“Stand and deliver.”
A highwayman. Quickly, he reached under the seat, tucking his blade in his sleeve. He gave Sarah one last look and whispered, “Stay inside, don’t make a sound. Do you understand?”
She nodded and he opened the door, dropping to the ground. The small road was quiet and dark, empty except for the carriage, the one foolish knave with a pistol who stood alongside his ragged horse, and the old man driving the carriage—Etiénne. Colin glanced up over his shoulder, catching Etiénne’s eye.
“Aye, gov’ner. Pleasant evening, ain’t it? With the moon blazing so high, I had just a right mind to go and find me some gold.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Colin threw a bag of coins the man’s way. He had no need for trouble this evening. The blackguard nudged the purse with his boot. “Very nice. But I’m thinking there’s more here. Why don’t you tell your lady friend to step outside as well?”
Colin stood still, watching the man closely, waiting for the precise moment to strike. “I’m alone. There’s no one else inside.”
“Now, gov’ner. Do you take me for a fool? Tell the lady to step down before I take it upon myself to shoot this doddering old bird who thinks he’s your driver.” The doddering old bird had dancing black eyes. Damn Etiénne, he was enjoying himself.
“Don’t kill him, I’m coming out.”
At the sound of Sarah’s calm voice, all his ideas of a simple contest of strength with the dragon disappeared. He had no doubts that between Etiénne and himself, they could overpower the man easily, but he would take no chances with her. He shot a warning glance to Etiénne, relieved when his friend gave a slight nod of understanding.
Sarah stepped down, pulling her cloak tighter and nodding politely at the knave. “Good evening. It’s rather chilly, isn’t it?”
“Well, well, well, ain’t you the hospitable one? I must tell you, gov’ner, you’ve a rare find, indeed.” The bastard took a step toward her, his grimy hand reaching to touch her hair.
Colin clenched his fist, sliding the knife free, feeling the cold steel of the blade against his fingers.A DragonSlayer lived and died by his sword . “If you touch her, I will kill you.”
The man grinned and waved his pistol. “Is that a threat, gov’ner? You’ve got me shaking in me boots.” He laughed and knocked his knees together.
Colin never made threats he couldn’t keep.
The dragon looked over at Sarah. “Such a pretty lady.” He pursed his lips and studied her closely. “Oh, I bet she kisses nicely, she does. Aye, gov’ner?”
Bile rose in his throat as he recognized the pure lust that burned on the man’s snub face.
For that, he would kill him.
The dragon reached for the clasp on her cloak. “And are you wearing any jewelry tonight, Miss Banks?”
At the mention of her name, the hairs on the back of his neck rose. This was not just an unlucky happenstance. Colin took a small step forward, but the man noticed the movement and gestured warningly with his weapon.A DragonSlayer must be patient, waiting for the moment when the dragon’s attention is elsewhere.
The bastard moved closer to Sarah and licked his lips, running a finger along the skin of her throat.
The one intimate gesture was more than Colin could stomach. With a flick of his wrist, he threw the blade, watching with cold satisfaction as it embedded itself in the man’s throat.
Breathing his last gurgling breath, the man fell to Sarah’s feet.
The DragonSlayer had won. The dragon was dead.
Colin blinked to clear his head. He turned to Sarah, brushing a wayward strand of hair out of her eyes. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, thank you.” She stared at the man on the ground, slipping her chilled hand into Colin’s. “He was rather a nasty little man, wasn’t he?”
“Yes. Much more than a highwayman.”
“What?” She gripped his hand tightly.
“He called you by your name. He knew who was in my carriage and was waiting for us. This was no accident.” All those years of slipperiness and darkness, the things he had done in order to hide himself. Were they now threatening to harm her? Dear God.
“And you protected me.” Her eyes softened. “Once again.”
“Yes.” He would protect her with his life if necessary.
She nodded in the direction of Etiénne. “And you saved your driver as well.”
She made him out to be quite the hero. He ran a hand through his hair.
“Merde!Save my life?” Etiénne scoffed at that notion and jumped to the ground. “I could have beaten the man with my fists alone. I have no need to swoosh the knife through the air like a pirate in a play.” He pulled off his cap in a showy gesture, and performed a sweeping bow. “Etiénne D’Albon, at your service, mademoiselle.” The Frenchman pulled off the gray wig, shaking his hair. Colin rolled his eyes.
Sarah put her hands on her hips. “Monsieur D’Albon? Lord Haverwood, why is your servant dressed as an old man?”
“Monsieur D’Albon is no servant, but a friend”—Colin dripped the words—“a friend who likes to play games.”
“Yes, a game you created, Haverwood,” Etiénne answered quickly, smiling confidently at Sarah. “You asked me to watch over her. I am.”
Damn. Colin had hoped to keep that bit of truth from her.
“Watch over me? My lord, you didn’t tell me this.”
“I didn’t want to alarm you without cause.” He smiled weakly.
“And do you believe there’s significant cause for alarm, now?” Her foot began to tap.
He stared at the dead man on the ground. “Yes.”
“And do I look alarmed?”
“No.” With a flush on her cheeks, and her eyes spitting fire, she actually looked quite desirable.
