Wyatt stoodon the dark corner outside a pub, the smell of the Thames curling his nostrils.Or perhaps, the foul smell were the clothes he’d donned, bought from a fisherman earlier that day.
Dirty, ripped, and reeking of fish and stale body, they stank to high heaven.Between his scar and his mussed hair, Wyatt appeared an everyday fisherman.
Hell, even his hands looked the part, bruised and bloodied from his hours of training and his nightly activities.
Next to him, Ralph stood looking exactly like, well, Ralph.
But as a boxer and a long-time working man, he didn’t need much help to look the part of an East End criminal.In fact, it had been far more challenging to make Ralph appear like he belonged in Wyatt’s house.
“You ready for this?”
Wyatt’s jaw clenched.“Tell me again what we’re doing.”
“I was sniffing around some old haunts earlier and I heard about a whole ring of gangsters on a robbing spree through Cheapside,” Ralph clenched his fists.“They wait until the husbands are out and then attack the ladies when they’re alone.”
Wyatt’s insides churned.Try as he might, he couldn’t help but picture Priscilla.She’d be safe, of course.The servants who cared for her home were also a measure of protection that the mercantile class frequently didn’t have.They might have a few maids, but no footmen, butlers, or grooms to help protect their homes.
“We’re going to go in there and offer ourselves up for the next job.”
“And you know they’re here?”Wyatt asked, leaning around Ralph to study the heavy oak door.
“That’s what my man said.”
“Who’s your man?”Wyatt asked, still staring skeptically at the door.
“Former sparring partner.Owns a pub now and hears the chatter about these parts.”Ralph waved his hand to signal they should start moving.
Ralph started for the door, Wyatt following.He appreciated the zeal with which Ralph had taken up the cause, but he had questions about his brother’s sudden commitment to helping beyond training.
When he’d asked earlier, Ralph had simply mumbled something about keeping Wyatt alive long enough to make it to the altar.
Wyatt shook his head.He appreciated Ralph’s concern a great deal, but as a grown man, he no longer needed Ralph’s protection.His help, yes.Perhaps Ralph needed a wife and family of his own to look after.
“Have you considered finding your own bride?”
“No.”Ralph said with such a sharp bark that Wyatt paused.
Ralph claimed to have hit out all his anger, but Wyatt had to wonder what sort of resentment Ralph harbored toward their father still.
But he didn’t ask as they entered the pub, Ralph scanning the room.
While none of the occupants looked upstanding, a group at the back was by far the loudest and most raucous of the bunch.With a single nod, Ralph started toward them, settling at the table next to them and ordering up two pints of ale.
Wyatt sat, making certain that his scar was clearly visible.Why not use it to his advantage?
It hardly took two minutes before Ralph had engaged them in conversation, his voice taking on a rough accent.In three, he’d told them of his need for work, and in four he’d been inducted into their band.
Wyatt shook his head.
He might have taken up the cause of routing out the thieves of London, but Ralph was the true talent.
“And what about ‘im?”one of them asked.
“Me brother?”Ralph replied.“He don’t talk much.Lost part of his tongue when he got that.”
The men gave him an appreciative stare, assessing him.
Ralph gave a chuckle.“His hands are fine and between the scar and his fists, he’ll be an asset to ye.”
