by Rebecca King
“Like what?” Marguerite countered. She knew he was lying because her father would have told her. “Unless the place has been robbed there is nothing to concern you.”
“It’s not anything to worry your pretty little head about,” Lucas drawled patronisingly.
Marguerite’s brow lifted. She stared at the man with such baleful hatred that he shifted uncomfortably and looked as though he wanted to flee. He threw a nervous look at Sayers, who was positively glaring at her. Still, she refused to back down and threw him a filthy glare before she pierced the magistrate with a warning look.
“I think you need to speak with my father’s associate, Hugo Donaldson, if there is a problem with the shop. After all, Mr Donaldson is the live-in help there. If anything has gone wrong, it is his fault. Speak to him.”
“Now, darling, don’t be so mean,” the Count chided. “He could arrest you, you know.”
“For what? Telling you my father is alright?” She snorted inelegantly. “I shall have you investigated by the judiciary if you should try to search this house without his permission.”
Joe coughed. “I am afraid my fiancé is a bit of a firebrand. It will do you no good to threaten her. She has associates in high places, I am afraid.”
“Oh?” Sayers looked intrigued.
Joe looked at the magistrate. “If you don’t mind?” He nodded to the door meaningfully. “My fiancé and I were about to leave to purchase some bands for our wedding next week.”
“But I thought you and her,” Lucas mumbled looking at Sayers uncertainly.
“I can assure you that the Count is mistaken if he thinks I shall marry him under any circumstances,” Marguerite declared coldly.
The magistrate looked at her in alarm, which turned to wariness when he read the contempt in the gaze she levelled on Sayers. It was obvious to everybody that she didn’t like him.
Both men looked uncomfortable for a moment, as though her venom had thrown them completely off their plan. Unsurprisingly, neither challenged her. When an awkward silence descended over everyone, Joe moved to the door and yanked it open wider.
“You have a good woman there,” Lucas murmured as he made his way outside. “I should be careful to make sure you look after her. Otherwise, someone might come along and steal her. After all, no woman likes a fool.”
There was a hint of warning in the cold look he levelled on Joe before he turned his back. In a considerably more affable manner, he stalked past Sayers, and straight out of the house without bothering to speak to anybody again.
Sayers looked nonplussed for a moment, as though the magistrate’s about turn was completely unexpected and uncharacteristic of him. With a frown, he slowly turned and ambled out of the door. Once on the doorstep, though, he paused, as though thinking carefully over his parting shot.
Marguerite stepped forward and slammed the door closed with a resounding bang. It echoed hollowly around the house but was nowhere near as satisfying as the heavy thud of the bolt sliding closed.
“Now that was rude,” Joe murmured with a grin.
“I know,” she replied with a smile. “It is ever so satisfying, though. My, they are determined, aren’t they?”
Joe sighed and shook his head before he carefully placed a finger over his lips to warn her to stay silent. Sayers was, after all, just on the other side of the door and could probably overhear them given how quiet it was outside.
“We need to get out of here, preferably before darkness falls,” Joe murmured as he ushered her unprotestingly across the hallway to the kitchen at the back of the house.
“Why? What happens then? Does he come back out of his box?”
Not seeing the humour in her statement, Joe snorted. “You could say that. Unfortunately, Marguerite, he also brings several of his friends with him, and they won’t care what damage they do to people or property when they storm through this house. While the Count has been thwarted, it is a temporary situation at best. I don’t doubt he has retreated but only so he could relaunch a more successful attack later.”
“Do you think so?” she whispered.
Joe leaned toward her. “Why else do you think he left that body upstairs?”
Marguerite went cold and rubbed her arms against the chill.
“Do you have a warm cloak?” Joe asked suddenly.
Marguerite nodded.
“Put it on. Where is your bag?”
Marguerite squinted at him while she tried to remember. So much had happened that it was difficult to believe she had only re-entered the house a couple of hours ago.
“I dropped it in the garden, I think.”
“Good, then Marcus and Ben will have picked it up and put it into the carriage,” Joe replied. “Go and put your cloak on. It is as cold as Hades outside and drizzling again.”
Marguerite hurried to the closet and fetched one of her father’s most voluminous cloaks. Draping it around her shoulders staved off the worst of the chill. She snuggled into it gratefully as she followed Joe out of the house and stood back to study the gardens while he carefully locked the door.
“Let’s go,” he murmured. “Stay close to me and don’t speak unless you have to.”
He didn’t think about what he was doing when he captured her hand in his and led her down the garden.
Marguerite had never felt so protected in her life. This was the first time she had ever held a man’s hand, and it felt wonderfully protective. She had a greater connection to him now and it helped to ease her doubts about what they were doing. She knew then that she would follow him anywhere.
It was odd, really, because she still didn’t know him all that well, but personal details aside, she knew instinctively that she could trust him-and would.
Once at the gate at the end of the garden, Joe paused at looked down at her. Carefully tugging the hood of her cloak over her head, he cupped her face in his hands for a moment. Placing a tender kiss on her startled lips, he ignored her gasp and studied the overall effect of her appearance.
