Page 63 of When a Lady Kisses a Scot
With Bertram at her side, she crept toward the alley, careful to stick to the shadows. Reaching the narrow lane, she peered around the corner.
The nearly full moon provided sparse illumination, but she could make out a carriage on the dark path. Stanwyck’s, most likely. Clinging to the perimeter, away from the moonlight, she tiptoed closer.
Two men flanked a third gent, appearing to force him past the coach. He resisted, though his actions were weak and futile, his words so muffled, she could not make them out.
Good heavens, was that Stanwyck?
A ray of moonlight brought one of the men into focus. His silver-pale hair took on an ethereal appearance.Jack! She bit back a cry of alarm. Was this the thug’s retribution for Gavin’s interference with their plan?
She touched Bertram’s sleeve, silently alerting him to the danger ahead. Soundlessly, she reached into her reticule. The cold steel of her pistol provided some measure of assurance, but not enough to tamp down the stutter of her heart. She had to do something. Stanwyck was in grave danger.
“Just let me put a bullet in his brain,” Reggie’s rough voice reached her ears. Shorter than the pale man by a head, he brandished a revolver as an equalizer. “One pull of the trigger, and he won’t be givin’ anyone any more trouble.”
“That’s too easy on the bastard. Damn it, Reggie, ye should’ve checked him for a knife. The bastard cut me,” Jack muttered.
Reggie snorted. “The way ye howled about it, I would’ve thought he’d gutted ye. The bloke can barely hold himself upright. How was I t’know he’d fight back?”
Jack turned to Stanwyck. The rhythmic slap of a club against his hand telegraphed his intentions. “I might’ve let ’em show ye some mercy, but after what ye just done t’me, we’re goin’ t’take our time. Let’s see how well ye can swim with two broken legs.”
“I don’t like this,” his partner protested. “The boss wants it t’look like an accident. We’ll give ’im a cosh on the head like the rest and pitch him in. Quick and clean. Then he’ll wash up…they always do.”
The words unleashed a fresh chill along Sophie’s backbone. Dear God, was this the answer she’d been seeking? Was this confirmation that their suspicions were correct, that the men’s deaths had been staged?
She steadied herself. There was no time to contemplate the implications of the brute’s words. They had to act quickly.
“I don’t give a damn.” Jack’s voice seemed a growl. “The job will be done, and we’ll collect what we’ve got comin’.”
If Sophie had anything to say about it, what they had coming would be a trip to the gallows at the Old Bailey. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Can you cover me while I go after him?”
Bertram nodded. “I’ll go after the dirty bastards. You lead Stanwyck away.”
“First we need to distract them.” She pulled in a fortifying breath. “Wait until I signal you—I’ll remove my hood.”
“Aye. Remember—I’m here, and I’ll kill the bastards if they touch you.”
“Good enough.”
Tugging the hood down to camouflage her features, she sauntered into the alley. She swayed on her feet, singing a ballad in a deliberately off-key voice, lamenting a lost love with each unsteady step.
Jack went still. “What the bloody ’ell is this?”
Ignoring his question, Sophie took another step, then another. Adding a singsong note to her tune, she cocked her head, verifying the third man was indeed Gavin Stanwyck. His head bowed, his shoulders slumped forward, he appeared to be teetering on the edge of consciousness. Her heart hammered in her chest. What the devil had the curs done to him?
Reggie stepped closer. Beneath the veil of her lashes, Sophie saw he’d lowered the gun.
“We don’t want nothin’ t’do with yer kind, ye daft wench,” he growled.
Again, she kept to her pitiful, high-pitched lament. Another few steps and she’d be close enough to draw the man away from Gavin so Bertram could take his shot.
“What d’ye think ye’re up to?” Reggie’s tone went surly. “Carry yer scrawny arse somewhere else.”
With weaving steps, she moved to the other side of the alley, not quite within reach of Stanwyck and out of Bertram’s line of fire. She stilled. “Is that any way to talk to a lady?”
With that, she swept off the hood.
Bertram stepped from the darkness and announced himself with a rifle shot. As the report slammed against Sophie’s ears, she pivoted to Jack and lifted her revolver, taking aim at his chest.
Reggie’s scream nearly eclipsed the gunshot. Clutching what was left of his hand, he cried out in a series of agonized gasps. “Bloody hell…my thumb! Ye took off my thumb, old man.”
