Page 3 of Her Wicked Highwayman
“Never,” Malcom snarled. The beast of a man started toward Malcolm, a dark, glinting object in his hand. A knife.
“Father, look out!” Rafe cried out.
Malcolm spun and placed himself between Rafe and Phelps. His father, once a prizefighter at Jackson’s salon, swung and planted a facer on Phelps’s chin, catching the man off guard. The man grunted and then swiped the blade at Malcom’s chest. Malcolm dodged back. The men swung at each other, punches landing on flesh in sickening sounds. Rafe was forced to step back to stay out of the way. It was clear his father was winning the fight—Phelps was outmatched, even though Malcolm smelled strongly of ale.
“Get in the coach now, son!” Malcolm shouted at Rafe and pushed him into the waiting hackney his father had summoned. Rafe fell back against the stiff coach cushions as the hackney started to move, but he didn’t want to go home alone—he wanted to bring his father back with him. Before the coach could pick up any more speed, Rafe opened the door facing the opposite side of the street and jumped out onto the ground, his feet sinking into the dirt and muck upon the road, momentarily catching him in place.
A sharp clatter of hooves and a coach driver’s sudden shout startled Rafe. He had stumbled into the path of a passing carriage. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe as the horses bore down upon him.
Something slammed into him and Rafe hit the ground, rolling over and over until he landed on the other side of the street. His head collided with hard stone, and everything went dark.
Malcolm cursedas he watched that bastard Phelps stalk back into the tavern. It had been a close one tonight, but Phelps couldn’t win and they both knew it. Rafe was bound for home, he was safe... for now. But that wouldn’t always be true. Malcolm had made the mistake of tying his fate to Andrew Caddington’s when he’d started losing money to him, but he’d never dreamed that it would put his young son’s life in danger.
Caddington had a dark side, a side that liked to hurt people, especially young men. He had a fondness for beating men senseless, and it was rumored he’d killed more than one young man at his estate through his love of brutality. He was a devil, a devil whose darkness knew no limits, and now he’d set his sights on Rafe.
But Malcolm was sober enough tonight to know that he had a choice—let his child’s life be in danger, or do the thing that would damn his soul forever but would save his child. When he viewed the situation from that perspective, he knew there was but one course of action to take.
He must kill Caddington. Even if it brough ruin to his family in society, even if he faced the gallows for the murder, it must be done. Caddington could not be allowed to live. Malcom stepped back into the Devil’s Spear and glanced around, seeking out Phelps and Caddington.
“What now, dearie? Care for a ride?” one of the whores who frequented the brothel in the back asked him as he stepped inside. He’d made the mistake more than once of taking them to bed, when he should have gone home to his beloved Reggie, but he couldn’t bear the shame of seeing her pain, herdisappointment in him. So he sought solace where he could, with who he could.
“No, not tonight. Where is Lord Caddington?” he asked the woman, knowing she would be well aware of where one of the good “marks” were in the establishment.
“Lord Caddington is in the back. Want me to show you?” She hooked her arm through his and led him past the main gambling room. They stopped at the door to one of the rooms at the end of the corridor and she opened it. “He’s just in there...”
As Malcolm stepped inside, something struck his head hard from behind. He stumbled and caught himself on the edge of the empty bed in the room. Everything in his vision spun wildly and he collapsed onto the bed, trying to catch his breath. He was vaguely aware of the whore searching his pockets for money. When she pried his pocket watch from his chest, he struggled to get it back but she shoved him hard and he fell back onto the bed, clutching his head.
The door to the room slammed shut, leaving him in darkness. Then the door suddenly whipped open and someone was rushing toward him.
“Father!” Ashton’s voice came through the haze too late as Malcom struck out, hitting his son across the face.
“Leave me, boy!”
Ashton put a hand to his face, and Malcolm hated the look of hurt in his eldest son’s eyes. He had never struck his son before.
“Father, please,” Ashton begged. “Come home. Mother needs you. We all need you.”
Lord Lennox stumbled to his feet. “Damned whore took my coin purse.” He patted his pockets. “Pocket watch too.”
“Father...”Ashton still touched his face where he’d been struck, but Malcom wasn’t listening.
He left the room, tripping over his feet into the hall. He had to find Caddington, had to make sure that man never had achance to hurt Rafe or anyone ever again. Ashton hurried after him, dodging the gaming tables.
Several men shouted and cursed as Malcolm bowled into them. The blow he’d taken to his head was doing far more damage to his balance than the alcohol he’d consumed.
“Careful, man!” Someone shoved Malcolm toward the front door, trying to get him out of their way.
Have to find Caddington . . . have to . . .
Malcolm’s thoughts abruptly stopped as he reached the curb to the street and spotted something on the sidewalk across from him.
Rafe... his dear, sweet boy was sitting on the sidewalk, covered in street filth and holding a hand to his head as though he’d been hurt. Had Caddington tried to get to him again?Please, God, no...
“No,” Malcolm gasped and started across the street toward his younger son.
“Father!” Ashton’s shout from behind him came far too late.
After what feltlike an eternity trapped in darkness, Rafe opened his eyes. His body hurt everywhere, and he lay on the stone walkway beside the road, his head throbbing.
