by Rebecca King
“I am not going to do it,” Marguerite snapped. She glared at the magistrate. “How dare you turn against the king and country like this? You are a magistrate yet are in collaboration with a criminal. I will have you struck off for this. I shall make sure everyone in the War Office knows how treacherous you are. You should never be allowed in a position of authority. Why, you are nothing but a crook yourself.”
“Shut up, Marguerite,” Sayers snapped.
“Shut up, yourself,” she replied pertly. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. I am not going to marry you no matter what you threaten me with.”
To her utter horror, Sayers lifted his cane, he pressed a small button on the handle, and slowly slid the sheath off the wicked looking, and very long, blade. It sparkled in the firelight and was icy cold when pressed against the delicate flesh of her throat.
“Say the words or die where you stand,” Sayers snarled.
Marguerite looked at him down the length of the blade. She knew he meant every word. She looked at the magistrate, who appeared sickened and completely terrified. She knew she would get no help from that quarter. The man was a weak and pathetic creature who deserved nothing but contempt.
Suddenly, something changed within Marguerite. She had no idea what it was, but the magistrate’s demeanour created an anger within her that made her reckless. As a result, she was deeply, cold bloodedly livid, and completely removed from the life and death risk she was about to take.
“Go to Hell,” she snapped. “I would rather die than marry you.”
She saw something flicker in the depths of Sayers’ eyes but couldn’t say what it was. Whatever it was made him hesitate because, rather than swipe the blade across her throat as she expected, he lifted a brow and merely pressed it deeper. She felt the sharp sting of pain, and the warm trickle of blood slide down her cleavage, but she refused to budge. Instead, she kept her gaze locked with his. While her fingers fumbled for something on the table she could use, she found a small object that was hard and heavy. It would do. The magistrate, openly sweating now, didn’t move or take his eyes off the blood the blade was drawing. He, therefore, didn’t see what Marguerite was picking up until she threw the ink pot into Sayers’ face. At the same time, she ducked away from the blade and swiped something else off the table to throw at the man.
Sayers didn’t see the book aimed at his head because he was too busy wiping ink out of his eyes. His curse was loud when it struck his temple. Pleased with her results, Marguerite threw another book at him, along with two scrolls, and a pot of pens. Then, while his attention was diverted, she picked up the cane’s blade and pointed it at him, unaware of the candle she had knocked over in her haste to find a make-shift weapon.
“If you know what is good for you, you will stay where you are,” she snarled.
In that moment, the click of the door behind her drew her attention. She looked over at the doorway and almost wept with relief to see Joe. He was battered and bruised but at least he was still alive.
Joe studied the chaos of the room, the stunned magistrate, and Sayers, but couldn’t tell from their faces if he was already too late. He levelled a glare on Sayers that was pure evil, so much so that he took a cautious step back.
“Have you married him, Marguerite?” he demanded. “Did you?”
“No, I wouldn’t. Never,” she assured him.
Joe studied the blood on her neck and swore, but turned his attention to the man now crouching on the floor, one hand on the pocket of his cloak.
“Touch it and I will shoot,” he snarled.
Sayers froze. Joe knew from the look on his face that the crook was furious, but he didn’t argue.
“Get out of here,” Joe ordered Marguerite as she skirted around the crook and raced toward him.
He shoved her out of the room behind him, seconds before Sayers’ first shot splintered the doorframe beside Joe’s head. Joe slammed the door closed and knew they had precious moments before the coachman would be upon them. Shoving her roughly toward the back of the house, he ushered her out of the back door and down the alley that led to the main street.
“We need to keep moving,” Joe murmured.
“No,” Marguerite snapped. “We need to follow him.”
Joe snorted at that. “There is no earthly possibility I am ever going to allow you to go near that man again.”
