Page 43 of King's Man

“Oh, aye? And who’s the bloody judge, do you think?” The footman eyed him cautiously, still dabbing his chin. “But you know how it is, don’t you? You lot know there’s only so many times they can knock a man down before he starts fighting back. You showed ’em that.”

The fire in his eyes was bright, just like Nate’s. Just like Amos Holden’s. Sam’s gut pinched. “In my experience, violence rarely achieves anything but more violence.”

“Perhaps. But it’s the only language these nobs understand.”

His words could have come straight from Nate’s mouth and Sam felt his hackles rise. Yes, MacLeod was a bully and a brute, but that didn’t mean his footman, or anyone else, could take the law into their own hands. Only anarchy and misery lay in that direction.

Maybe some of what he felt showed on his face, because the footman lost color, crouching to retrieve the fallen vase and scattered flowers from the floor. “I apologize, sir. I’ve spoken out of turn.”

“No. Good God, you’re entitled to your opinion.” With the footman’s back turned, Sam glanced over his shoulder at MacLeod’s desk. Where the devil was his strongbox? “If I don’t share your opinion,” he went on, moving carefully towards the desk, “it’s only because I’ve seen what… what violence and chaos can do to a people. I don’t wish that kind of conflict on any country.” He edged around the side of the desk. “And I believe — I hope — that change can be peaceful.”

The footman grunted, setting the vase on the sideboard as he arranged the flowers back inside. “If you think this lot will change anything unless they're forced to it, you’re fooling yourself.”

“I…” He scanned the bookshelves and the floor. “I think the law is the only way to curtail a man’s power, be he commoner or king.” There! Hiding in the shadows under the desk. People always thought that was such a safe hiding place. “And if you trample the law to take power, there’s every danger you’ll trample liberty to keep hold of it.”

The footman turned at that, words on his lips. They died there when he saw Sam, attempting to look nonchalant, behind MacLeod’s desk. After a wordless silence, the footman said, “That’s as may be, but I think I should show you out now.”

Sam lifted his hands, to demonstrate that they were empty. “Simply admiring the view from the window, Mr.…?”

A hesitation. “Taylor,” he said, expression drifting somewhere between doubtful and rebellious. “Come on, his lordship won’t be pleased to find you still here and I don’t need another smack on the jaw today.”

As he followed Taylor out and back down the stairs, he heard male laughter rising from one of the salons below. MacLeod and his friends, Sam supposed. Casually, he said, “Do they do this every night?”

“Viscount Rowsley and his companions are lively company, sir.” Clearly, Taylor wouldn’t speak so freely here, where he might be overheard. “And Lord Marlborough is generous with his hospitality.”

“Which is lavish, I’m certain. No doubt the gentlemen make great use of his many salons and dining parlors?”

Taylor shot him a curious look. “They do, sir.”

And Sam sincerely hoped the gentlemenpreferredthose rooms to the more intimate chambers upstairs. Even so, it would make his job harder tonight if the household were awake and cavorting instead of safely asleep when he slipped inside. Still, better to know it now than to find out later. He would need to be extra careful, that was all.

Taylor escorted him to the front door, click-clacking across the vast marble entrance hall, and fetched his coat and hat. The gash on his chin looked painful, swollen and bruised, but he met Sam’s gaze with his servant’s façade back in place. He offered a silent bow which Sam returned.

Then Taylor opened the door and Sam saw Nate bringing the trap around to the front of the house. His spirits rose in helpless relief and pleasure, and he could have kicked himself for being such a sentimental fool.

Nevertheless, departing Marlborough Castle with Taylor’s eyes on his back, left Sam feeling disturbed. Wrong, in a way he couldn’t define. As if a truth were flickering at the corner of his eye, hovering on the tip of his tongue.

A truth, perhaps, that he’d rather not grasp.

Chapter Fourteen

“Rowsley’s going to be a problem,” Sam said.

They crouched in a dark stand of trees just past the bridge, gazing at Marlborough Castle. Even after midnight, lights blazed in the upstairs rooms.

“If they’re up playing cards, the servants will be awake, too.” On Sam’s instruction, Nate was tying a black silk scarf around his mouth and nose, to hide his face should they be spotted inside the house. It muffled his voice when he said, “And the kitchens will certainly still be in use. We can’t get in that way.”

“No, we’ll have to break in elsewhere.”

As he spoke, Sam jostled his shoulder against Nate’s. The contact sent little sparks dancing over Nate’s skin and he allowed himself to press back, to take comfort in the feel of Sam next to him. “That sounds risky.”

“It is risky.” Only Sam’s eyes were visible, gleaming in the dark above the scarf covering his face. “Which is why you should wait here. Just tell me what I’m looking for and I’ll fetch it.”

Even if he'd been able to tell Sam what he was looking for, Nate would still have refused to wait outside. “What if you get caught? I won’t let you face MacLeod alone.”

Sam gave him a measured look but didn’t respond, just adjusted his hat, pulling it lower over his eyes. With his face half hidden beneath black silk and shadow, he looked like a rogue, like a highway robber. Attractive in a way more dangerous than Nate had expected from the gentle man he’d known in Rosemont.

“Come on, then,” Sam said, rising to a low crouch and starting to move towards the house. “Follow me and stay quiet. We don’t want to set off the dogs.”

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