by Darcy Burke
In a quick, superbly fluid move, Mr. Locke pivoted. His hand shot out and wrapped around the wrist of the criminal who was still on his feet. Mr. Locke shook the man’s hand, apparently trying to wrest the knife from the other man’s grip.
Wait, what had happened to the gun she’d given Mr. Locke?
Audrey glanced around frantically, finally seeing the weapon lying near the open door to her bedroom. Though loath to leave her grandfather’s side, she crawled over to it and grasped it firmly.
Mr. Locke was still fighting the other criminal. Meanwhile the one on the floor was trying to get up. Blood was visible on the shirt beneath his coat, spreading out from a wound on his right upper chest.
The knife clattered to the floor, and Locke’s opponent punched him squarely in the arm where he was wounded. Mr. Locke groaned, his knees bent, and for a quick, frightening second, she thought he was going to fall down. He staggered backward and managed to keep his footing.
Audrey didn’t hesitate. She leapt to her feet and stepped toward them, around her grandfather. “Stop!” She leveled the pistol at the criminal who was stalking Mr. Locke. “I’ll shoot you like I did your friend. Or, you can leave.”
“Letting them leave isn’t wise,” Mr. Locke said, sounding breathless.
Audrey’s toe came into contact with the knife the men had been fighting over. She kicked it toward Mr. Locke. Then she scooted toward him and addressed the criminal once more. “Help your friend up and get out.”
Mr. Locke swiped up the knife with his uninjured arm. “Miss Cheswick, shoot him. Please.”
Audrey hadn’t thought before firing earlier, but now that reason had returned, she couldn’t bring herself to do it again, not if there was a chance she could avoid it. Still, she kept her gaze fixed on the intruders. “I’d rather they just leave.”
“For Christ’s sake, they’re here to—” Mr. Locke stopped short. “Why are you here?” He asked the standing criminal, a stocky fellow with a grizzled face.
The man’s small, pale eyes, one of which was beginning to swell—a likely product of his quarrel with Mr. Locke—squinted. “I think ye know, Jagger.”
Audrey frowned. Who was Jagger?
Mr. Locke sidled toward her until their arms were nearly touching. “I didn’t think this was a simple robbery gone awry. You tell Gin Jimmy I’m a step ahead of him and I always will be.”
And who was Gin Jimmy? Audrey forced herself to focus on the moment, to keep her pistol trained on the criminal.
The criminal on the floor groaned and reached for his cohort. “Help me.”
“Shoot him!” Mr. Locke’s elbow grazed her arm.
“No!” The standing criminal held up his hand. “We’ll go.” He grabbed the other’s collar and pulled him up.
The wounded man wobbled to his feet. “We can’t jes’ go, Jimmy wants ’er.”
Mr. Locke’s hand covered hers and before she knew it had snatched the pistol from her. He aimed and fired, but his movement had given the men enough time to throw themselves out of the way. Rather, for the one criminal to throw himself to the floor and pull the other one back down with him.
“Go! Go!” The stocky ruffian shoved his cohort toward the stairs.
Mr. Locke moved toward them, his knife raised.
Audrey grabbed his arm and pulled. “What are you doing?” she whispered. “Let them go. We need to help my grandfather.” She glanced at his bleeding arm. “And you.”
He tugged his arm free of her grasp. “I can’t let them escape. You heard what he said about you.”
She lunged toward him and wrapped her hand around his arm again. This time she thrust her body forward into his path too. “Just what do you plan to do, kill them?”
Mr. Locke blinked at her, his long, inky lashes very briefly shuttering the gray of his eyes. He sealed his lips together, but she couldn’t tell if it was due to his wound. He had to be in an enormous amount of pain after the way he’d just exerted himself.
The criminals scrambled down the corridor, their awkward movements making a clamor. Mr. Locke tried to push past her, but she held her ground. “Let them go, please.”
He muttered something that sounded like a curse. He stopped trying to move past her, his body slumping.
She tightened her hold on him. “You need to sit down. Go on back to my room.” She took a step and tried to guide him.
