Page 43

“Ye’re outnumbered, ye bloody cockscum,” snarled a man missing his front teeth. He gave a maniacal laugh, spittle forming on the corner of his mouth. “The lass will nae get away. That fancy Frenchman will no’ stop until she’s dead.”

“Hold yer wheesht, ye idiot,” bellowed his compatriot. “Nae one’s to ken about him.”

“It willna make a difference,” the first ruffian argued, his beady gaze glinting with wrath. “Who’s this bastard goin’ to tell when he’s dead?” He snickered as if he’d made a clever jest.

“Ye’re assumin’ ye can kill me, ye whoremonger.” Weapons at the ready, Liam inched backward.

Like a pack of rabid, snarling wolves, they advanced toward him.

One wearing an incongruent vibrant purple silk and gold waistcoat beneath his impossibly filthy brown jacket elbowed another in the side and gave a malevolent chuckle. “Numpty sot still disna get it. There are five of us and one of him.”

“I’m surprised ye can count that high,” Liam said dryly, skewing his mouth into a mocking smile.

“Actually, ye tosspots, there are five of us as well,” Brogdon drawled, a wicked grin creasing his face. He enjoyed a brawl more than any man Liam knew.

Jaw slack, the thug swung around.

Logan, Quinn, and Coburn flanked Broden, each with murder etched upon their harsh features.

“I want them alive,” Liam growled before lunging forward to take down the first man.

The hired thugs were no match for Liam and his friends. In short order, three more lay unconscious, and a fourth hunched upon the ground, supporting his broken arm. The fifth scumbag squirmed as Liam pressed his fingers hard into the man’s throat and shoved him against the building.

“Who hired ye?”

The man sneered in defiance, and Liam tightened his grasp.

Clawing at Liam’s hand, the hireling tried to kick him.

Mrs. Morris poked her bewigged head out of the haberdashery, and upon spying Liam with a man by the throat, uttered a strangled squeak and slammed the door shut. The rasping and clicking of three locks being secured in rapid succession almost made him grin. Almost.

“I’ll ask ye one more time before I start breakin’ bones,” Liam said. “Who. Hired. Ye?”

Gray-faced and making gurgling noises, the wretch stuttered, “The…wench’s…brother.”

Liam loosened his grip a fraction, uncertain he’d heard correctly. Emeline had said she hadn’t any kin but distant cousins.

“Brother?” He scowled and shook the wretch. “Are ye certain?”

“Aye. Aye.” The man gasped and choked, his bulging eyes darting back and forth. As if he realized the game was up, he babbled, “A prissy fella named Jean Claude Gagneux. He’s boardin’ at the Swan and Stag at the south end of town.”

The cur sitting on the ground and favoring his arm, snickered. His mad-eyed gaze shifted between Liam and his friends standing guard over the other miscreants. “He kens where she’s stayin’, too.”

Christ on the blessed cross.

Swearing beneath his breath, Liam gave the thug another hard shove before releasing him. Cradling his already bruising neck, the man slumped to the ground as Liam spun toward his friends.

“Coburn, Logan, see these Satan’s spawns are turned over to the authorities,” he said swiping his hair off his forehead. “Broden, ye and Quinn come with me. We’re payin’ Monsieur Gagneux a visit.”