“Stay close to me. Keep your hand in mine, and try to look loving, or at least as though you are engaged,” Joe advised as he tugged the edges of her cloak closer to protect her from the worst of the elements.
“How does one look engaged?” she murmured teasingly. In that moment she would have done anything he asked of her and felt something within her melt beneath his instinctive tenderness when he took care of her.
Joe shrugged and grinned at her ruefully. “Just look as though you don’t hate me like you did with the Count. That should convince the man, and the magistrate, that we are together.”
Marguerite gasped. “Did I? Did I look as though I hate him?”
Joe nodded.
No wonder he was glaring at me, she mused. But then, she did hate him. The more she came into contact with him the more she found about him to dislike. If she did look upon such an odious creature with little enthusiasm then who could blame her? He was bad mannered, uncouth, rude, arrogant, and a liar. As far as she was concerned, he could think whatever he liked about her, her father, and Joe, as long as left them all alone.
Somehow, she had to find a way to persuade the crook to do just that, and if staying close to Joe helped, then what else could she do?
“Ready?” Joe asked.
“Ready,” Marguerite replied with a firm nod.
As she followed him out of the gate and closed it carefully behind her, she realised that she wasn’t as afraid anymore.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Joe tensed when they rounded the corner at the end of the path. He knew immediately that something had gone wrong, horribly wrong. There was no sign of his colleagues, even though the carriage was there. The door was wide open, and the horse clearly agitated about something. Although the fog was still embracing everything, the streets were eerily deserted which, for London, was rare. His instincts, carefully honed from all of his years within the Star Elite, warned him that danger was still afoot.
“We have a problem,”
he whispered as he slowed his pace to allow Marguerite to walk beside him.
“What is it?” Marguerite glanced at the swirling mist warily. It was difficult to know where they were, even though she knew the area. If there was one thing nearly every Londoner hated, it was the fog. It was cloyingly thick, hindered anything but the slightest movement, and reduced everyone’s world to one of gloom and doom. Today, she empathised with them because she hated it too.
“I think the Count has struck again,” he replied. He casually placed his hand on his hip mere inches from his gun as they approached the stationery carriage. His eyes scanned their surroundings constantly as they stepped closer, looking for any shadows that might draw closer. “Stay behind me but whatever you do, don’t let go.”
Marguerite clung on to him, grateful for his steady reassurance. She was curious to know what he had done in life to know how to do this while being so completely unaffected by the dangers of such a situation. She was a jabbering wreck and nothing had happened, while he hadn’t even twitched, in spite of the tension.
“Ben?” Joe whispered when he saw the supine form of his colleague lying on the carriage floor. He knew, even before his colleague rolled over, that he had been injured badly.
“Here,” Ben grunted as he tried to sit up but failed, and flopped back down again with a pained wince.
“Get inside,” Joe murmured all but shoving Marguerite into the carriage. He scoured the area around the carriage but didn’t climb on board himself. He was the one who was going to drive them out of the area and, hopefully, on to the doctor’s residence so Ben could get his wounds treated.
“Good Lord,” Marguerite cried when she saw the state of Joe’s colleague. “Who has done this to you? We need to send for the magistrate.”
Joe snorted disparagingly. “There is no point sending for him. He is in cahoots with Sayers. We must go higher, preferably when we are somewhere safer.”
“They have Marcus,” Ben whispered through his pain. “They got one of us, Joe. They carted him off while they beat me.”
“Just stay safe, mate,” Joe murmured. “We’ll get you to the doctor.”
Guilt swept over him. He had abandoned his colleagues to meet with Sayers’ thugs alone while he had remained inside to deal with the delicate sensibilities of a female by indulging in his desire for her. As attractive as she was, the Star Elite was his work, his dedicated commitment to rid the streets of London of crime and make it a better place for everyone to live. He had made a foolish, amateurish, mistake by focusing on the woman who had captured his attention in a way that no other woman had ever done before, and his colleagues had paid a heavy price for it.
Well, never again. As beautiful as she is, I cannot allow my colleagues to fight this alone.
He cursed but made a promise to himself right there and then that he would put it right. He would hunt down the thugs who had done this, rescue his colleague while Marcus still had life left in him, and put the damned Count behind bars-or he would die trying. Then, and only then, he could decide what to do about Marguerite.
“Make sure he is alright and doesn’t get jostled about too much, Marguerite,” Joe ordered. “I am going to get him to a doctor.”
He turned around to climb onto the driver’s seat when a flurry of dark shadowy movement within the fog was accompanied by another, several feet away. He immediately got the distinct impression that evil was circling and unless he and Marguerite wanted to end up like Ben and Marcus, they had to leave.
Before the shadows managed to get any closer, he slammed the door closed, and vaulted into the seat. His bottom had no sooner hit the hard wood than one of the shadows materialised out of the fog and tried to climb aboard with him. He pushed the man away, but he grabbed his shirt and unbalanced him. While he tried to shake them off, Joe watched someone else attempt to climb onto the carriage from the other side. Joe locked his attention on the hooked knife the man carried. Kicking out brutally, he heard the edifying sound of the attacker hitting the floor with a pained cry, and launched himself at the man clambering across the driver’s seat toward him.
