All Men Are Rogues

by Sari Robins

  Approaching the cell, he assumed the snarl he saved for ordering men about. Nodding to Jako, who was sitting in a chair by the end of the hall, he growled, “Any trouble?”

  The muscle man shook his shaggy head. “Naw a bit. Ate not a thing but drank the lot. I’da thought he’da given me some excitement, given the bloke was supposed to be some sorta spy. But he was like a pup just waitin’ to be fed.”

  Helderby felt a swell of smugness that he’d managed to conquer the mighty Sullivan. Well, Helderby had shown him who was boss, and old Sullivan was not about to forget it. Nor was the colonel, from the bottom of the bloody Thames. Helderby still recalled his own shock when he’d pressed the trigger and killed the man who’d been leading him about by the nose for years. Well, Helderby was tired of taking orders and didn’t need some dying old man telling him what to do. He was smart enough to get the necklace on his own and enjoy all of the take for his fast thinking and slippery fingers.

  He inserted the iron key in the recently installed lock and almost snorted at the extra precautions they’d taken for this past-his-prime spy. Still, he entered the room tense and wary, ready for anything.

  The foxy stench of feces and blood assaulted his senses and he smiled; those odors translated into money for Helderby. In the sliver of fading daylight, he discerned the lifeless clod lying on the cot, facing the wall, just as he’d been the last time Helderby had been to visit three days before. Not taking any chances, he inched closer while yanking his trusty knife from his sheath.

  “Sullivan! Wake up! Yer ransom’s about t’be paid.”

  The man didn’t move. A flush of anxiety lanced through Helderby’s gut, as he feared the bugger might be dead. He sniffed, anticipating the stench of death, but perhaps the man was not yet ripe. Helderby wondered if the Amherst chit would know the difference.

  “Damn it all to hell,” he grumbled, stepping nearer and jabbing the man’s shoulder with the sturdy hilt of his blade. Sullivan didn’t move a hair. Helderby peered over the bloke’s shoulder and shouted, “Sullivan, man! Yer about t’be freed. Wake up, man!”

  Still he did not move.

  So Helderby rolled the man onto his back and stared at his lifeless face, cursing the rotter for being so blastedly weak. Then his eyes widened at the wrenching pierce of his own dagger being thrust deep into his belly. Only when the knife took a vicious twist in his gut did he scream. The bloke was on him faster than a whip, stuffing a pillow over his head and sweeping his feet right out from under him, toppling him down onto the wooden boards.

  Sully pressed his whole weight onto the pillow, smothering Helderby’s screams. He knew the guards would hear the scuffle inside the small chamber and the hammering of Helderby’s boots as he thrashed about on the floor. Yet Sully was willing to take his chances against any of the muscle men, so long as the first of the three traitors bled himself to death. Despite his vengeful fantasies, Sully couldn’t afford to give the henchman his due and would deliver the oaf a swift justice. Perhaps Wheaton and the marquis would provide a greater sense of retribution. Still, death was death, always a nasty business.

  As Helderby kicked and thrashed on the floor, his powerful muscles flailing about to find purchase, Sullivan yanked back the pillow and with exacting precision quickly gouged holes in Helderby’s neck and groin. Despite his hulking size, it would take the foul beast mere minutes to die.

  The stink of blood, sweat, and urine pierced Sully’s clogged nose, and he felt little satisfaction in knowing the bugger had sullied himself in his last moments. The writhing slowed and the screams deadened to pitiful moans. Without looking too closely, Sully leaned forward and gave the final death thrust.

  He stepped away from the still-twitching corpse to stand beside the door, his aching back pressed hard against the scratched wall. His heart was pounding, his every breath a harsh burn, but he was ready to escape this hellhole, and he was not about to let Evelyn hand anyone that blasted necklace.

  Sully raised the bloodied knife and waited, stance wide, for leverage as the wooden door eased open with a piercing squeak. He lunged just as a shape entered the room; he grabbed the man’s arm and flung him over Helderby’s lifeless form. He then swung himself to face the open doorway, ready for the next attacker. The threshold was glaringly empty.

