but Everly wanted me to come after you, justto be certain.”
“You!” Poole’s grip on Sophia loosened as he stared at Tristan in disbelief.
Tristan stared steadily back at him. As far as Poole knew, the only way Tristan could know Willis and Everly were involved in this business was if Tristan was involved in it, too. “Yes, Poole.Me.”
Poole was staring at Tristan with his mouth open. “What do you know about Everly’s business, Gray?”
“A great deal more than you do, I suspect. For God’s sakes, man, why else would I be wandering around St. Clement Dane’s churchyard in the middle of the bloody night? Sharpe’s a loose end Lord Everly wants tied up. You know his lordship too well to think he’d leave something as important as this to chance.”
Indeed, Everly was much cleverer than Tristan and Sophia had given him credit for being. As soon as Tristan saw Sharpe’s dead body lying in the dirt, he knew they’d made amiscalculation.
Lord Everly hadn’t sent Sharpe to St. Clement Dane’s tonight to target Thelwall. After that mess with Henry and Jeremy Ives, Everly must have realized his scheme was falling apart, and he’d decided to eliminate the players, starting with Peter Sharpe.
Francis Thelwall wasn’t the intended victim of tonight’s crime.
Peter Sharpe was.
“Just as well Sharpe’s dead,” Tristan said with a shrug. “He’s made a great many blunders, starting with Jeremy Ives. Bloody inconvenient, the way Sharpe called Lady Clifford’s attention to our affairs. One doesn’t need herpoking about.”
“Everly never said a word about you to me.”
Poole didn’t release Sophia, but Tristan saw the uncertainty on the man’s face, and his heart leapt with hope. “Why should he? My business with Lord Everly is none of your concern. It’s an agreement betweengentlemen, Poole.”
It was the right thing to say. Poole’s utter ruthlessness made him useful to Everly, but Poole wasn’t an aristocrat, and Everly would have taken care to make him painfully aware of that fact.
Tristan gave a lofty lift of his eyebrow, ready to press his advantage. “Everly came to me once Lady Clifford became involved.Someonehad to keep Miss Monmouth occupied, after all. You didn’t suppose it would beyou, did you? Miss Monmouth here may be as common as dirt, but I doubt even she would have fallen victim to your, er…questionablecharms. Why would Lord Everly sendyouwhen he has an earl athis disposal?”
Poole’s face flushed angrily, but he knew how preoccupied with rank Lord Everly was, how grand he thought himself. He had to be wondering if Tristan was tellinghim the truth.
“I don’t recall Lord Everly saying anything about killing her tonight, though,” Tristan added,his voice cool.
He let his gaze wander to Sophia, who was staring at him with huge green eyes, her face a ghostly white. A trickle of blood was running down her neck from where Poole’s dagger had pierced her skin, and Tristan could see a livid red mark over her windpipe where Poole had grabbed her. His stomach lurched.
Poole gave him a sullen look. “He didn’t know she’d behere, did he?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, he knew. Miss Monmouth has been skulking around St. Clement Dane’s Church since Jeremy Ives was taken up for murder here. You had your chance to dispatch her the other night, Poole, and you squandered it. The last thing Everly wants is another dead body to explain tonight.”
“What are we meant to do with her, then?” Poole whined. “We can’t just let her go. Best way to keep her quiet is to slit her throat.”
Tristan suppressed a shudder at the nonchalance with which Poole spoke of murdering Sophia. The man was an utter villain, without scruples or conscience. He wouldn’t have thought twice about slitting Sophia’s throat tonight. Panic swept through Tristan at the thought, and he had to fight to control his breath. “Why, see her sent to Newgate Prison for murdering Peter Sharpe, of course.”
Poole’s mouth thinned. He yanked on Sophia’s hair, jerking her closer as if he was afraid Tristan was about to march her off to Newgate right there and then. “Thelwall’s taking the blame for that. Lord Everly said so.”
Tristan gave Poole a bored look. “Did he? Well, let me ask you something, Poole. Do you see Thelwall here? Curious, isn’t it, that he hasn’t yet arrived, given the LCS’s meeting at the Turk’s Head broke up more than an hour ago.”
