Page 93 of Temptress in Disguise
After the traumatic event at Croft Manor, it was hardly surprising. What had triggered this lapse in her sanity? Jacob Adams’ lies? Her unwittingly betraying Naomi? Shooting the coachman?
“He stole the gown, sir, and laid it out nice and pretty. Pretended they were a harlot’s pink ribbons.”
Aramis glanced at Aaron. “She’s referring to the scene at the Belldrake. Adams framed Naomi for murder. It makes sense now. With Naomi out of the way, Lydia would have inherited the entire estate.”
The landlord appeared, the rims of empty tankards pinched between his fingers. He bent his head and kept his voice low. “The gent you’re looking for is talking to Murphy outside. It won’t be long until he gets the measure of the situation. Best hurry if you want to catch him.”
Aramis was on his feet before he could draw his next breath. He faced Aaron. “Stay with Lydia. I promised Naomi her sister would be treated fairly. I’ll not have anything happen to her tonight.”
Though clearly frustrated he’d been asked to stay behind, Aaron nodded. “Daventry better keep you in his sights, or there’ll be hell to pay.”
Aramis flew through the tavern, bursting onto Brewhouse Lane and scanning the dim street. Two men stood near a small warehouse ten yards away. Money exchanged hands as they planned and plotted.
It was Adams.
He had nowhere to run.
Nowhere to hide.
Aramis narrowed his gaze and scoured the shadows near the alley, his silent gesture alerting Daventry of his intention to attack. With measured steps, he prowled towards the brute who had left Naomi to die in the blaze.
Adams’ companion glanced up, his mouth dropping open. Perhaps he saw the devil’s own darkness in Aramis’ eyes. Perhaps he sensed the thrum of danger in the air because he stepped back and raised his hands in mock surrender.
That’s when Jacob Adams swung around.
His arrogant mask slipped.
Panic marred his plain features.
“It’s the day of reckoning.” Aramis clicked his neck and cracked his knuckles. “One of us will die. I’m damned sure it won’t be me.”
He charged at the rogue, landing the first punch squarely on Adams’ jaw. It shocked the fiend and left him staggering back, trying to keep his balance.
“You won’t win a fistfight with me,” Aramis taunted. “I’m not the same man you tortured. I was forged in the fire of your vengeance. You’ll perish beneath the power of mine.”
A fight ensued.
Jacob Adams had plagued his nightmares for years.
He stood for everything Aramis had despised about himself.
Naivety. Weakness. Inadequacy.
Things were different now.
The crook was craven. He used the element of surprise to frighten his foes. He manipulated women. He killed defenceless men. In a face-to-face brawl with an opponent his size, Adams was decidedly weak.
It came as no shock when he pulled a knife from his boot and swiped the air as if warding off a wildcat. “Hit me again, and I’ll slice you like a fish.”
Aramis opened his arms wide. “Take your best shot.”
The half-wit lunged—his first mistake. One well-timed kick sent the weapon flying into the Thames. With nothing to lose, he charged at Aramis, arms flailing—his second mistake.
Aramis landed punch after punch. He broke Adams’ nose, split his lip and blackened his eyes. People gathered around to watch the spectacle. He didn’t know if they were sailors, merchants or his beloved brothers. Nothing mattered but bringing Jacob Adams to his knees.
As with all reversals of fate, Adams proved he was a coward. Clutching his ribs, he darted along the wharf, knowing his only chance of cheating death lay in the cold, murky waters of the Thames.
He was about to jump when Aramis grabbed him by the scruff of his coat and hauled him back from the water’s edge. “After what you’ve put me through, I deserve to watch you hang from the scaffold.”