He straightened slightly. “I’m fine.”
As he staggered toward her bedchamber, Audrey rushed to her grandfather, who was still unconscious on the floor. She kneeled and touched his neck. He was warm, his pulse strong. The opening and closing of drawers sounded from her bedchamber.
She stood and hurried inside to find Mr. Locke going through her dresser. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for bandages and liquor.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t keep those things in my bedchamber.”
He looked sideways at her. “Why not? You kept a pair of pistols in here.”
Heat crept up her neck. “You need to sit.” She hurried toward him and perched him on the edge of her bed. The entire situation was beyond scandalous, but Audrey didn’t let such nonsense bother her. She went into the small dressing chamber adjoining her room and came back with a length of toweling, which she used to dab at his wound.
She couldn’t see the actual wound beneath the layers of his coat and shirt. He was going to need to take his clothing off. The heat that had crept up to her face a moment ago now snaked its way much, much lower. She gently shook her head to eradicate such trifle. “How did you learn to fight like that? You don’t belong to Lord Sevrin’s fighting club, do you?”
Mr. Locke gaped at her. “How do you know about that? First pistols—and you’re a damn fine shot—and now this. Are you trying to shock me tonight?” He gasped, which she took to mean that her ministrations had probed a particularly painful spot.
She flashed him a weak, regretful smile. “Sorry. Here, press this on your arm while I go find supplies.” She turned to go, a dozen tasks running through her mind, but he clasped her elbow with his good hand.
His gaze was blisteringly intense. “Find something here. I need to leave.”
She frowned at him; his face had gone a bit ashen. “That’s absurd. You need care and rest. Furthermore, I need to see what happened to our butler and other staff, check on my grandfather, and send someone to fetch Bow Street—” She stopped talking because he got up from the bed and made his way, somewhat erratically, toward the window.
A groan from the hallway drew their attention. Audrey rushed to the door and could hear Mr. Locke following. She hastened to her grandfather’s side as his eyes fluttered open.
“Audrey, dear?” His voice was rough.
“Grandfather, are you all right?”
“My head.” He groaned, and his eyes closed for a long moment.
Audrey wiped a hand over his brow. “Grandfather?”
His eyes opened again. “I’m here, gel, I’m here.” His brown gaze fixed on her and then moved past her. “Who the devil is that? The brigand who hit me?”
Audrey looked back at Mr. Locke who stood at the threshold to her bedroom. His features were drawn tight—presumably with pain.
“Is that a pistol?” Grandfather drew Audrey’s attention once more. “Did you shoot him, dear?”
The sound of running footsteps prompted Audrey to turn her head. Her maid, Thorpe, rushed down the corridor. “Your lordship!” She dropped to her knees beside Audrey. “I’m so sorry, Miss. I heard the men come into the house and I hid in the linen cupboard. I came up here as soon as I heard them leave!”
“Please, help Grandfather.” Audrey glanced back at the doorway to her room. Mr. Locke was no longer there, and the unmistakable sounds of him trying to do something foolish, like climb back out of her window, drifted from her chamber. “I’ll be right back.” She leapt up and dashed into her bedroom. Sure enough, Mr. Locke had one foot thrust out the window. She rushed to him.
“What are you doing?”
“Leaving.” He grimaced as he grasped the tree branch with his right hand and angled his body out of the window.
“Why? Wait, who’s Jagger? Was that criminal referring to you?”
He pulled his other leg outside. “Yes. I’m Jagger, but don’t ask me anything else. I won’t put you in danger. Aw, fuck.” His shoulders slumped for a brief second. “You’re already in danger. Goddamn that Gin Jimmy.”
She’d heard plenty of coarse language before, but it never failed to make her blush. “Who’s Gin Jimmy?”
“I told you not to ask me anything else.” He gave his head a fierce shake. “Never mind, you have to come with me. It’s not safe for you to stay here.”
“Why not?”
“You heard what they said. They were here for you. And they’ll try again.” He glanced down at her robe. “Throw something on.”
