Page 50 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
Scowling again—at his memories and the fact Thorne was still there—Fawkes shifted the pup in his lap to protect his delicate bits.
“I’m here, auld friend, to inquire about yer finances.”
“Nay,auld friend,ye’re no’. Ye’ve mentioned apensiontwice now, but I dinnae ken what ye’re talking about. Iworkfor a living, unlike some lazy viscount-about-to-become-duke, lounging here and making me late for an appointment.”
Thorne wasn’t deterred by his insult. Instead, the blond man threw an arm across the back of the sofa and studied Fawkes.
“A pension. Poisoners dinnae get them, and neither do chemists. But Blackrose paid his agents a pension when they retired. A pittance, admittedly, but a frugal man—”
“I am no’ one of Blackrose’s agents.”
This actually surprised Thorne, judging from the way the other man’s brows rose. “Ye want me to trot out theI ken ye ken I kenthing? Because we’re all aware ye used to work for Blackrose.”
Work for? Fooking hell, that made their arrangement sound so…clean.
“MacMillan, ye deny ye were an agent?” Thorne sat forward, clasping his hands and resting his elbows on his knees. “Demon worked with ye on that mission, remember? He said yer code name wasThe Fox, and ye supplied the poisons he administered.”
Poisons which killed two men.
At the time, Demon had been told the men were traitors to the Crown, selling confidential secrets to the Prussians. Now he knew they were innocent.
Innocent, just like the others Blackrose had demanded poisons for. Fawkes hadn’t actually administered the poisons, but he’d killed innocent men, just the same.
And the difference between him and Demon was that Fawkes had known from the start how evil Blackrose truly was; he’d always known his victims were innocent men.
“Blackrose is gone,” he whispered, half to himself. And so was Bonkinbone.
“Aye, but he’ll be back,” Thorne growled. “We’ve been working to lure him back and now his brother has obliged us by dying, Blackrosehasto return to claim his title. There’s so many—”
He paused, and when he realized Fawkes was eyeing him warily, sighed and continued. “Blackrose did his best to wipe us all out, aye? All of his agents. But there’s enough of us left, and we’re working against him. We have a way to set a trap, an expert who is working on breaking a code between Blackrose and his brother. We can use that.”
Fawkes slowly nodded, his hold on Tramp tightening. “Aye, ye could,” he admitted hoarsely. “When he returns.”
Bonkinbone had been an evil man, in league with his brother’s traitorous schemes. But his punishment should have been left to the law, not toFawkes.
Still, the bastard was dead now, and Fawkes couldn’t be sorry. If Blackrose was true to his word—and it was impossible to trust him, and equally impossible not to hope—then Mother would be safe.
No matter how many innocents his poisons had killed, no matter how many times Fawkes had condemned his soul to hell to satisfy an evil master, he’d do it again to protect his mother.
The dog in his lap suddenly yelped and twisted, and Fawkes was awash with shame to think he might’ve hurt yet another thing. “I’m sorry, Tramp.” He loosened his hold. “Go on, eat yer supper. I’m nae fit company tonight.”
“Nay, ye’re no’.” Thorne finally thrust himself to his feet. “And, as ye say, ye have work to do. Who are ye delivering the poison to this time?” he asked casually, strolling toward the hat rack.
“It’s no’ poison!” Fawkes snapped, wincing to have been played so easily. He inhaled slowly and ran his hand through his hair. “It’s no’ poison,” he repeated again, quieter, more calmly.Like the gentleman he wasn’t.“There’s a madam in Limehouse who needs me to keep her girls healthy.”
Thorne paused in the middle of shrugging into a fine greatcoat. “Really?” His thin brows weremadeto make a man feel foolish. “Helping whores out of the kindness of yer heart?”
“She pays me,” Fawkes grumbled, the manners his mother had drummed into his skull forcing him to hold the door for his unwanted guest. “What she can afford.”
Thorne settled his hat atop his head. “Ye ken who else would pay? Blackrose’s pension. His assets were frozen, aye, but we could get it reinstated.”
“I dinnae have a pension,” Fawkes growled again, his knuckles white around the doorframe. “How many times must I tell ye?”
He was never one of Blackrose’s agents.
He was Blackrose’sslave.
The other man was studying him, elegant brows drawn in. “If ye werenae offered a pension by the man, Fawkes, and he didnae try to have ye killed like the rest of us, then there’s only one thing we can believe.”