To Marguerite’s amazement, he hauled her against him and kissed her. Unlike any of the kisses they had shared before, this was a branding. There was no gentle persuasion of the lips. This was hard, heavy, and commanding. It left her in no doubt that he wanted her in the rawest way possible, and would deal with any qualms she might have about their union in good time. It left her in little doubt that there would eventually be a union.
When he released her, Marguerite stood perfectly still and absorbed the wild rush of giddy delight that swept through her. In spite of the danger surrounding them, she grinned at him. It lit her face up in a way that made him blink in amazement. He smiled back. He then began to pepper kisses down her neck. She nuzzled against him, revelling in this new, and entirely unexpected, connection they shared. They didn’t have long, just a few seconds, but they made the most of it. It was the confirmation both of them needed that they weren’t alone in riding this rolling wave of romantic confusion which left them wary, yet happy, and unable to resist temptation.
Marguerite couldn’t be happier but knew that there were many obstacles they had to overcome before they could truly learn about each other. Right now, they had to find Joe’s friends and her father.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“That is his carriage, isn’t it?” she whispered when the sound of rumbling wheels broke them apart. They both turned to watch Sayers carriage turn out of the road away from them.
Joe nodded. “I am afraid so.”
The faint smell of smoke began to filter through the night air. Joe suspected that the magistrate’s house was ablaze by now. But if the man lost his home, it didn’t really matter because he was going to spend the rest of his life behind bars.
“Where is he going?” she asked only to find herself nearly yanked off her feet by the tight hold Joe had on her wrist when she went to follow the carriage.
“We can’t go after him,” Joe said firmly.
“Yes, we can,” Marguerite snorted. “Think about it. He hasn’t succeeded-again. He has to go back either to Marcus, or Ben, or my father now. It is highly unlikely he is just going to go home don’t you think?”
While he wanted to go after Sayers, he didn’t want Marguerite in any more danger. The crook was going to be angry now and would be even more ruthless.
“We can’t chase after it. I barely caught up with it last time and I am not encumbered with skirts like you are,” Joe reasoned.
“Then hail a carriage.”
Joe sighed when Marguerite raced to the opposite end of the road and spoke to the driver of a carriage for hire that was passing. Joe watched the man nod and then trot his horse down the road toward him.
“Damn it,” he grumbled.
Was there nothing this woman wouldn’t do? He mused, horrified and delighted at the same time.
“Come on, let’s go,” Marguerite ordered from within the darkened interior. Her face was wreathed in a cheeky smile that made his lips twitch.
Sighing deeply, Joe clambered aboard, impressed in spite of himself, and settled back to hold her while the coachman followed the black carriage.
“Where are we?” Marguerite whispered when they had stopped at the end of a road in what appeared to be a warehouse district half an hour later.
“The docks,” Joe sighed. “Sayers is nothing if not a creature of habit. His father worked on the docks when he was a free man. I am sure someone like Sayers knows this are like the back of his hand. I wouldn’t be surprised if he owns a few of these warehouses now. He certainly owns that one from the look of it.”
He nodded to the dilapidated hulk the carriage pulled to a
stop outside of. He handed the carriage driver a heavy tip and told him to be quiet as he left before he nudged Marguerite into the shadows and watched Sayers sweep into the building.
“We need reinforcements,” Joe murmured. “If Marcus and Ben are in there, they will be heavily guarded. I cannot go in there alone.”
Marguerite shuddered. She had no argument with that. She hated the thought of Joe going in there at all but knew that this was a part of his job. If anybody could get in there, find out what, or who, was inside, and get back out again it would be Joe and his trustworthy colleagues.
“How do we find help? If we leave Sayers might be gone by the time we get back,” she whispered.
“We both need to go and take a chance on that. It isn’t all that important whether Sayers is here or not. What is important is what is in that warehouse,” Joe replied. “I need backup from at least one of my colleagues. Until we can find out what is in there, then we won’t know if it is worth raiding.”
“What do you mean?” Marguerite asked with a frown. “Isn’t it worth all of you going in, anyway?”
