Page 107 of Murder on Black Swan Lane
“If you are going to explain that Lowell is going to kill Hawk whether I betray you to Griffin or not, I’ll save you the effort,” snapped Charlotte. “I’m not naïve.”
“He intends to do just that,” agreed the earl calmly. “But I intend to stop him.”
“Lowell is not as clever as we are,” added Sheffield with a show of bravado. However, he looked uncertain of how to go on.
Wrexford felt all eyes slide to him. He looked over at Raven, whose thin face was fast purpling with bruises, and thought of the boy’s younger brother being used as a pawn in this devilish game.
“Kit is right,” he said slowly. “Lowell is not as clever as we are.”
* * *
The burst of emotion had left Charlotte feeling utterly drained. She stood numbly as the earl barked out a series of orders.
“Kit, return to my town house and find a way to have Tyler give you the remaining sample of Lowell’s explosive without Griffin knowing about it. Have him make up a package of these chemicals too.” He grabbed a pencil and paper from Charlotte’s desk and scribbled a list.
She couldn’t seem to make her limbs move. A sense of helplessness had taken hold of her. Even the mere act of breathing was difficult.
“The Runner may try to have someone follow you,” Wrexford added. “So it would be best if you meet up with Henning, who’s more experienced in how to lose someone in the stews.” To Henning, he added, “Rendezvous with Kit in Bloomsbury Square. Use the maze of alleyways around the Foundlings Hospital to shake off any surveillance, then bring the chemicals here as quickly as possible.”
“What for?” asked the surgeon.
“They might come in handy,” replied Wrexford. “It’s always wise to meet an enemy armed with equal firepower. And in this case, surprise may add an advantage.”
“What about me?” demanded Sheffield. “I’ll be damned if I let you fight this battle without me.”
The earl hesitated. “Go to White’s after you leave Henning and wait for an hour, then slip out one of the back entrances you use to avoid creditors. Make your way back here carefully—but I swear, I’ll cut off your bollocks if Bow Street shows up right behind you to disrupt our plans.”
“How are you—” began Sheffield.
“Go!” commanded the earl.
As his two friends hurried off, he turned to Charlotte. “Mrs. Sloane.”
His sharp tone snapped whatever force was holding her in thrall. She started for Raven, but he caught her arm, none too gently. “Things will likely get worse. You can’t afford to surrender to fear.”
The momentary pain set a welcome frisson of angry heat pulsing through her blood. Better fire than ice. “I don’t frighten easily, Lord Wrexford.” Would to God that remained true. “And I’ve never shied away from a fight.”
“Good.” He released her. “Ready the bed. I’ll carry the lad upstairs.”
Once Raven was settled under the covers, Charlotte drew a chair to the bedside and took hold of the boy’s hand. He had lapsed into a fitful doze, his breathing shallow but regular.
“Don’t fret. He’ll be fine.” To her surprise, the earl took a seat on the edge of the thin mattress and stretched out his legs. “Lads his age are shockingly resilient. Bumps and bruises are a badge of honor. Blood or a broken limb is even better.”
“You speak from experience?”
“Unlike Athena, I did not step fully formed and wearing a set of battle armor from Zeus’s forehead,” he replied dryly.
Charlotte smoothed a tangle of matted hair from Raven’s brow. How was it that the lads and dirt were such kindred souls? She tried to keep them tidy.
She tried to keep them safe.
Wrexford was looking around the small room, and for a moment she was embarrassed that he was privy to the humble state of her most intimate space. A simple dressing table, a battered chest of drawers, a rag rug, rather the worse for wear. But she quickly pushed aside such thoughts. There was no place for pride between them. All that mattered was Hawk.
“How are we going to find Lowell’s lair?” she asked softly.
His gaze swung back to her. “By thinking very carefully about the tiny clues that will lead us to his door.” He shifted slightly, the wool of his trousers whispering over the thick-spun cotton bedcovering. “You are very good at details, Mrs. Sloane. You notice things other people miss.”
A burble of panic rose in her throat. “Yes, I am good but I am not infallible, sir! Do you think I haven’t been wracking my brain for an answer to your question? I’ve tried, and I can’t recall anything that might hint at where Anthony had been working.”
