Page 87 of Tempting the Scoundrel
Forher.
Yes, she comprehended his fear now. Had Nick not come after her, this man and his friends might have taken her. Had he been mere minutes later, he might never have found her. Like Millie, her contact in St. Giles, she might have disappeared without a trace.
But she could not let him bear the burden of another death. Not if she could help it.
She brushed her gloved thumb across his shoulder and his expression gentled imperceptibly. “If you have the police in your pocket, then put them to work,” she told him.
The quiet between them seemed to stretch as he considered her words. Perhaps it was only mere seconds—but it felt minutes long. Then he gave a nod and pulled out the blade with a sharp jerk. The man’s muffled scream made Alexandra wince. He whimpered as Nick lay the blade against his cheek and carved two intersecting lines.
“Every man and woman I own in the city knows this mark,” Nick said flatly. “You had best hurry to the police station before one of them sees it, because if they do, I’ll reward them beyond a mere two fucking quid for your life.” With that, he released the man and shoved him hard in the direction of the alley. “Run fast.”
The blond man took off, his quick footfalls echoing through the alley.
“Thank you,” she said. “For listening to me.”
“Don’t give me thanks for that.” Nick avoided Alexandra’s gaze, but took a kerchief from his pocket to gently dab the blood on her lip. “It’s past time to pay Lord Reginald Seymour a visit,” he told her.
She winced when he put pressure on the cut. “And I will come.”
“No.” Nick didn’t even hesitate.
“Yes. I know you are worried for me. I also know that you intend to go there and make threats like when a vote comes up in Parliament. That will not work. Let me use my manuscript.”
Her husband did not seem convinced. “Wasn’t it you who said you didn’t have the political influence to publicly accuse him?”
“And you encouraged me to keep writing.” She placed her hand over his. “I have an idea. Let me try it before you charge into his home. I may need Mr. O’Sullivan to accompany me to a few places.”
Nick’s hand tightened beneath hers. “I hate your suggestion.” Then, with some gusty sound, he said, “But very well.”
She gave a small smile. “Good. Because we’re going to need your money.”
“Pounds, shillings, and pence,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. “I told you already: everything is yours.”
Chapter 28
Days later, in a townhouse in Mayfair, Thorne watched Lord Reginald Seymour enter his dark office. Despite the late hour, servants had taken turns stroking the blazing fire to keep it warm. Thorne and Alex had waited, hidden behind the curtains, until their master returned from an outing at White’s.
Thorne brushed his arm against Alex—a simple touch to feel her solidity. Three days ago, he had almost lost her in that alleyway. Since then, he had thrown himself into work at the Brimstone, leaving her to come up with a plan for confronting Lord Seymour. Whatever that plan involved was currently within the briefcase she held. She would not budge when he proposed, for a second time, confronting Seymour alone.
So here he was, putting her in danger again.
He clenched his teeth and focused on Seymour. Through the slit in the curtain, he saw the other man loosen his cravat and pour himself a snifter of whiskey. Lord Seymour was a tall and lanky, twice Thorne’s age. Another toff who never sullied himself with his own dirty work, who used his position of power for his own gain. A common fucking tale.
The man sat at his desk, and Alex stepped out from behind the curtain. “Lord Seymour.”
The MP choked on his whiskey. He moved to stand, but Thorne got there in a blink. He put a hand on the toff’s thin shoulder and shoved him back down. “Don’t think so,” he said in a low growl. “Take a fucking seat.”
Alex smiled at Thorne, an honest admiration in her gaze. Christ, he loved her so damned much. “My lord, I don’t believe you’ve yet had the pleasure of meeting my husband.”
Seymour did not rise to the bait. “I suppose you’ve brought him here to threaten me.”
His wife’s expression didn’t change. “Of course not. I am perfectly capable of making my own threats. I’ve come to issue a request.”
Seymour shifted under Thorne’s hand, but he held the other man fast. “And what is that?”
Thorne answered for Alex. “Pull the contract on her life, Seymour.”
The MP reclined in his leather seat. Had Thorne not been touching the other man, his cool facade might have been convincing. But Thorne could feel the tension in his shoulders. “I’m afraid I don’t know to what you’re referring.”