“Not if the warehouse is empty except for the men Sayers is keeping captive. It could be an empty warehouse. We will just give Sayers more information on how many men we have, and how we work if we storm the place to find nothing there. We need to be as quiet and circumspect as he is.”
“Quietly go in and out as though nothing is happening, you mean,” she murmured with a nod. “It is all very clandestine.”
Joe looked at her a little ruefully. “It is how we work, I am afraid. Things have a tendency to sneak up on you.” He smiled at her when he said that to make the point that this new burgeoning relationship between them had snuck up on him as well.
She smiled back, supremely pleased with herself. “So what do we do?”
“We do nothing except leave,” Joe replied. “We will go and see if anyone has found Reg yet.”
“Where is he?” she asked finally.
She hated to ask because she didn’t really want to know if he was dead, mortally wounded, or had vanished. Either was not good news. He was a traitor, and that was all he could be whether dead or alive.
“He was lying on the kitchen floor with a knife in him the last time I saw him. As far as I am concerned, I don’t care if he bleeds to death. He isn’t one of us now that is for sure.”
There wasn’t much she could say to that and so Marguerite lapsed into silence and followed him.
“Wait!” Joe whispered, hauling her into a darkened entrance of a dilapidated warehouse opposite. His gaze remained trained on a spot further down the road. He neither moved nor spoke for several long minutes. Marguerite was relieved she couldn’t see anything but his broad shoulders. She was starting to hate the dark. Suddenly, Joe whistled a strange rhythmic sound. She opened her mouth to speak but froze when a haunting whistle was turned.
Joe sent a prayer of thanks heavenward. He had no idea what had drawn his colleagues to this particular area but signalled to whoever was out there. He could only hope it wasn’t Reg who had answered.
Thankfully, Kerrigan appeared before him seconds later, followed by Jacob. Both men were in disguise, but Joe would recognise them anywhere.
“We followed Sayers’ right-hand man here,” Kerrigan murmured quietly.
“We lost him around these parts, though,” Jacob added, his frustration rife in his voice.
“I know where he is,” Joe replied. “We need to move fast.”
Joe briefly told them about Sayers warehouse.
“Where is it?” Kerrigan asked, glancing around them with a menacing scowl.
“Right here,” Joe replied, unable to hide his rather pleased smirk, especially when he watched Jacob’s brows go up.
“Is Sayers still there?” Kerrigan demanded urgently, his voice full of the hope he felt.
“Let’s go and take a look,” Joe suggested with relish.
Together they made their way back to their previous hiding place and stood in the shadows watching the warehouse.
“God, that is so old it is a miracle it is standing upright,” Kerrigan snorted in disgust when he saw it.
Marguerite didn’t quite know what to say. She had never felt so overwhelmed in her life. She should be at home in bed by now, the most exciting thing to have happened to her all day having burnt dinner. Now, she was standing on the docks, in the darkest and seediest part of London she had ever seen in her life, with three men who worked for the War Office, spying on a gangster.
Life doesn’t get any stranger than this, she mused.
If it hadn’t been for the steadying hold Joe had on her hand she would have run for her life all the way home, and not stopped until she was locked inside her bedroom and she was buried deeply beneath the covers. As it was, she had no choice but to go along with these men because she had no doubt that they would get her out of this, and back to somewhere safer, hopefully with her father. She hoped so in any case because she suspected the night was going to get a lot worse before it got better.
“I am ready when you are,” Kerrigan murmured, eager to be on his way now that they were there. They had gone through the plan as much as they could given that they didn’t know the layout of the building.
Joe saw Kerrigan studying Marguerite. He knew his friend was asking what she was going to do while they were gone. Sure enough, Kerrigan shook his head.
“I think one of us needs to stay here with Marguerite to keep watch while two of us go in there,” he murmured.
Marguerite opened her mouth to argue but knew it was for the best because she wouldn’t be able to climb anywhere in her dress. These men would be faster, and safer, going by themselves and she knew it. While she wanted to tell them she would be alright by herself she just wasn’t that strong, and couldn’t bring herself to say anything.