  He whipped around, warily facing his lone assailant. Despite the blackened eye, tousled hair, unshaven whiskers, and rumpled clothes, the man had the same insolent grace as his father. “What the hell are you doing here, Angel?”

  “Rescuing you.” With a grimace Angel shoved himself off Helderby’s corpse and straightened his sleeves. “But I see you’re doing fine on your own.”

  “How did you find me?” Sully asked, cautiously scanning down each side of the corridor.

  While checking Helderby’s body for weapons, Angel stated, “Actually, I’ve been a guest of this fine establishment myself. Locked up downstairs. When they came to get me tonight, I decided to make my own exit.”

  “What about Evelyn? Was she captured as well?”

  Angel yanked a pistol from Helderby’s pocket and checked the sights. “She was taken, but apparently is now free.”

  “How could you have been so careless?”

  “I made the mistake of trusting Barclay.”

  Sully stared hard at the young Spaniard. “Don’t get any ideas about settling the score with that pretty sod, he’s mine.”

  “I’ll queue up right behind you. I’ve no love lost for the bastard.”

  As the men cautiously slipped out the door and down the hallway, Angel whispered, “Helderby was set to meet Evelyn at dawn at the park off Portman Square. She was going to barter something for our lives.”

  “Not if I can bloody help it,” Sully muttered. “Where’s Wheaton?”

  “Dead.”

  Sully sniffed. “Two finished, one to go.” He peered down the shallow wooden stairs. “How do you know so much?”

  “I gave my guard an offer he couldn’t refuse; information in return for his life. That and he was to grab his friends and take off. I was very convincing.”

  Sully eyed the promising youth, who had grown into a remarkable young man. “I’m sure you were. Do you know where we are?”

  “Clueless. But we have to be near enough to Portman Square for Helderby to have had us there by dawn.”

  Sully raised the bloodied blade as he headed down the wooden stairs. “Let’s move along then: I have a score to settle, and I’m growing tired of waiting for Barclay to come to me.”

  Angel let Sully lead as they slipped down the darkened stairway and across the main room without encountering a single assailant. As he warily watched every doorway, Angel was proud to guard the older man’s back. Sully had been his boyhood hero, a man who was so loyal to the Amhersts that he would follow them to Hades, yet who always kept his own counsel and his sense of independence.

  As they tiptoed to the rear door, the scent of ale and cheese filled the small kitchen. A cook’s knife lay beside a hunk of cheese and loaf of bread on the table. A small wooden stool had been toppled over on the floor. The back door swung open in the evening breeze.

  “This is too bloody easy,” Sully commented suspiciously, inching toward the exit.

  Pressing his back to the still-warm cooker, Angel peeked out the threshold and then cautiously followed.

  Outside, a tall, lithe figure slipped out of the shadows of a large tree and stepped into their path, his body cloaked head to toe in black. He moved with a fighter’s efficient grace as he blocked the threshold.

  “Sully?”

  “Ismet.” Sully stepped closer and squeezed the man’s shoulder. “Any more out front?”

  The Turk shook his head. “Another came out and they took off.”

  “How the hell did you find us?” Respect imbued Angel’s voice.

  “I’m sorry it took so long. Only when Wheaton was dead did I trail Helderby. I wanted to slit his throat but feared that if I did, I’d never find you. So I wa
ited and tonight he led me here.”

  “Good thinking, Ismet.” Sully nodded. “You did it by the book.”

  “Make sure to give me a copy when this is all said and done,” Angel commented.

  “Let’s be off.” Sully swept toward the door. “I’m anxious for my appointment with the pretty marquis.”

  As Sully crossed the threshold, Ismet laid a hand on his arm. “Miss Evelyn is with him.”

  Angel froze, and Sully looked up at the tall Turk. “What do you mean, with?”

  “She stays with him in his home.”

  “What the bloody hell is she thinking!” Sully growled.

  “She’s not,” Angel countered, scratching his chin. “Unless…”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless she is as much a prisoner as we. Granted, in a gilded cage.”

  Sully shook his head. “But if she has whatever it is he wants, then why is she giving it to Helderby in exchange for us?”

  “Dissention among the ranks?” Angel offered.

