Burning for the Baron (Lords of Discipline Book 3)

by Alyson Chase

  Not like that would be an issue anymore. He and his big mouth had guaranteed the end of playtime with Colleen.

  “I told her what I did.”

  Dunkeld was silent for a weighted moment. “You told who, exactly what?”

  Max tore his gaze off the storefront. “I told Colleen. Mrs. Bonner. And you know what.”

  Dunkeld cursed, loudly and for a long time. His brogue became thick the more heated he became until Max could only understand one word in two. The horse in the phaeton’s harness skittered uneasily.

  “Are you a bloody, feckin’ eejit?” Dunkeld thumped Max in the chest. “Do ya know the trouble she could cause?”

  Rubbing his breastbone, Max scowled. “She isn’t like that.” He paused. That wasn’t quite true. Colleen was loyal and steadfast, yes. But she also believed in consequences for one’s actions. And her loyalty had been to her husband. Why wouldn’t she go to the authorities? He’d confessed to killing her husband. It was her logical next step.

  Max’s shoulders rounded. Even though the sun shone brightly, the afternoon air was chilled, and he tucked his hands up under his armpits. “Even if she did speak, it wouldn’t matter,” he said woodenly. “I’m a member of the House of Lords and she runs a Venus club. Who do you think the courts would believe?”

  His friend grumbled but settled back into his seat. “There is that. Liverpool wouldn’t like hearing the name of one of his men bandied about in the streets, but there wouldn’t be any legal consequences.”

  Pinkerton emerged from the haberdasher’s. A crisp new top hat sat at a jaunty angle on his head. The American looked at his reflection in the mirror, fingered the brim, and turned up the street.

  “We shouldn’t have given him any coin until after we catch Zed.” Flicking his wrist, Max turned the phaeton into the street at a slow plod. “He shops like a woman.” Not like Colleen, though, who turned up her nose at the idea of buying new clothes. She was far too practical for such rubbish. Max hadn’t missed the lustful gaze when she’d examined her new boots, however, or the way her fingers had returned again and again to the velvet trim of the spencer he’d put her in. When he returned to the club, would he find the new wardrobe nothing but a pile of ashes? He couldn’t imagine she’d want to see anything from Max again.

  He snorted. Of everything he’d ruined by confessing his guilt, the fact that Colleen wouldn’t wear the clothes he’d bought her was the stupidest loss of all to mourn. He truly was an eejit.

  Dunkeld elbowed him. “There,” he said, his voice quiet and deadly. He nodded across the street at a man dressed in rags. The other pedestrians veered away to avoid the man stumbling like a drunkard. For a moment, Max wondered what had caught his friend’s attention. But then he saw it. For an ape-drunk, the man was able to catch himself neatly before actually falling, and for all the zigs and zags, was walking an amazingly straight path. Right towards Pinkerton.

  “Ha!” Max sent the horse galloping into motion. The phaeton zipped around a hackney and darted ahead of a carriage. “Now you see why I rented a phaeton?” The miscreant was ten feet from Pinkerton, and nobody knew better than Max how quickly a knife could be thrust between a man’s ribs, puncturing his heart. In two seconds, the assassin could have finished his job and be back on his way. The speed and maneuverability of a phaeton became important factors when a man’s life hung in the balance.

  Pinkerton paused on the sidewalk, shifting one of his purchases to the other arm, oblivious to the danger bearing down on him.

  Lining the chaise next to the fake drunkard, Max tossed the reins to his friend and leapt. He hit the man’s back and took him down five feet from the American. The man bounced on the dirt, his squawk of surprise cut off in a hiss of air when Max landed on his back.

  A grim smile tugged at Max’s lips. Finally, something he could pound. Prey to take down. Ever since Colleen had fled his house last night, an itch had settled under his skin. An itch he couldn’t scratch. He dug his fingers into the back of the man’s neck, just until the point where he could feel the fine bones of the spine start to shift.

  “Who the fuck,” he ground out, “is Zed?” Max was sure three of his friends would roll their eyes at the inelegance of his interrogation technique. Luckily, those three weren’t here. Dunkeld liked to bust heads as much as Max did. And Max was getting tired of this fuckwit Zed. The criminal mastermind was leading them on a merry chase, and it was time that came to an end.

  “I think it usually works better if you give a man space to draw breath.” Dunkeld’s boots came into Max’s view, and his friend rocked onto his heels. “The man’s face is purple. I don’t think he could answer you if he wanted.”

  Max grunted. But what his friend said was true, so he sat back, careful to keep his knee in the small of the assassin’s back and the man’s hands in sight.

  Pinkerton stepped forward, his face pale. “That man was going to kill me?”