“Joe?” Marguerite called when the carriage began to shake and judder. It was alarming to note that they were not moving yet.
“He is being attacked,” Ben ground out. He lifted his gun. “Here, help me sit up.”
Marguerite looked at the gun he carried and wished she had the strength to fire it herself. She suspected that if she tried she would be more likely to shoot herself and so awkwardly helped Ben to his feet. He winced and grunted a bit but eventually lowered the window and leaned out.
The sudden bang of his gun made someone scream outside. Marguerite winced and forced herself not to look. To her horror, the door handle beside her began to rattle.
“Ben!” She cried, pointing to the door when it started to open.
Ben turned around and lifted his gun. “Get down,” he ordered and, assured that Marguerite was out of the way, shot the man trying to climb inside.
Joe heard the second blast of the gun and redoubled his efforts to get the thug off his neck. Swearing viciously, he pulled a knife out of his boot and stabbed hard at the man’s chest. The thug slithered off the carriage with nothing more than a grunt of pain. Before Joe could gather the reins up, another man clambered over the roof of the carriage and threw himself at his head. Joe knew he had to get the carriage rolling before he was killed. Throwing himself forward, he leaned down and gathered up the reins. In doing so, he unbalanced the man leaning over him, and propelled him forcefully over the edge of the carriage, and onto the floor beneath the horses’ hooves. Panicked, the horse began to dance about and in doing so planted one heavy hoof directly in the centre of the man’s chest. Joe didn’t need to flick he reins to get the horse to run, it took off at a fast clip leaving everyone who posed a threat on the street they sped away from.
“Hang on,” Joe cried, aware of the carriage door swinging wildly. It slammed shut suddenly, whether by itself or with help he didn’t care. As long as Marguerite and Ben were now safe, he could focus on getting them all to safety. With that, he turned his attention to the road and the merciless fog that made seeing anything virtually impossible.
“Joe!” Ben called suddenly.
“What?” Joe snapped grimly.
“Stop the carriage. We need to make plans.” Ben winced as he settled back in the carriage.
“You really ought to rest, you know,” Marguerite murmured as she watched him turn even paler when he sat back down.
Thankfully, Joe slowed down. Seconds later he appeared in the doorway.
“What is it?” It was clear from the look on Joe’s face that he was in a bad temper.
“You are hurt,” Marguerite cried.
“It is nothing,” he snapped impatiently.
Marguerite hesitated. This man before her, the cold and callous one, was someone she did not recognise. She had seen hints of it last night in the Carmichaels’ study, but it had never been turned on her before. Well, not this severely. To begin with, she wondered what she had done to cause it, but was then forced to remind herself of what had just happened and the dangers it put them in.
“I will drive,” Ben murmured. “I can get myself to the doctor. I can go straight to the War Office, and go and see Sir Hugo or Simon, if he is in. You two need to get out of here. If I take the carriage, I can leave it at one of the safe houses and make my way on foot. It is the only way we can shake them off. There are at least eight of them, Joe. We are outnumbered if they catch up with us.”
Joe knew he was right. “Are you sure you are fit enough to drive?”
“Yes, just get us over to Tragmire Street, we can then split up and give them more to chase. By the time they find out what has happened, they won’t know which way we have gone,” he reasoned.
Joe suspected they had already lost them but didn’t say as much to Ben.
“If you are sure?”
“Yes,” Ben nodded. “Now get us to Tragmire,
I will do the rest.”
Joe nodded and got the carriage rolling again. Tragmire Street was half way between the Star Elite’s surgeon and the War Office. There was also a safe house nearby Ben could go to for help.
“I can’t see anything in this fog, Ben,” Joe called.
He could hear the clatter of hooves behind them growing steadily closer and knew it wouldn’t be too long before Sayers’ men caught up. He had no doubt it was them because up until now he hadn’t seen hide or hare of anybody else. Most people, unless they absolutely had to go out, were safely tucked up at home. Only vagabonds, vagrants, and those desperately in need of a penny or two bothered to venture out on a day like today. Joe just wished that Sayers’ men worked the same way.
Determined to keep them behind him, he turned to the left, then the right, and then doubled back when he got the senses that the men giving chase were trying to cut them off.
“See if you can find a landmark,” Ben called.
Joe didn’t bother to reply. He grunted as he guided the swaying carriage around a tight corner. As instructed, he squinted as he peered through the cloying fog in search of anything to help him find his way.
Finally, several minutes later, he caught a brief glimpse of a church spire in the road up ahead. He had no idea which church it was but the name would tell him which parish he was in. It was enough.
“I have found somewhere. Just wait a minute,” he grunted. “I will stop in a minute.”
The hoof beats behind them were alarming but didn’t distract him from what he needed to do. His face was a cold mask of implacability as he guided the carriage to a stop. They knew they had precious moments to make the switch so the carriage had barely stopped when Ben climbed out. He winced when his feet touched the ground, and struggled to clamber aboard the driver’s seat. When he was settled, he turned to Joe.
“Stay safe,” he murmured.
Marguerite stood beside Joe. “Are you sure you are going to be alright?”
