Page 8 of Her Daring Earl
He shook his head in disbelief, lifting his gaze to the sky, where the moon shone in a waxing crescent, stars surrounding it. It was so much clearer to view when he was out at his estate, but he seemed to be spending less and less time there as of late. It was hard to participate in politics and marry off sisters from the middle of Essex.
He was so caught up in his musings that he wasn’t watching where he was going very carefully. Not that he needed to. The Scarlet Rose was on the edge of Soho, so it hadn’t taken him long to cross over Regent Street and into Mayfair, where there was very little risk of being accosted by anyone dangerous. Perhaps the odd street urchin attempting to pick his pocket, but he could take one of the young lads if it came down to it.
Which is why he was caught off guard when he walked right into the man – and into something cold and hard that bit right through his jacket.
“Ow,” he said, stepping back and rubbing his chest, staring up at the man in front of him.
Only he didn’t just look up. He had to continue to crane his neck as the man stood towering above him.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Fitz said, attempting to step around him, and it was only then that he realized what he had initially missed in the dark – the object that had struck him in the chest had not done so accidentally. It was a pistol, held out in front of the man, pointed right at Fitz.
“I say,” he said with a start. “What are you doing?”
“Keep walking,” the man said, his voice low and nearly a grunt. “In between those buildings.”
“I think not,” Fitz said indignantly, aware that to do so would be signing his own death warrant. “I must say, I am becoming rather annoyed with these attempts on my life. Tell me, who sent you and what is he paying? I’ll double it for his name.”
He wasn’t sure that he would actually be able to do so, but it was worth a try. Better to be without money and alive than in the ground with a fortune left behind above him.
“Can’t do that or I’d be dead myself,” the man said, shaking his head. “I have no other choice. Would have rather done this where it wouldn’t make a mess.”
As he slowly raised the pistol, Fitz looked around in some desperation. Surely there had to be some other lost soul wandering Mayfair at this time of night? This couldn’t be the end. He still had much to do. Marry off seven sisters. Be a champion for change for those whose voices had been dimmed for far too long.
He only had one choice. He would have to rush the man.
He braced himself, ready to tackle him, knowing that he was likely to be hit by a stray bullet but willing to risk it. With a shout, he launched himself forward just as the man pulled the trigger.
“Well, that was a most interesting event,”Eliza’s mother said, rambling on as the carriage trundled down the road. Usually, Eliza was just as animated as her mother was in discussing an event they had just left, but tonight felt different.
And she knew exactly why.
Fitz.
Damn the man. The truth – one she had never shared with another person, not even Siena, her closest friend in the entire world – was that she had always had something of a penchant for him. It was not a sentiment of her choosing. It was as though her body was drawn to him on its own, despite all of her protestations that would have liked it to be otherwise.
Their dance had only made her confusion all the greater. It had reminded her of how frustrating he could beandfurther served to make her want him all the more.
They were like oil and water – made of the same state, but when they tried to mix, as close as they came to each other, they were always repelled away, unable to truly combine.
Maybe it would have been different, had he not done what he had.
But the past could not be changed, no matter how much she would like it to be, no matter how polite they had been to one another at Greystone. They had friends and family in common. That was it.
“Are you all right, darling?” her mother asked, finally realizing that her conversation had become a soliloquy.
“Fine,” Eliza said, forcing a smile for her mother. She truly was the best mother Eliza could ever have asked for. She thought of Siena’s parents and shuddered, knowing just what her life could have been like had she been born to others not so understanding. “I’m just tired.”
“We did stay far too late, didn’t we?” her mother said with a sigh. “Your father will be up waiting for us, wondering where we have gotten to.”
Eliza’s father preferred not to accompany them to such events unless it was an occasion of some importance that he would be expected to attend. He was far more of a bookish man, quiet and reserved – so unlike Eliza’s mother. Yet, somehow, they were far better suited to one another than most couples of their station. They had made it work, which was all Eliza could ever ask for herself.
“I do wish I knew where Baxter had gotten to,” her mother said, appearing somewhat perturbed now. “He was supposed to accompany us home.”
“He left even before we did,” Eliza said, rolling her eyes. “I believe his night was not yet over.”
Her mother harrumphed, which said far more than her words ever could. Eliza knew her mother didn’t approve of Baxter’s life after dark, but he was far too old for her to tell him what to do – not that she ever had before, which might be part of the problem.
Suddenly a bump surprised them as they both jumped, jostled in their seats. They stared at one another for a moment before Eliza’s curiosity overtook her and she craned her head out the window while her mother called out to her.