She was actually already dressed beneath her robe. She discarded the outer garment and dared to look at his reaction. He gaped at her pantaloons, open waistcoat, and shirt. She hurriedly pulled on her boots, which she’d stashed beneath her bed.
She hesitated a moment—she was worried about Grandfather. But he seemed fine, and Thorpe was with him. Still, Audrey ought to tell him she was leaving. And how would that go? Grandfather, I’m running off with Mr. Locke because some man called Gin Jimmy wants to take me. That sounded rather absurd. Perhaps she should leave a note . . .
“Audrey!”
She snapped her gaze up and saw the urgency in Mr. Locke’s eyes. No time for a note. Besides, she’d left a note last time and that had only ruined things.
He pierced her with a sharp stare. “You come with me now or you stay. I can’t protect you if you stay.”
He wanted to protect her? Something inside of her unfurled and spread warmth to every darkened corner of her soul. She went to the trunk in the corner and grabbed the hat, cravat, and coat she’d put away earlier.
When she reached the window, he’d already started climbing down the tree. He grunted with the movement and she realized she still didn’t have a bandage for him. She grabbed a second cravat and followed him out the window. Surely she had a minute to tell her grandfather she was leaving . . . But he’d try to stop her and she wanted to go. She needed to go. This adventure was exactly what she wanted, what she’d been looking for, and it would irrevocably change her life. A life she barely tolerated.
She heard a muffled sound and looked outside. Mr. Locke or Jagger or whatever his name was had fallen to the ground. He needed her. Grandfather had the staff—Audrey refused to think anything bad had happened to them—and Mr. Locke had no one at present.
Audrey thanked God for her above-average height as she reached for the tree and swung herself out the window. It was a challenging move, but she managed to get herself onto the branch, though she dropped her coat, hat, and the cravats. The white linen fluttered to the ground in a graceful series of swaying arcs.
“Throw that bag down!” he called up to her. “It’s in the tree.”
Audrey’s foot nudged a bag tucked into a small hollow between the branches. She picked it up, heard the jingle of coin, and dropped it next to him on the ground. Then she shimmied her way down the tree, grateful that she was, indeed, dressed like a man. The disguise would also help, but she’d forgotten the wig she usually wore over her dark brown curls.
By the time she reached the base of the tree, Mr. Locke had righted himself and had slung the bag over his uninjured shoulder. He was also armed with a truncheon, which he must’ve left outside before coming up. Why had he climbed to her room in the first place?
“Let’s go.” He took off across the garden, moving much more efficiently than he had in the last several minutes. Maybe the fall had done him good.
Audrey plucked up her coat and pulled it on. Then she shoved the hat on her head and stuffed the cravats into the pockets of the coat. She ran after him, stopping when she reached the stone wall separating her grandfather’s small rear garden from the alley that led to the Berkeley mews.
Mr. Locke turned and looked at her. The dull light of the half-moon offered just enough illumination for her to see his shadowed features. “Can you climb the wall unassisted? I’m not in much shape to help you.”
She nodded. “I’ll be fine. But can you do it? Tell me how I can help.”
The wall was six feet tall, but there were foot and handholds in the rock.
“I’ll go first,” he said. He handed her the bag and truncheon. “Hold these, and then toss them over when I get to the other side.”
“Please be careful.”
He hesitated briefly, his gaze inscrutable in the near darkness. Then he turned and climbed over the wall, far more easily than she would have imagined possible in his currently wounded state.
“Throw the bag and the truncheon!” he called.
She tossed the club first, heard it hit the ground. Then the bag, but it made a different sound, as if he’d caught it. She tried to find the same hand and footholds he had, but her efforts took longer. When she finally pulled herself up and over the top of the wall, she was breathing heavily. She swung her body down against the other side and tried to find a foothold, but a hand on her buttocks surprised her. She squealed and let go, falling to the ground feet first.