  Sully brushed off Ismet’s hand and stomped out the door. “I don’t give a bloody fig what’s happening within his foul gang, I just want him dead. We can sort out the bloody details later.”

  Angel hid his surprise. Sully had always been the one to analyze things before cautiously making a move. Still, he was older and wiser and Angel would follow his lead, even if it led down a hazardous path.

  Chapter 33

  The sun hovered on the brink of morning as glittering, golden-orange rays peeked from behind the London rooftops. Leaves rippled in a breeze that carried little relief from the stench of the grubby London streets.

  Evelyn waited on the edge of the dew-drenched grass, nervous energy causing her to shift from foot to foot on the path of the shrub-bordered park. The gravel crunched noisily under her dog-eared kid slippers, but she was too edgy to stop. There was enough sunlight to discern the dew pebbled on the leaves of the tree branch hanging over her head, yet it was still not bright enough to see the entrance to the park in the gloom-shrouded dawn.

  “All will be well, my dear,” Sir Devane commented from his perch on the bench behind her. He puffed negligently on a thin cigar, the smoke billowing in small clouds around his skeletal face. Although his hunched form was unmoving, those canny hazel eyes scanned the environs with ceaseless activity.

  Evelyn, on the other hand, was finding it hard to stay in one place. She kept leaning forward, trying to get a better view of the corner of the lane where Helderby was set to turn up. With Justin waiting faithfully at the meeting place, she wished the only things Helderby would be turning up were his toes.

  Her heart skipped a beat every time she dwelled on the fact that Justin was risking his life for her friends yet again. “Justin should not be alone,” she muttered.

  “For the hundredth time, my dear girl,” Sir Devane chided kindly, “he is not alone. The two Bow Street Runners are with him, and I have men set about the entire perimeter of the park. Helderby was a fool to accept our rendezvous point. A lesson that will cost him dearly.”

  Evelyn fingered the handle of the pistol in her pocket, fear making her mouth as dry as dust. “It’s still too risky.”

  With a slight groan, Devane awkwardly shifted in the seat and adjusted his gold-topped cane. “I know you wish you were with him, but you would only distract him. He would be too concerned about your safety to have a care for his own.”

  “He’d better have a care for his own or I’ll kill him.”

  Birds twittered overhead and a rabbit hopped from behind a bush, the sudden movement causing Evelyn to catch her breath. She pressed her hand to her racing heart. “A lot of good I’m doing waiting over here, even a bunny makes me jump. At least there I’ll be wary enough to keep lookout.”

  “You remind me quite a bit of your father, you know.”

  She turned to stare at the weathered old gent, thankful for the distraction. “How so?”

  “He was never one to leave business to others. He preferred to leap into the fray and give it his best shot, whether or not he was the right man for the job.”

  “But things usually turned out well for him, did they not?”

  “He was the best darned agent I had in all my years. He and Wheaton.”

  Evelyn crossed her arms and hugged herself. “Justin told me how you grieve him, but he was a viper.”

  He sighed. “I grieve the fact that a good man twisted into such a fiend.”

  Horses’ hooves clattered, and a harness jingled in the distance.

  Evelyn hopped onto the bench for a better view of the entrance to the park. “A black coach. One driver. His face is covered.”

  With swiftness that belied his age, the elderly gent dropped his cigar, grabbed his cane, and stood. “Let the games begin.”

  Evelyn glared down at him. “This is not a bloody game! Lives are at stake! I’m tired of the unnecessary bloodletting, the endless stratagems. This is life and it’s meant to be lived by a code other than kill or be killed!”

  “You are right, of course.” He adjusted the top of his cane. “But for the moment, kill or be killed is an appropriate tactic.”

  He held his hand out, and she took it and stepped down. Soundlessly they moved behind the large oak near the bench and paused. The rhythmic sounds of hooves grew louder as the carriage veered down the adjacent path, heading toward the open square, where Justin waited.

  Evelyn dropped Sir Devane’s hand. “I’m sorry, sir, despite my promise, I cannot skulk here like a useless dump while everyone I love is at risk.” She lifted her skirts and raced toward the corner of the lane.

