The Hero Least Likely

by Darcy Burke

  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 d
oing 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.”

  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 all; 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.”

  At any other time, he would’ve laughed. “Just stumble and make indeterminate noises now and again.”

  “I can do that.”

  He smiled at her, appreciating her pluck. He put his uninjured left arm around her and drew her against him. His right arm continued to ache, but he’d relegated the pain to the back of his mind.

  She stiffened slightly as she came against him, then relaxed. In fact, she slumped against him and he had to prop her up.

  “Perhaps you could merely try to look incapacitated instead of actually being incapacitated,” he whispered down at her. “I’m having a hard time supporting both of our weight in my wounded state.”

  She immediately corrected her posture, pulling herself away from him, but still keeping close as if she were leaning on him. “Give me a pinch or something if I’m hurting you.”

  Yes, Miss Audrey Cheswick was a most intrepid young woman.

  He moved around the corner into the courtyard. A couple of lanterns glowed, offering just enough light for him to select their quarry, though he could probably do just as well in the dark. He’d come to these mews often as a lad and knew them nearly as well as the rookeries.

  There were no stable lads about, but they wouldn’t be far off—either slumbering in an empty stall or gathered around a table drinking from a bottle of this or that.

  He led her to the first alcove, but it held a coach. And the next one contained a brougham. He paused and leaned against the brick again. Hitching up horses was complicated with two good arms. How in the hell was he going to manage it with only one? He leaned down, tucking his head beneath her hat, and spoke softly against Audrey’s ear. “I don’t suppose you know how to hitch horses to a vehicle?”

  She angled her head, trying to look at him, but he pressed her back against his shoulder. “Don’t,” he whispered. She needed to keep her head down to continue their ruse. Furthermore, turning to look at him would’ve brought her mouth dangerously close to his. It was bad enough his lips were against the delicate shell of her ear. Worse, his nose was full of her tantalizing scent—something floral, but with a bit of spice. She smelled clean, fresh, not like the women of his acquaintance who used fragrance to draw one’s attention away from their lesser attributes.

  “Not very well,” she whispered in response to his question.

  He could work with that. He pushed away from the wall, intent on finding a smaller vehicle. The sound of horses’ hooves and wheels over cobblestone drove him back against the wall. “Shhh,” he hissed as the carriage—or whatever it was—drew near to the courtyard.

  A stable lad dashed into the center of the cobblestoned area to greet the vehicle, a jaunty two-seat cabriolet.

  Perfect.

  Ethan grinned against her ear. “No need. We’ll take that one.”

  A tiger jumped out of the terribly fashionable cab, its two-person seat shielded from the elements by a dark blue cover. He exchanged words with the stable lad and then took off hastily across the courtyard back the way he came. Even better.

  The stable boy led the horse and vehicle toward the opposite side of the courtyard. Ethan pulled his arm from around Audrey’s shoulder and drew a few coins from his bag. “Wait here.”

  He set his bag and truncheon down beside her, then strode purposefully across the cobblestones to where the boy was leading the vehicle toward an empty stall. The boy would unhitch the horse, store the vehicle, and take care of the livestock. Or, he would if Ethan didn’t have other plans.

  “‘Evening there,” Ethan said warmly. “That’s quite a piece.” He nodded at the cabriolet.

  As expected, the boy regarded him suspiciously. He cocked his ginger head to the side. “Who’re you?”

  As a lad, Ethan had offered to help the stable boys, give them a reprieve from their duties—free of charge. They’d tottered off to have an ale or play some cards upstairs, while Ethan had taken the vehicle out for a wild ride. Such a ruse wouldn’t work in this instance. Ethan couldn’t pass himself off as a poor young boy looking for a brush with finery. Instead, he said, “I’m a friend of his lordship’s,” and hoped the owner of the cabriolet was in fact a peer.

  “What’re ye doing ’ere?” The boy’s question was laced with doubt. He kept his hand on the horse’s lead.

  “He bade me meet him here for a midnight ride. It appears he forgot.”

  The boy seemed to relax slightly. “Not surprised. ’E takes this thing out at all hours. Couple o’ times ’e’s been passed out inside when the tiger drops it off.” The boy laughed commiseratively.

  Ethan smiled. “Sounds like him. I don’t suppose you’d mind if I took it out anyway?”

  The boy’s brow furrowed and he scratched his head. “I don’t want no trouble.”

  “It’ll be fine.” Ethan grabbed the boy’s hand, startling him, and dumped the coins into his palm. “It’ll be our secret. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

  The boy stared at the coins. It was more than he’d make in a week
. “Right ye are.” He released the horse, touched his forehead, and ambled across the courtyard to a dimly lit room in the back corner.

  Ethan moved fast. He pulled the horse around and looked to see if Audrey had watched the exchange. She was already stepping out of the stall they’d been hiding in, carrying his bag and truncheon. Good girl.

  When she got to the cabriolet, he helped her up into it and then climbed in, wincing, beside her. He hadn’t planned it, but was glad to be on her right so that she wouldn’t jostle against his wound. Plucking up the reins, he turned the horse and drove them out of the courtyard.

  She looked sideways at him from beneath her too-large hat. “How did you manage that?”

  He steered the cab toward Piccadilly, past Devonshire House. “Money.”

  “You gave him some money and he just let you take this?” She sounded incredulous. How innocent and naïve she was. People would do just about anything for money, but he wouldn’t spoil her illusions. Not yet.

  “I told him we were only going for a short ride.”

  She pulled her coat more tightly around her. “You lied.”

  “I did what I had to.” Lying was the least of his crimes. What would the guileless young lady beside him think if she knew the depths of his wickedness? He kept his gaze fixed straight ahead as he turned the corner onto Piccadilly. The traffic was more congested here, but not terrible. It would lighten up as they traveled west.

  “Do you have a destination in mind yet or are you driving blindly? I should like to know where we’re going.”

  “Questions, questions. I’m not precisely sure of where we’ll end up. We’re getting out of London before those men can find you again.”

  She exhaled loudly, a sound of profound relief. “That’s undoubtedly for the best. I hope it won’t take terribly long to get there. Your wound needs attention.”

  He looked sideways at her. The small lanterns hanging from the sides of the cover offered a faint glow that streamed over her pale face. She was looking forward, her hands wrapped about herself. “Are you cold?” he asked.