She spun about, ready to take Mr. Locke to task for touching her in such an intimate fashion, but bit the reprimand back. What did she expect? She was taking off on a midnight adventure with a man she barely knew. An adventure she’d tried and failed to execute two years ago.
Excitement thrummed through her along with a hundred questions. “Now what?”
“You follow me and keep quiet.” He turned, the bag slung over his shoulder once more, and rotated the truncheon in his grip.
“Wait.” She hurried up beside him. “Tell me where we’re going. Shouldn’t you go home and take care of yourself?”
“I can’t go home.” He started forward.
She kept pace with him. “Why not?”
He stopped short and faced her. “Let me clarify one thing straightaway. There will be no questions. Do you understand?” His tone was dark, clipped, almost . . . sinister. He didn’t sound anything like the charming man she’d taught to dance on two occasions.
A bead of fear slithered along her spine. He’d known those criminals—rather, they’d known him. Jagger. What the devil was going on? What sort of adventure had she just agreed to?
I can’t protect you if you stay.
Though this seemed a dangerous endeavor and every schooled and rational part of her screamed to return home, she couldn’t banish the desperate words he’d uttered. The implication—that she was vital, important—sparked something deep inside of her. He made her feel like she was someone worth taking a chance for. And no one had ever made her feel that way before.
She nodded once at him, steeling her will. He turned and continued on toward the mews. When they drew near, he moved her into the shadows cloaking the area surrounding the massive archway that led into the courtyard.
“What are we doing here?” she whispered without thinking. No questions. She pressed her lips together in silent self-reprimand. “Sorry. Forget I asked.”
He made a sound that reminded her of a muffled laugh. Before she could wonder what had provoked his sudden and surprising sense of humor, he said, “We’re going to steal a phaeton.”
Chapter Two
ETHAN KNEW HE was shocking her, but couldn’t seem to stop himself. And why bother? They were on the run, both from Bow Street and Gin Jimmy’s gang. There would be plenty of shocks coming her way.
She pulled him against the corner of the archway. “You can’t steal a phaeton!”
He put his finger to her lips. “Keep your voice down. How do you suggest we get out of town without a vehicle?”
“We’re leaving London?” She shook her head. “Sorry, I have to ask questions. And don’t tell me I can’t. You’re not kidnapping me, after a
ll; I came of my own accord.”
He hadn’t meant to growl at her about asking questions, but he’d needed to think. They had to leave town. His usual havens were out of the question—every single one was known by at least one person who would claim loyalty to Gin Jimmy. There was a slim chance they’d defer their loyalty to Ethan, but it was a chance he couldn’t take. Not with Audrey.
Christ, what was he doing with her?
Trying to save her life.
“Can you at least save your questions for later?” He pressed her back against the brick wall and peered around the corner into the courtyard. There’d be maybe five stable lads on hand at this hour, most of them sleeping. All of them, if they were lucky. Ethan, however, feared his luck had run out.
He exhaled as he pressed his head back against the cool brick. His aches were many—his arm, his legs from running, his head from the entirety of this ruined night. All of his careful planning to lure Gin Jimmy from the rookery so that Bow Street could arrest him had been for naught. The criminal overlord had gotten away and in the process had learned that his right-hand man—Ethan—had worked to bring him down. Shit, Ethan’s life wasn’t worth a farthing. Especially not in London where everyone, lawman and criminal alike, would be searching for him.
He brought his head back around and looked at Audrey. It was difficult to discern every nuance of her expression in this light. He spoke in low tones. “You must heed everything I say now. No questions, no behavior that will draw unwanted attention.” His gaze dipped over her manly costume. “You make a lousy gentleman, particularly with your hair sticking out like that.” He reached up and lightly tugged one of the curls drooping against her neck.
She pulled the hat down more firmly on her head and notched her chin up. “I neglected to grab my wig.”
He shook his head. He had plenty of questions of his own for later. “Keep your head down and lean on me. Can you play drunk?”
She hesitated, then nodded.
He doubted her. “Have you ever been drunk?”
“No. Unless you count having two glasses of sherry at Michaelmas.”
