After she shot a final wary glance at Leary, she took in the other men. The one standing wasn’t feeding the third after all. He was applying makeup of some kind. Her muscles tensed as she watched. The act seemed so familiar, but she couldn’t yet understand what it meant.
Finally, the man who was seated got to his feet and slowly turned. Emily jolted back, covering her mouth to keep a gasp from escaping her lips. His face looked exactly like the Prince Regent’s. If not for his smaller build, she would have thought him to be the very man.
The one assisting the false Prince slung a bulky suit of some kind over his arms and began to lace it in the back. A suit to make the imposter appear heavy and soft like George IV was. Under clothing, it would be the perfect disguise. And suddenly everything clicked in Emily’s mind.
She had unwittingly uncovered a plot against the Regent.
“Hey!”
Leary straightened up from the mantel and threw the tumbler in his hand right at the door toward her. Emily barely dove out of the way as glass smashed into the wall behind her, sending shards of cheap crystal raining down over her.
She couldn’t help but scream. Her body froze, her training forgotten as she flashed back to the explosion of the gun that had cut her down half a year ago.
Then Leary’s harsh voice echoed through her fog, “The whore! She seen! Get her!”
Emily fought the urge to curl into a ball. She had to run. Rolling from her crouched position on the floor, she shoved to her feet and bolted down the hall.
Grant took a swig of the cheap whiskey that had been poured for him and swore. The taste was bad enough, but it was his frustration that truly caused the curse.
He knew the carriage that had pulled away from The Blue Pony was Emily’s. He was certain of it! Yet he had searched the entire establishment from cellar to top floor and found no trace of her. He’d even gone so far as to ask a few of his more trusted contacts around the hall, but none had seen a woman matching her description.
So where had she gone? Had she departed her carriage at another destination when Grant and his driver lost her momentarily in the streets? Had she not gone into The Blue Pony at all, but another of the worn-down buildings nearby?
There was no way to know. All he could do was sit here in the main room of the hell, drinking bad whiskey like a damn fool. He got to his feet and tossed a few coins on the bar before he turned toward the door. There was no use staying any longer. Emily wasn’t here. He would have to regroup and go back to her home to see if she’d returned. Later he could figure out where the hell she had gone.
He moved all of two steps toward the door when a woman burst from the back hallway and darted through the thinning crowd in an amazing show of agility and athleticism. Grant took a step toward her on instinct, watching as she peered over her shoulder. He tracked her line of vision to see two men come barreling out of the hallway behind her, shouting curses and waving their hands.
Fights and even shootings were a common occurrence at The Blue Pony. Most of the patrons didn’t even look up from their gin as the woman continued to bolt through the main room as if the demons of hell itself were upon her.
And when Grant got a good look at the man in the lead of the pursuit, he realized at least one of them was as close to a demon as a man could get.
Cullen Leary.
Grant’s blood nearly froze at the sight of the massive Seven Dials thug smashing across the large room like a monster freed from a nightmare.
The last time Grant had seen him was almost a year ago, on that dark, horrible night he had tried to forget every moment since. Leary’s face had haunted his dreams, along with other images that turned his stomach.
And now, there he was, chasing a woman with the intent to kill slashed across his face as surely as his scar. Grant didn’t think about what he was going to do. He didn’t plan it. He just stepped into the woman’s path and let her smash into his chest. Her gaze darted up, as blue as the sea…and somehow familiar, though he was certain he’d never met the flame-haired woman before.
She ducked her head, dodging his gaze. “Oh, sir! Please, you’ve got to help me, sir! Will you help me get away from them thugs?”
Grant knew he wasn’t acquainted with her now. He’d surely remember that heavy accent and husky tone of voice. It seemed to coil into his chest and squeeze.
“Please, won’t you take me away?”
Normally Grant would have thought her request a ruse meant to separate men like him from their pocketbooks. He’d seen women of the streets use it before. Pretend to be in peril, then take advantage of their rescuers. But since it was Leary coming through the room after her, with death in his eyes, Grant was more apt to believe that she was truly in danger.
“I’ll help you, girl,” he said as he shoved her behind him.
She caught his elbow with a surprisingly strong grip and tugged. “Come on, then! We can escape if we run!”
Grant smiled as he swept up the nearest bar stool and swung it up in front of him. He had no damn intention of running. Not tonight. Leary’s eyes met his and a cold, dangerous sneer curled up his scarred lip.
“Want to pick on a woman, you coward?” Grant growled as he began his charge against the bigger man. “Why don’t you try someone your own size?”
Chapter 6
Emily watched in stunned horror as Grant lifted the heavy chair over his head and swung it toward Cullen Leary’s shoulders. The wood splintered over Leary’s massive body, but the man’s only reaction was a grunt. His face hardly registered any pain.
That didn’t seem to deter Grant as he pulled back and connected against Leary’s jaw with a powerful right hook. To her surprise, the punch actually rocked Leary back and elicited a cheer from the crowd who had parted from their cards to watch the famed prizefighter brawl with a man who looked every inch a gentleman.
