“But you believe Roberts when he says he served in the army?”
“Yes. His bearing and knowledge certainly point to it. And he was no private either but someone with command. He says lieutenant and I don’t believe he’d veer too far from the truth.”
“Then we should search the more detailed records of the division he says he was attached to. I believe there’s an office for the Thirty-Second Regiment in London.”
“A fine idea but…” Hugh twisted. “Official permission is required, takes an age to obtain and…I’ve just resigned.”
She sucked on her bottom lip and he imagined doing the same. “In that case, we will need to be more…” Innocent amber eyes blinked up. “Unofficial. After dark, perhaps?”
Hugh smiled, for she was a woman after his own wicked heart and he placed hands to her shoulders. “Amelia Lambert, I–”
Clouds parted; a glint caught the corner of his–
“Down!”
He whirled to shield Amelia, dragged her to the ground, landed on top of her as a pistol roared and his arm stung.
Ladies screamed; a child cried; all rushed for the gates. Hugh lifted, spun on his haunches.
A man in uniform and low cap stood to one side of a tree, a smoking pistol discarded to the grass.
Another cocked in his hand.
Sighted at Hugh as he crouched.
The man’s lips curved.
There was no cover.
Protect Amelia.
He threw his arms wide, stared down the brute, felt something rest on his shoulder and–
A blast so loud, so blinding, tumbled him backwards and he lay for a moment, staring up at the pale-blue sky amidst the spring leaf canopy.
A breeze whispered over his skin.
Was he dead?
It felt as if he was resting upon the softest of clouds.
“Get off me, you great oaf!” yelled Amelia above the ringing in his ears. “I got him! In the leg it looks like.”
Hugh sat up and–
Scraps of charred paper fluttered all around them. “What the bloody hell was that?”
“My governess tome.” An elbow heaved into his ribs. “Quick, he’ll get awa–” The elbow dug again. “Oh, look!”
Hugh gathered his senses and spun.
To see that Scotsman Darnell slammed up against a tree, a leather-gloved hand gripping him by the throat, a pistol pointed at his chest.
All belonging to the one-eyed Cleavers, black cloak billowing from his shoulders.
Hugh stood and stretched a hand to Amelia. On the path lay her hefty governess tome, open and missing half its leather cover but revealing that the inside had been hollowed out, a metal frame with the mechanics of a shortened flintlock pistol fixed within.
As they approached Cleavers, he could see Darnell’s breeches were rent and stained with blood above the knee.