She bent her head, but he saw the smile playing at her lips. “Yes, well. In the future, perhaps you might consider warning me if there’s a situation that involves my well-being.”
“Yes.”
“Very good, then,” she said, looking up at him with those clever eyes, and he wondered when she would see through his disguise. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For caring,” she said softly.
Caring? There was no place for caring in his world. He was not capable of such gentleness. Yet as he stared at her, small and fragile, he wanted to believe that he was.
“Other things occupying your mind, Haverwood? That I understand. However, while you happily amuse yourself, what would you suggest we do about the piece of vermin you so carelessly killed?”
He jerked his head up. Damn. Etiénne. He had forgotten the man.
“I suppose you could have done better?” Colin asked, irritated to be standing in the moonlight with Sarah, all alone except for the swaggering Frenchman and a dead highwayman.
“Mais, oui.I would not have been so foolish as to kill the man.”
“And why not? You think I’ll gamble with her life?” He shifted uncomfortably, frightened by his own words.
“No, but you just skewered the one man who might be able to tell you why she is in such trouble.”
He wasn’t thinking clearly at all. “You don’t have to be so bloody smug. If you hadn’t been so busy enjoying yourself, you would have done something earlier, and the man still might be alive.”
“Such as what?”
Colin lifted his hand to yank at his cravat, but then realized he’d already ripped the bloody thing off. “I certainly have no ideas. You’re the one who seems to know everything.”
“Now I know everything? In Talavera, I was the idiot with the hasty hand. I killed the sentry and for two days, you would not let me forget my mistake.”
“The situations are completely different—”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, please.” They both turned and stared at Sarah, who was sitting on her heels next to the dead man, the pockets of his jacket turned out. She tudied the piece of paper in her hand and then began to read. �
�You need to go to the Dog and Duck Inn tomorrow night at eight and meet a Mr. Harper.”
Colin had the privilege of seeing Etiénne’s mouth gape open in astonishment and he couldn’t resist one last poke. “She has bested you, my friend.”
Etiénne raised his brows. “It appears I am not the only one.”
Colin leaned back into the stuffed leather chair and watched the ebbing flames that marked the end of the fire. The first stirrings of dawn were creeping through the heavy glass of the casements, ending another night when he could not face his dreams.
With a long sigh, he stared at the book in his lap, but considering he had studied the single page for all of four hours and had yet to comprehend one word, he abandoned the pretense and slammed the book shut.
The man would have killed her this evening. That was a frightening truth he could not ignore. He would protect her though. He could. He must.
And who would protect her from him?
Tonight, he had tried so hard to be gentle, to restrain himself and act the part of a gentleman. To test his mettle, see if he could be worthy of her. Yet when he felt her soft skin, the weight of her breast in his hand, his mind had turned.
He’d dared not sleep because he knew what he would see. The nightmares came more frequently now. Not a night passed that she didn’t come to him in his bed, creamy skin, soft lips, hair like fire.
She would stare at him, like she did tonight, as if he were the DragonSlayer. He would taste her lips, stroke her skin, but when he lifted her skirts, when he had her pinned helplessly beneath him, her soft lips would part in a scream, her gray eyes would dilate with fright, and as he drove inside her, the DragonSlayer was no more.
Only the dragon remained.
He would not see her again. He had the crimes of his father to atone for. The only way he could live with himself is by securing St. George. He would purge the vile blood from his body. And in due time, after he had put her from his mind, exorcised the lust from his flesh, only the DragonSlayer would survive. And Colin Wescott, the cursed son of Black Jack Cady would be no more.
Chapter Eleven
The Dog and Duck was a shabby flash house near the docks where intrigue was as much a part of the interior as the scarred and tattered ne’er-do-wells that frequented the place. Pulling the brim of his peasant hat low, Colin entered the smoky one-room pub in search of a man he did not know.
A beggared stove sat near the back of the room, and most patrons were huddled nearby, listening to the quivering voice of the singer. She sang with no music to accompany her, a sweet lullaby that seemed out of place among the filth. She was a mere child herself, with lank, blond hair, dressed in little more than rags. Yet the dragons surrounding her seemed not to care.
Colin seated himself away from the others, near the door, where the room was cold and dark. Slowly, he regarded the swarthy faces, looking for a man whose eyes watched the door. But the noise from the crowd grew louder and boisterous, and he found his gaze returning to the young singer.
On occasion, one of the sots would move closer, eager to claim his prize. Each time, she situated herself closer to the stove, her face growing pink from the heat.
Colin watched as the dragons moved closer to the girl and he ran a slow finger over the blade of his knife. He glanced toward the innkeeper, hoping for some show of concern for the girl’s well-being, but the man’s gaze held naught but greed.
There would be no assistance from that quarter.
A DragonSlayer must be prepared to stand alone.
The cursed innkeeper nodded to the girl, and the song changed, a bawdy refrain that earned whistling and stamping from the crowd. Her innocent voice rang and echoed in his head. He took a long measure of gin, the cheap jackey burning his throat, but the spirits did nothing to ease the loathsome shuddering in his mind.
