Page 81 of No One's Bride
When it came to the Chance brothers, brains and brawn made a lethal combination. Men plotted their downfall. None succeeded.
Christian Chance grinned, all glimpses of the studious man superseded by the rogue with a hunger for blood. “Don’t force me to pull the blade from my boot. I can hit a mark from fifty yards.”
Despite his disgruntled grumbles, Smith opened the gate. “You’re making a grave mistake. Search my coat pocket. I have a lawful reason for being here.”
Aaron shoved the man in the back, forcing him to walk forward. “Take it up with Denton. I’m here to even the odds and appease my brother’s sense of chivalry.”
Ailsa came closer. “We need to find a quiet place to question Mr Smith.” She touched Sebastian’s arm, her hand trembling against his shirtsleeve.
Ignoring the fact they had company, he cupped her cheek, suppressing the need to drink deeply from her lips. “You’re shaking,” he said for her ears only.
She blinked back tears. “’Tis nothing.”
“You don’t need to hide the truth from me.” God, he was the greatest hypocrite ever to walk the streets of London. “We’ll discuss it later when we’re alone.” And he could soothe her fears.
The flash of heat in her eyes confirmed sating their physical needs would be a priority. “Mr Chance won’t allow us a moment’s privacy,” she whispered.
“We have to report our findings to Daventry and still need to visit old Mr Chadwick. It will afford an opportunity to discuss matters at length.”
“Well, do you want to search his pocket, Denton?” Aaron brought Smith to an abrupt halt and prodded him in the back with the muzzle.
Forced to focus on the present problem, Sebastian scowled at the man he had last seen at the auction. “First, I want to hear his feeble excuses. I want to know why his agents would beat innocent men just to get their filthy hands on an ancient spell book.”
“I’ll never tell you,” Smith countered, his gaunt face twisting with barely contained fury. “You’ll have to shoot me.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Aaron mocked.
Ailsa glanced nervously at the alley’s entrance before stepping forward. “Perhaps we should find a private place to discuss this civilly. ’Tis only a matter of time before we’re discovered.”
Sebastian decided the plan was too risky. “Smith will find a means to escape if we move from here.” The sly devil likely knew a spell to make him vanish.
Christian nodded towards the Old Crown’s yard. “Cutter Jones will lend us a room to conduct our business. The devil owes me for services rendered.”
Cutter Jones! The wretch longed for a reason to hack off Sebastian’s digits. “The landlord is three pennies short of a shilling. As I’m fond of my fingers, I suggest we find somewhere else to interrogate the prisoner.”
“Do you have a weapon?” Aaron’s dark gaze moved to Smith’s puppets as he did a brief head count.
“Just a pocket pistol.” Ailsa pulled the item from Sebastian’s coat pocket and grinned. “’Tis small but effective.”
Aaron scoffed. “I said a weapon, not a lady’s bauble.”
Thatbaublehad earned Sebastian a rogue’s respect. “It’s not the size of the weapon, but how one uses it. I disarmed Cutter by threatening to decimate his ballocks.” Sebastian kept a blade in his boot, but he’d had no time to retrieve it.
Christian laughed. “Then we’ll have no problem gaining entrance. Cutter admires a man who isn’t afraid to take risks.”
“Might I make a suggestion?” Aaron motioned to the men who watched their every move. “I’ll remain here with Gibbs and keep these devils company. Christian will ensure Cutter is accommodating.”
Sebastian considered the plan. He decided to take one of Smith’s men. Should Cutter go on a knife-wielding rampage, it paid to have a witness.
“How did you know we’d need reinforcements?” Sebastian asked Aaron Chance. He took the pistol and kept it trained on Smith.
“I didn’t until I saw you brawling in the alley. Christian found something of interest in your book. He thought you should know before speaking to Cutter, but an accident on Cornhill meant we had to take a detour.”
A faint glimmer of optimism surfaced. Had Christian found a pattern, a means of deciphering the rune markings? “Miss MacTavish suspects it’s a coded message.” A message from Michael that had sat on a dusty shelf unread for five blasted years.
Smith groaned. “Pursue this line of enquiry at your peril.”
So, there was some truth to the claim. “I don’t know who you work for, Smith, or why these messages are important to you, but you will pay for the lives lost in pursuit of your goal.”