What the hell was Grant thinking? Leary was a beast, a monster who had killed two men in the ring and who knew how many more outside of it. Grant had to be aware of that fact if he was frequenting hells like The Blue Pony, even if he didn’t know that Leary was a villain in other ways. Was he actually courting death?
It seemed so as he threw another punch. This time, Leary was in a boxer’s stance, crouched low, bobbing and weaving. He dodged Grant’s blow and threw his own. Grant ducked as skillfully as any trained fighter, but Leary’s knuckles still grazed his ribs and sent Grant flying backward toward her.
This was her chance. She had to get Grant out of here before he was killed. Before Leary remembered she was his true target. If he got ahold of her, she would be unmasked…and that would be the least of her troubles.
“Please, sir, please! Before we can’t get out!” She yanked Grant to his feet and tugged him toward the door.
There was a moment of hesitation, like he wanted to finish the fight, no matter how outmatched he was. But then Grant grabbed her hand and ran with only a backward glance over his shoulder. Within seconds, the crowd turned ugly. The drunken men and women booed, throwing bottles as the two of them made their escape.
The cold air slapped Emily’s face and tightened her already painful lungs, making drawing air all the more difficult. Her side ached with a twinge of leftover pain from her attack six months before. It was a bitter reminder of how she had panicked earlier. She winced as she recalled how overwhelmed she’d been in the hallway.
“Come,” Grant said, keeping hold of her hand as he hurried them along the broken sidewalk.
She clung tight to him, allowing herself a very brief moment of comfort from his presence as she subtly rubbed her scar through her gown.
Comfort? No. She was the protector here. Shaking away those feelings, she watched Grant. He didn’t seem to be phased by anything that had happened as he maneuvered them to a side alley where his coach was waiting.
This rescue of his was the perfect opportunity to uncover more about the threats against him if she stuck to her role. And a painted-up woman of the night would
be shocked by what she saw before her.
“Lor!” she said on a low whistle. “Did you steal that rig?”
Grant’s mouth set in a thin line as he yanked open the door and surprised her by shoving her inside. Why was he taking her with him?
“No,” he said. “It’s not stolen.”
“So that symbol on the side is yours?” she asked as he pulled the door shut and pounded for his driver to go. Darkness enveloped them and she breathed a sigh of relief. He wouldn’t recognize her now. She had a few blessed moments to plot her escape.
“Yes.”
“What the hell is a rich man like you, with a title to boot, doin’ down here by Newgate? Don’t you know The Blue Pony ain’t safe?”
She leaned forward, hoping for an answer. Sometimes men confessed their souls to women like the one she was portraying. If she could get some insight into Grant’s dealings, any tidbit at all, it would almost be worth seeing him lose control in the gaming hall.
Almost.
“You’ve got a lot of questions,” he muttered and she heard him reaching around in his coat.
Suddenly there was a flash of flint and he lit a cigar. For the brief moment the flame blazed up, Emily saw the haggard expression on his face. The look seemed to wrap itself around her heart and squeeze until her whole chest hurt. How she wanted to understand that look of pain. Take it away. And she knew full well that had nothing to do with her case.
“I’ve got one for you, miss,” he continued as he puffed the cigar.
She tensed. “I don’t like questions.”
“Neither do I. What’s your name?”
Panic clawed at Emily, but she forced it away. She’d been in far worse situations before. Calm was her best defense.
“A woman like me is better off without no name. What about you, me lord?”
“You can call me Grant,” he said quietly. “Where can I take you?”
She hesitated. So he hadn’t taken her with him in order to buy her for the night. This was all still part of his attempt to save her. She frowned. It wasn’t as if she could direct him to take her back to her home on St. James Street. And she didn’t think it was wise to be dropped in the area of London they were in now. Not when she was dressed like a lightskirt and had no way to summon her own driver.
But there was one place. The home she and her friends had bought as a refuge in the field. A middle-class, plain residence that no one knew about but them. It had no official link to her, so if Grant investigated, he wouldn’t make the connection.
Quickly, she gave directions. He signaled for the carriage to stop and related the same to his driver.
Once they had begun to move again, she felt Grant’s eyes on her even though she could hardly see him in the carriage.
“Why were those men chasing you?” he asked softly.
Her heart leapt in a combination of fear and excitement. Now that she was no longer physically threatened, she could really ponder everything she’d seen. A false Prince being made up under the watchful eye of Cullen Leary. By God, the ramifications of such a thing! This was enormous. A real case, just as she had been begging for the last few weeks.
And Emily would be the one to follow through on it. Terrifying as the prospect was, especially after Leary’s violence tonight, the drive to uncover the truth was far more powerful.
“Miss?” Grant’s voice was sharp.
She shook off her thoughts. He couldn’t know anything about what she had seen. Until she was alone, her duty remained his protection.
She shrugged. “If you spend your time at the Pony, you know how it is there.”
“You’d be a fool to steal from Cullen Leary,” he said as he flicked ash away from her. “And he was certainly after you.”
