Page 15 of Devoted to the Spanish Duke
His friend stepped nonchalantly off the pavement and crossed the road. He walked past the front of the church, then stopped a little way up the street to peer in a shop’s window, a good ten yards behind Alba.
You are very good, my friend.
It was an honor to watch a master at work. For such a large man, Sir Stephen Moore possessed an almost magical ability to blend into crowds. People might see him, but he moved in such a way that their brains seemed to barely register his presence. He was a ghost walking among them.
The moment Señor Alba made to move away from the church and walk farther down George Street, Stephen followed. Lisandro waited until they were almost out of sight, then started slowly after them.
Ten minutes of turning left and right into laneways and streets kept him on his toes. More than once, Lisandro found himself leaping into a shop’s doorway to avoid being seen. It was hard staying on both Señor Alba and Sir Stephen’s tail without losing them.
He had just turned left out of Harley Street and into Queen Anne when a hand reached out and took a firm hold of his sleeve. Stephen pulled him into the front of a butcher’s shop and dragged him toward the back. As he passed by the counter, Stephen nodded to the owner. “A pound of your best pork sausages please, my good man.”
At the rear of the shop, he let go of Lisandro’s arm. “Sorry. I had to do that. Couldn’t have you wandering any farther down the street. Our friend just walked in the front door of number nine.”
Relief washed over him. Finally, they had something solid to work with, to build their hopes upon. If they had located where Maria was being held, the chances of being able to successfully rescue her had suddenly risen.
The thud of the butcher’s cleaver cutting through meat and then hitting the wooden block interrupted their conversation. Without batting an eyelid, Stephen pointed to a tray of pork pies which sat on the nearby counter. “Oh, and can we have a half dozen of the pies? They look good.”
Lisandro wasn’t the least bit interested in the pies; he wanted to know what they were going to do about Maria. He forced himself to take a slow, deep breath and calm down. This wasn’t his first time dealing with a complicated situation. One couldn’t just rush into action.
“We need to get around into the next street or the rear laneway and see what the back of the house looks like,” he said.
“Yes. But first, we need to do some homework about the address itself. Who owns it, and who is currently living there? That information will give us options as to how we go about securing Maria’s release. It may also provide vital information regarding the people behind her abduction. There are plenty of places in Spain, Portugal, or even France where they could have taken her. I still can’t get my head around why they chose England,” replied Stephen.
Lisandro had worked that question over and over in his mind. The fact that the kidnappers had taken Maria far away worried him greatly. Being the enemy of Don Elizondo meant he didn’t have an insight into the Duke of Villabona’s life or who, outside of his family, might hold a grudge against him. But one thing was universal—powerful men tended to make powerful enemies.
The butcher came around to the front of the counter, the meat wrapped in newspaper. Stephen dug into his pocket and pulled out some coins. He gave them to the man who counted out the required money, then handed the change back along with the parcel. They hurried out of the shop.
After crossing over Queen Anne Street, Stephen led Lisandro into a narrow laneway, then turned left. He stopped, ripped open the top of the butcher’s paper, and pulled out a sausage.
“You are not going to eat raw meat, are you?” asked Lisandro.
Stephen raised an eyebrow. “No, but experience tells me that if they are any sort of self-respecting criminals, they will have a guard dog.”
Lisandro grinned. Trust Stephen to be always thinking ahead.
At the rear of number nine, Lisandro bent and cupped his hands. Stephen placed his boot in the ready-made step and grabbed a hold of the fence with one hand while Lisandro lifted.
Lisandro groaned. His friend was no lightweight.
“You have been eating too many pork pies,” he said, through gritted teeth.
“Stop complaining. Now hold still a moment,” whispered Stephen.
Lisandro sucked in a breath and prayed that his knees would forgive him.A trickle of sweat slid down his back.
The low, threatening growl of a dog came from the yard, and he immediately fell silent. The last thing either of them wanted was for the animal to start barking.
Stephen whistled, then cooed softly. “Here, boy. I have a lovely sausage for you.”
Crouched as he was, Lisandro couldn’t see anything that was happening on the other side of the fence but snuffling and the wet sound of a sausage being gulped soon drifted to his ears.
“Good dog. Now you stay quiet and you will get another sausage.”
A welcome tap on his shoulder had Lisandro lowering his hands, and Stephen stepping away. Lisandro shook out his fingers as they walked back toward the street.
“You were right about the dog,” he said.
“Of course, I was. Though it’s only an old bulldog. From the way it swallowed those sausages down almost whole, I would say it is missing quite a few teeth. Oh, and it’s only got three legs,” replied Stephen.