  Her heart contracted at the sight before her eyes. Sully jumped out from the coach, Angel close behind. Sully was badly bruised and battered, but he was alive and whole. She wanted to scream for joy. Angel looked none the worse for wear besides a blackened eye and his usually impeccable clothes rumpled and torn.

  Before she could shout her welcome, Angel raised his pistol and shot Mr. Montag in the shoulder, sending the Bow Street Runner flying backwards in a spray of gravel.

  “No!” she screamed.

  Sully swung a bloodied blade with deadly efficiency, cutting down Mr. Clontz, who dropped with a cry to the dirt.

  “Arolas, what the hell are you doing?” Justin shouted, barely swerving out from under a deadly thrust of Sully’s vicious blade. Angel tossed aside the pistol and whipped a knife out from under his rumpled coat.

  Her dearest friends circled her lover, the mad gleam of hatred glittering in their determined eyes. Evelyn ran in between the combatants, but Sully shoved her aside. “Get the hell out of here!”

  “Stop this at once!” she cried.

  She raced back into the fray, but it was Justin this time who pushed her away. He watched the men warily, a knife in his hand. “Go back to Devane, Evelyn!”

  Sully hesitated. “Devane’s here?”

  Evelyn saw her opening. She grabbed Sully’s fighting arm and yanked down hard, trusting that Sully would not hurt her. “Devane helped set the trap for Helderby!” Thankfully Sully did not shove her away, but the muscles under her hands were knotted with tension, the knife gleaming wickedly with dried blood. “Where is Helderby?”

  “Dead,” came Sully’s stark reply as he shook her off and swiped at Justin. Angel circled around to Justin’s opposite side, forcing him into a close confrontation. Sully’s deadly blade sliced with a hiss; Justin deflected the blow, but Angel flicked his blade, cutting a long line of blood across Justin’s cheek.

  Evelyn threw herself in front of Justin, praying they would not slice through her to get to him. “Stop it! It’s over!”

  “Get off me, Evelyn! I can’t fight like this!”

  “Fancy that, being protected by a woman,” Angel sneered, trying to grab Evelyn’s arm. She kicked him in the knee, and he cursed. Sully yanked at her shoulder, but she held on to Justin with all her might. They moved back, seemingly setting up for another pass.

  “You’ll ha
ve to get through me!” she shouted.

  Seemingly out of nowhere, a thin, cool blade hovered near her eye. She froze, rancid fear tearing the breath from her throat. If she moved a hair’s breadth, she would be blinded.

  “I’ve seen many family squabbles, but this one’s a first.” Devane’s craggy voice pierced her consciousness, but she could not tear her eyes from the pointy tip of the long blade.

  “Put it down, Devane,” Sully ordered, his voice catching.

  The sun’s golden rays gleamed off the edge of the blade, making her eyes water. Evelyn swallowed, fear and shocked confusion lancing through her veins, making the blood pound like foghorns in her ears.

  “What are you doing, Devane?” Justin asked stiffly. Evelyn could feel his heart hammering against her back.

  “Doesn’t anyone know how to follow a plan?” came Señor Arolas’s deep baritone from somewhere on the left. Gravel crunched as he stepped closer, but Evelyn did not dare turn her head. “I do hope you don’t intend to slice into Evelyn’s eye, Devane. I would not take it kindly.”

  “Tell your son to drop his weapon, Señor, we are all going to have a chat,” Devane stated coolly. Beside the slight sounds of shifting in the gravel, no one seemed to be following instructions. Bile threatened to rise in her throat, and Evelyn willed herself to be calm. Devane was a docile old man, wasn’t he? And he was supposed to be on their side.

  “What is the one thing you men have in common?” the elder gent asked nonchalantly.

  “Me?” Evelyn squeaked.

  “My dear girl, you’re sharp, just like your father. So if I imperil you, it forces the men to stop and listen.” His voice hardened. “Sit down and drop your weapons. You too, in the coach.”

  “Do what the man says,” Señor Arolas ordered.

  Weapons immediately clattered onto the gravel. Evelyn almost sighed with relief. She heard multiple shiftings in the tiny pebbles and assumed that everyone was following Devane’s orders. She was thankful, yet that pointy blade still hovered near her eyelid, so close she was afraid to blink for fear it’d catch.