Page 43 of Tempting the Scoundrel
“Good lad.”
The boy caught Alex’s eye and winked. “Bye, lady.”
As George, Thomas and the other boys ran off, Alexandra stared after them with a contemplative expression. “They didn’t seem shaken by such a grim sight.”
“It’s a grim sight they see often,” he told her softly. Murder, disease, starvation, accidents—plenty of ways for someone to die in the East End. There was no escaping misfortune.
He longed to read her expression, but Alex turned from him, her face concealed in the dim light of the alley.
Let her feel pity. Or disgust. It’ll make it easier for her to leave when the time comes.
Thorne let out a slow breath before making his way to the corpse. He’d seen his share of brutality and death. Whelan had contributed a fair few bodies to these streets, some chips in the brick caused by a bullet, stains on the sidewalk left by blood. Nick had helped him, during times when protection money was short.
But even this took his breath away. The man was stripped down to the waist. His entire torso was a bloody mass of knife wounds. If Thorne ventured a count, he would have put the number somewhere around seventy. Someone had taken their time, made him suffer, and likely kept plunging the knife after he’d died.
His face, however, remained untouched.
“Joseph Ayles,” O’Sullivan said. “Fuck. We’re going to have to tell his daughter.”
Another family broken apart. Another death to report. O’Sullivan and Thorne had become experts at comforting those who had lost someone to tragedy in their territory.
“She’s got an aunt over in Spitalfields,” Thorne said, reaching out to shut Joseph’s eyes. From neck up, he looked as if he were sleeping. “Lives with her ma. Make sure they have enough for the funeral and whatever else they need to take in the lass.”
“Sure, boss.”
“Someone you know?” Alex’s voice echoed as she approached. He heard her intake of breath as she stared down at the dead man. “Christ god. Ayles.”
Thorne looked at her sharply. “Youknow him?”
Alex shut her eyes. “Like Mary Watkins, he was another of my contacts for information on Lord Reginald Seymour’s smuggling operation. Joseph was a crew member on one of the ships. A loose end, he’d called himself.” Guilt flashed across her face. “I always took precautions when meeting them, but apparently not well enough. Do you . . . think he’s taken out a contract on my life?”
“And the lives of your informants,” Thorne said, his voice gentle. “Two of them turning up murdered is no coincidence.”
O’Sullivan’s eyes narrowed behind his spectacles. “Seymour, you say? As in son of the Duke of Norfolk and MP of Cambridgeshire?”
Alex nodded. “Yes.”
O’Sullivan let out a gusty laugh. “Damn me. When you go after an aristo, you sure know how to pick them.” O’Sullivan glanced at Thorne. “Thinking we should pay him a visit? Make him pull the contract?”
“No.” Nick hated to say it—Seymour shouldn’t be alive and breathing—but charging in would do Alex no good. “I want to find out who in my territory took the fucking contract first.” His eyes sought his wife’s. “How much do you have on Seymour?”
“Enough,” she said, still staring down at the body. “But I need to be careful with the information. Lord Seymour has powerful allies in Parliament, and public opinion would be in his favor, not mine—Mr. O’Sullivan.” She was leaning toward the corpse, her eyes narrowed now. “You keep a kerchief in your right pocket. Pass it, please.”
What was she doing? “Alex—”
“Quiet, Nick. Mr. O’Sullivan, the kerchief, if you please.”
O’Sullivan fished in his pocket and handed her the scrap of fabric. To Thorne’s surprise, Alex carefully used the kerchief to pry open Joseph’s mouth.
O’Sullivan leaned in closer. “What are you doing?”
“I’m not sure, but I think . . .” she trailed off as she held her breath and plunged her fingers inside the dead man’s mouth.
Good god, this woman was made of steel.
“There.” She pulled out a scrap of paper. It was rolled around something, but she focused on the print. “Oh,” she said softly, lowering her eyes.
“What is it?” When she didn’t answer, he breathed, “Alex?”