“I didn’t steal nothin’ from him,” she insisted and immediately regretted the statement. If she just admitted she’d taken something from the brute, Grant would probably accept that explanation. But she didn’t want him to think that of her, even if the person he thought it of was only a character she had created.
“The life you lead is a dangerous one, miss.” The carriage began to slow. “You should think of another or you’ll end up dead.”
She frowned. He was one to talk about safety and prudence. “I think goin’ after a man like Leary with a chair is dangerous, sir. Especially when you had a way to escape without fighting.”
“Perhaps,” he acknowledged as he reached out to open the carriage door. She moved to exit, but he was faster, leaving the vehicle and turning back to help her out.
She tensed, dipping her head so the red hair of her wig swept over her cheeks and obscured her face. Now that they were so close, she didn’t want him to recognize her.
“Thank you for takin’ me home,” she said as she pulled her hand free from his. Touching him only confused the already volatile situation.
He looked at the house, his face surprised. She bit back a curse. The neighborhood was a little too middle class for the role she was playing. But this had been her only option.
“G’night, me lord,” she finished and turned to hurry up the lane.
She heard Grant’s steps behind her as she fumbled to open the door and stepped inside. He was in the entryway before she could shut him out, looking around the plain but neat interior of the home.
“You live alone?” he asked as he peered around.
Her chest tightened, but she lit one of the little lamps that hung on the wall beside the door. She could only hope he wouldn’t use it to see the truth.
“Yes.” Perhaps going to the vulgar would scare him off. Before she had to light too many lamps and let him get a good look at her. “A lady can make a good living on her back, you know. And with investments be very comfortable. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
“There isn’t a fire lit,” he continued, stepping past her into the main parlor. “Did you not expect to be home tonight?”
She placed a hand on her hip and tilted her head. “No, sir, in truth I did not. Most nights I find m’self a companion.”
“Hmmm.” He stepped closer and the scent of him surrounded her. The heat of him after the cold night and the equally chilly parlor. “There’s something not right about you. Something…who are you?”
She backed away, moving for the stairs. The bedroom had a lock. She might have to use it if Grant wouldn’t go away.
“I told you, it’s better for a woman of my position not to have a name.” She put her foot on the first stair and retreated. “I didn’t invite you in.”
“No, but you ran to me quickly enough, didn’t you?” he pressed and even in the dim light from the entryway, she saw his dark eyes sweep over her. With suspicion. With…interest. Her heart jolted.
Had she been wrong in the carriage? Was he going to demand payment for his assistance? Did he want her?
And why did that make her jealous? Jealous of herself…which made no sense. Even in all her confusion when it came to the man, she didn’t want Grant to want her, not as Emily and certainly not in her disguise. Those feelings, the ones that rocked her when she was alone with him, they only interfered in her investigation.
“You ran right for me and although we’ve never met before, you asked for my help in escaping Leary and his comrades,” Grant pressed. “A woman in your profession must know that’s dangerous. And yet you allowed me not only to take you out of The Blue Pony, but you got into my carriage and let me escort you here. To this house that a lightskirt would not normally live in. The facts I see don’t match what you’ve told me. So I wonder what is really going on?”
With his every pointed word, she moved further up the stairs and he charged after her, searching her face in the fading light. She was shocked by how quickly he was deducing everything. His interrogation was swift, to the point, cold, despite the hint of accusation.
It was the kind of examination she had done herself many a time over the years. The kind she’d had months of training to master.
“Sir, there i
s nothing going on except that you are frightening me. Please leave!” She backed down the hallway and grasped the handle to the bedroom door. Turning it, she flew inside and spun to slam it.
But Grant was quicker. He caught the door with one hand, shouldering his way into the room. Before she could react, he’d slammed the door and locked it, putting the key in his jacket where it was out of reach…at least for now.
Emily’s heart sank. There would be no escaping him unless she went out the window. She wasn’t opposed to that route, but she doubted she’d have one leg out before he caught her and hauled her back inside.
Silently, he walked to the mantel and lit the candles, then threw a few logs into place and set a fire to warm the room. Worse, to light the room.
“You are frightened, I can hear it in your voice, but not of me,” he said, his voice calm. He never turned to face her, just continued to coax the fire higher.
Emily gasped. Could he really sense the truth about the terror that still lingered from her earlier encounter? And more to the point, why was his assertion correct? She wasn’t afraid of him. None of her worries roared forward when she was alone with Grant, despite the fact that he was much larger than she was.
Oh, certainly, she had training, but in the small space with a locked door, she knew full well she might not be able to control Grant if he decided to use his advantage against her.
And yet, she didn’t have any sense of nervousness when she looked at him. Even though being trapped normally triggered her deepest fears, with Grant it didn’t.
“You—I don’t have no idea what you want,” she hissed, fighting to keep her accent when she was breathless. “’Course I’m afraid of you.”
He looked up from the fire with an incredulous arch of his brow. “If you were afraid of me, I think you would have attacked me by now. I saw the outline of the knife you have attached to your leg through your gown when we were in the carriage. If you’re so afraid, why haven’t you unsheathed it?”
Jenna Petersen - [Lady Spies] Page 6