Page 30 of The Viscount's Seduction
Chapter 9
Barton directedBakeley to the shops Lady Sirena frequented. Yes, the shopkeepers had seen her that morning. No, they hadn’t seen where she’d gone. No amount of coins could pry that information from them. He wasn’t sure if they were suspicious of him or if they genuinely didn’t know.
He stepped outside the last shop and a boy ran after him. “Sir, I did see something.”
Bakeley’s heart quickened.
“The Irish lady, she talked to two men, both of them Irish also. I was cleaning the windows round the corner. They didn’t notice me, I think.”
“What did they say?”
“They was to meet someone in the East End, by the docks. A tavern, something about a bull. The men wanted her to hire a hackney, but she said no, they would walk.”
Bakeley handed the boy a coin. “Describe the men.”
“They had rough clothes and caps. Sailors, maybe. Not gentlemen like you.”
“Thank you.” He handed him another coin.
“It’s usually just the one she meets.”
He froze. She’d been meeting with an Irish sailor. Could it be her lost brother? Or a conspirator, like one of the Cato Street ilk?
“Do you know him?”
“Walter, she called him. And he called her my lady.”
“Why would you remember this?”
The boy blushed deeply, and he realized the lad was older than he seemed. “Only that the lady was so pretty and always so nice.”
“What is your name?”
“Henry.”
He pulled out a card. “If you think of anything else, find me here. Speak only to me. No one else, understand?”
“Yes, milord.”
The East End. The docks. With two Irish sailors? Was the woman mad? His heart raced and he hailed a hackney and climbed in.
He had no knife on him, no pistol, no weapon of any kind, not even a walking stick. He gave the driver an address and told him to make haste. Bink’s home was right around the corner.
Sirena’s hopescrashed when she saw Walter step out of the third tavern they’d visited, alone. The man they were supposed to meet was, once again, missing.
“We must get you out of here, milady.” Walter’s hand kept going to the side of his coat. He was armed, she’d guessed. So was she. Her heavy wool shawl draped her from the top of her head to her hips, hiding her bonnet and fair hair and covering the sheathed knife tucked into a very unfashionable sash.
The docks were busy with arriving ships offloading cargo. Josh’s mere presence had kept lookers at bay, though they’d kept up their leering, the sailors stumbling from drinking all night, other seamen making their way from the arriving ships, porters, cart drivers, merchants, pickpockets, and street whores, even at this hour.
She set off with her two protectors. A group of rough men blocked their way. “How much for your whore?” The big man who spoke had glittery dark eyes that made her shiver.
A taller man shoved him aside. “I’m to be first.” He lurched at her, and Josh blocked him.
She drew herself up. “Here now.” She used the King’s English her governess had tried to pound into her a decade ago, before the woman’s wages had to be put to buying whiskey. “I amnota prostitute. You will move out of my man’s way this instant and let us pass.”
That at least made them pause. She slid the knife from her sheath, hiding it under the edge of her shawl.
The taller man stepped back from Josh and scratched his head.