“She has to be closer to the building, though,” Joe murmured. “I don’t want her stuck over here by herself if anything happens.”
A little piqued at the way the men were talking around her, Marguerite glared at them.
“Well, seeing as Sayers is at the front of the building, I think we all need to go around the back and find another way in that is away from the road, don’t you?” she snapped pointedly.
Joe looked at her and grinned. His grin widened when Kerrigan looked suitably chastised, and Jacob shifted uncomfortably. He looked like a naughty boy who had just been told off.
“Let’s go,” Joe murmured before Marguerite could order them about some more.
Joe knew the next hour would be difficult but then nothing worthwhile ever was. If he could just block out the thought that Marguerite was going to be outside, without his protection for a few minutes, then he knew he would be able to concentrate on his job the way he was supposed to. As it was, he knew he was going to worry and fret until he was able to return to her side. It wasn’t even worth considering that he be the one to remain with her while Kerrigan and Jacob went in, though. He was the one who could pick a lock blindfolded, and Kerrigan and Jacob knew it. If there was any kind of lockable obstruction preventing them from either gaining entrance or doing anything once inside, Joe could pick it, Kerrigan and Jacob would have to smash their way through. Besides, Joe felt responsible for Marcus and Ben having been captured in the first place. His honour demanded he do everything within his power to rescue them.
“Let’s go.” He turned to Marguerite. “You must stay here and wait for me.”
Marguerite nodded. She was too terrified to argue.
“Please be safe,” she whispered.
Joe kissed her hard on the lips before he motioned to Jacob. Together the men scurried toward the building.
“Do you think they will be alright?” she whispered.
“I know they will be,” Jacob murmured.
Joe didn’t wait to see if Jacob was going to follow him. He kept one eye on the building as he skirted the perimeter and found a small window which overlooked the river. The glass had been h
alf broken. It was clear from the blackness within that the room within was uninhabited, but there was a shaft of light beneath the door on the opposite side of the room.
Hoisting himself onto the rotting wooden ledge, Joe removed the larger panes of glass and handed them to Kerrigan who placed them carefully on the ground. Once the window was open, Joe slithered through it and studied the room carefully while he waited for his colleague to join him. It was so deathly quiet that it was difficult to remember they were not alone and could be discovered at any moment.
They both made their way across the room. Joe slowly eased the door open and peered into the open space beyond. It was huge and contained very little except for several candles, packaging materials, including straw, paper, and boxes and, more importantly, three people. They were all tied to chairs. To his disgust, it was clear that all of them had been brutally beaten.
Joe’s gaze fell on his good friend, Marcus. His swollen face was almost unrecognisable from the rather all-too-handsome man he usually was. Instead, he was black and blue, with cut lips, a large cut above his right eye, and a swollen cheek beneath it. His left cheek also bore a large gash which had bled onto his usually pristine white shirt. It was shocking to see his colleague thus, but at least he was alive.
Ben was in no better shape. Having already been beaten out on the street, it appeared that Sayers had not taken pity on him and beaten him too. His face was so badly bruised that it was difficult to make out any distinguishing features.
The third man drew Joe’s interest. He knew immediately from the facial features still recognisable that this was Eustace, Marguerite’s father. It was immediately clear that whatever connection Eustace had with Sayers, it wasn’t a friendly one. Given his bruises, Eustace had yet to agree to whatever Sayers had asked him to do, including handing over Marguerite’s hand at their wedding.
That is a good enough reason for Sayers to need to get his hands on Marguerite and force a wedding anyway, Joe mused, intensely relieved that the man was innocent after all. Once Eustace realised his connection with Sayers was a permanent arrangement, Sayers had ultimate control over the man’s daughter, his house, his business, and ergo his entire life, Eustace would have no choice but to assist the thug. That means that Eustace has something Sayers needs, but what?