Page 64 of King's Man

“Then your witness is a fucking liar.”

A blow struck the words from his lips. “Watch your mouth.”

Sam spat blood onto the ground, tried to shake the ringing from his ears. His heart thundered so hard he thought it might burst, fed by a vicious stream of anger. He clung to that, drank from it, used it to keep his rising panic at bay. “Go to hell.”

Grabbing the lapels of his coat, Groves shoved him hard against the man behind him, making them both stagger. “I don’t know whether you’re brave or stupid, but you’ll get nowhere calling the man laying information against you a liar.”

Sam spat again. His lip had split. “What man is that?”

“John MacLeod, the Baron Marlborough.” Groves bared his teeth in a grimace of triumph. “And it’s not just for theft. You stand accused of murder.”

Sam jolted backward. “What?”

“A footman was shot to death on MacLeod’s estate. His lordship named you the culprit…” Groves released him and stepped back, frowning as he studied Sam’s face. “I’m sorry, son, because you look properly flummoxed, but you’re facing the noose.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

The day dawned as bright as London’s smoky sky allowed, which was to say not very bright at all.

Nate lay in bed and watched the small patch of sky visible through his window slip from gray to hazy blue and felt little incentive to stir. Despite his exhaustion he’d barely slept, and the day stretched ahead without promise. His thoughts had chased each other all night in an endless spiral of misery, and he saw no way to halt them.

If only he’d burned the letter. If only Sam hadn’t found it.

If only Nate had explained his mission from the start…

But despite the leaden lump in his chest, he made himself get out of bed. He had nothing left but his duty, so he’d better get on with it. He washed and shaved, dressed the healing wound on his arm — and ached at the memory of Sam’s gentle ministrations, of the pain of the wound made sweet by the joy of lovemaking. Remembering the tender trust Sam had placed in him, the trust Nate had crushed underfoot, made his throat burn.

Wearily, he dressed in clean, pressed clothes and made himself presentable. He declined the offer of breakfast from his landlady, his stomach queasy from lack of sleep, but accepted a cup of coffee. It would stir his sluggish blood, at least.

Then he made his way to Farris’s shipping office and was admitted by a clerk who made polite inquiries about his health. Nate could honestly answer that he was feeling less than well. Hanging up his coat and hat, he took a moment to gather himself before reluctantly entering the office. Farris sat at his desk by the window but already had a visitor.

Nate stopped in the doorway.

Talmach?

Farris glanced up. “Ah, Tanner, finished shitting through your teeth, eh?” He snorted at his own humor. “You look sick as dog, man. Not infectious, I hope?”

“No, sir.” Nate kept his attention determinedly away from Talmach. What the devil washedoing there? “Am I interrupting?”

“No, no, you might as well be told. Sit down, Tanner, before you fall. You’re as white as a nun’s tit.”

Nate sat, perched on the edge of a chair next to Talmach and opposite Farris. Talmach didn’t look at him, but appeared relaxed, his wounded leg stretched out and his cane resting against his chair.

“This is Wilson. He’s a thief taker who’s been helping me with a problem.” Farris leered. “Solved it now, eh, and to my advantage. MacLeod’s in my debt, which is exactly where I want the old bastard.”

Nate kept his face blank as he turned to Talmach. “What kind of problem was that, Mr. Wilson?”

Talmach was a true professional, his smile easy and betraying no recognition. “Oh, some bother at Lord Marlborough’s estate. A murderous break-in and theft.”

“Good heavens.” Nate’s heart pounded thirteen to the dozen.

“A footman was killed defending his master from housebreakers. Poor man was shot in the face by the intruder.” Nate froze as Talmach added, “Fortunately, I've discovered the identity of the culprit. And last night he was traced to the St. Giles rookeries, enabling Mr. Farris to alert the Principal Officers of Bow Street and have him apprehended. A desperate man, by all accounts, thisSamuel Hutchinson.”

Nate's throat convulsed and he had to cough before he said, “And — And are we certain of Lord Marlborough’s veracity?”

Farris snorted. “Well, I’m not questioning him, and you damned well aren’t either.”

“Hutchinson’s a notorious villain.” Talmach sent Nate a speaking look. “I think justice will be served, one way or another.”

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