For a moment he sat alone in the shadows, watching the girl, trying to remember the man he came to find. His head began to ache, and the circle of men around her closed in, the noise increasing.
He placed his single blade on the table and studied his weapon, cursing himself for leaving his pistol behind. He counted seven heads surrounding the girl. Although most were drunk and bleary-eyed, three gave him cause for concern. Dragons with cold eyes and hands that were capable of murder.
In the end he had no choice. The worst sort of DragonSlayer was the man afraid to die.
He picked up his blade and stood, ready to do right.
He was halfway across the room when a particularly vile worm tried to pull the child into his lap, and Colin sprang forward, overturning a chair. The swilling miscreant forgot the girl and turned to face Colin.
The innkeeper stepped between the two men and held out a hand, waiting for the highest bidder. Curious eyes watched the scene before them, and Colin hunched his shoulders and pitched his hat low, pressing a guinea into the greedy man’s hand. “I want the girl.”
The man looked down at the single gold coin and his nose twitched as if seduced by the smell of a fat profit. “The mot only cost thrums for the night. You’ll be wanting something more, aye?”
Colin’s stomach turned. “I’ll take her with me.” As if unaware of the transaction, the singer resumed her music, appeasing her audience. He looked over the now-quiet crowd, hoping for a few short minutes.
The innkeeper stroked his chin and named a sum. Colin counted out the coins quickly, wanting the girl safely away from the men as soon as possible. “Take her upstairs.”
“Whatever you’re wanting, gov’ner.” The man turned, but Colin pulled him back.
“I’m looking for a man named Harper? Is he here?”
The man nodded his head toward the young singer. “See the one with the girl? That’s the bloke.”
Harper was a beefy man who was stroking the singer’s skirt with hungry fingers. Colin took the innkeeper by the collar. “Get her upstairs, now.”
The crowd near the stove dwindled as the innkeeper hurried the young singer upstairs, and Colin waited patiently. Soon the men were once more occupied with their jokes and their drink.
And Colin turned his attention to Mr. Harper.
He staggered toward him, slapping a forceful hand on his back. “Bloody hell, Harper. Out making mischief tonight, are ye?”
“Do I know you?” The balding man squinted up at Colin, his eyes glazed with drink. Recognition soon followed, and his eyes widened with fear. “Haverwood.”
Colin pressed his knife against the back of the man’s neck. “So you know who I am after all? That makes it so much easier.”
Harper stood and quickly made his way through the small crowd, Colin keeping a tight arm around him.
With cautious eyes, Colin guided the man away from the noise and crowds of the tavern. Once outside, he let his blade slide against the frightened man’s throat. “Now then. Perhaps you’ll tell me what you’re doing trying to kill Miss Banks?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, milord.”
Colin sighed with heavy frustration, not able to withstand much more. “Do you know why you’re alive, Harper?”
The foolish man shook his head, still somewhat drunk.
“I killed the highwayman you sent last evening. He was a stupid man, but I think you’re smarter than that, much smarter. Aren’t you, Harper? And that’s why I’m going to let you live.” He drove his fist into the man’s gut. “But I won’t make it easy for you.”
Harper doubled over in pain, coughing and retching. “No.”
He pulled the man upright and threw him against the thin, wooden walls of the pub. “Let’s start again. Who hired you?”
“I don’t rightly know the man’s name. Looking for a malefactor to do some out and out, he was, and I took the blunt he was offering. Didn’t mean no harm to you, milord, honest.”
“Only her?”
The man nodded and Colin thought of killing him right then. Instead he brought out a piece of flint and began to sharpen his knife. “What did he look
like?”
Harper swallowed and watched the back and forth movements of Colin’s hand. “Cagey swell, thin, a regular gawky he was, with eyes that darted like a bird’s. He wore spectacles, kept sliding down his nose.”
Colin could recall no such man. He continued sharpening, sparks flying as the steel stroked the stone. “A gentleman?”
The man shook his head. “No. Merchant. The warbler had a right slippery tongue.”
“Did he say what he was after?”
“No, milord, talked about his jacket and the new clothes he wanted to buy, but nothing about why he wanted her harmed.”
A dandy? Perhaps it was a man the club had done business with, or someone in her past. “How were you to be paid?”
“He gave me a third straightaway and said I’d get the remainder after he’d heard word that the lady was dead.”
Damn. He put the whetstone back in his pocket.
Colin raised his blade and moved forward until the big man was backed against the wall. “If you lay a hand on the lady, if someone so much as sneezes in her presence, I’ll return.” He let the knife sink into the flesh just enough to draw a drop of blood. “Have you ever watched a pig being butchered, Harper? The squealing can ring in your head for days.” He pulled the man closer, smelling the stench of ale and the scent of fear. “Do we have an understanding?”
“Aye. You’ve got me word, milord.”
“That’s an admirable sentiment, but much too late.” He drove a fist into the man’s meaty jaw. “Good night, Harper. Sleep well.”
Colin went upstairs, anxious to be done with this place. He could feel the ghost of his father walking amongst the dragons below. He entered the darkened room, a thin candle burning near the small bed. The girl lay atop the ragged blanket, the moon casting sad shadows on the hollows of her thin body.
She was nude.
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