  Max hadn’t forgotten that the American had threatened to do the same to Colleen, so felt little sympathy.

  The man beneath Max shook his head, his face scaping across the dirt. He squeaked, cleared his throat, and tried again.

  Nudging the man with the toe of his boot, Dunkeld sniffed. “I think he’s trying to deny that accusation.” A crowd began to form around them, and the burly Scotsman clenched his fists and glared. The lookie-loos dispersed.

  “I’m not trying to kill anyone!” The man tried pushing to his hands and knees, and Max put more weight onto his back. The miscreant flopped to the ground. “I swear. I would never hurt anyone.”

  “You were following this man.” Max jutted his chin at Pinkerton. “And you’re pretending to be in your cups. That leads me to believe you were up to no good.”

  “Let me roll over, and I can prove it.” The man clasped his thin hands together on the dirt above his head, as though praying. “Just let me show you.”

  Max glanced up. His friend reached into an inside pocket, letting his hand rest on the butt of the gun Max knew he kept there. Dunkeld nodded.

  Rolling to a crouch, Max released the pressure on the man’s back.

  Slowly, like a rat struggling through mud, the man rolled to his side and sat up. Keeping his eyes on Max, he flicked open one side of his coat. Row after row of handmade pockets had been sewn into the lining, most of them bulging with watches, coin, and jewelry.

  Max sat back on his heels and cursed. The man was a bloody thief.

  “I saw this chap spending freely and didn’t think he’d mind if I relieved him of some of his blunt.” The thief opened the other side of his coat, showing even more pockets. “But I don’t hurt people. They don’t even know I’ve lifted anything until they get home.”

  Perfect. They’d been trying to chum the waters for a shark and instead they’d attracted a guppy. Just to be certain, Max patted the man down, finding a diamond-studded cravat pin and a fine lady’s bracelet but no weapon of any kind.

  He stood and stretched his back. “I think today is a bust.”

  Bending, Dunkeld grabbed the thief by his collar and heaved him to his feet. He pointed down the street, and the man took off without a question.

  “Wait.” The baguette slipped under Pinkerton’s arm, and he hefted it higher. “You’re just going to let him go? He was going to try to rob me.”

  “And we’re not bloody Bow Street.” Max turned to his friend. “If anyone else was following him, they’re not now. Let’s call it a day.”

  Dunkeld nodded agreement. He jerked his head at Pinkerton. “What about him?”

  “It’s not my day to watch him. That’s a fight between you and Summerset.”

  “Fine,” the Scotsman grumbled. Lifting a hand, he hailed a hackney. “I’ll take him to my place. Try again tomorrow?”

  Max nodded and climbed into the phaeton. He watched his friend grab Pinkerton’s baguette and rip off the end before tossing the loaf back to the American. Pinkerton juggled the bread and his satchels before dropping everyth
ing. Dunkeld hollered for Pinkerton to get his arse in the hackney, and Max smiled. The first genuine one of the day.

  Turning the chaise around, Max headed back to The Black Rose. He’d let one of his footman return the contraption. Max wanted to see Colleen. Wanted to see if she looked at him with disgust or hate or …. No. Those could be the only two options.

  Without Dunkeld weighing them down, Max and the horse made it to the club in good time. Max tossed the reins to the footman and gave the beast a good shoulder rub. “Find a treat for the animal and then return it and the phaeton to Haworts on Mayweather.”

  The footman nodded, and Max climbed the steps and entered his club. He went to give the man at the door his hat and realized it no longer perched on his head. He must have lost it during the scuffle. Finger-combing his wild hair as best he could, he looked for his manager.

  And didn’t find her. “Lucy.” He waved the girl over. “Do you know where Mrs. Bonner is?”

  The blonde gathered her silk robe tightly about her. “She had an errand to run. Didn’t you get the note she sent to your home?”

  “I haven’t been home.” Max narrowed his eyes. “What errand?”

  She sucked her plump bottom lip into her mouth and let it out with a pop. “She got a letter and left. How am I to know where she went. She’s my employer; I don’t question her.”

  “Technically speaking, I am your employer.” Something about the way the girl wouldn’t look him in the eye set Max on edge. She knew more than she let on. “And if you would like to keep your employment here, I’d suggest that you tell me what you know.”

  Lucy examined her cuticles. “I only saw the letter because Mrs. Bonner has been asking me to help her out more and more. You know, like an assistant.”

  Sweat gathered at the small of his back, and his fingers itched to shake the words out of the chit’s mouth at a faster pace. But he knew when to show restraint. Besides, Colleen had probably gone to visit her cousin, or the flower shop. No reason to be concerned.

  “Yes, she’s mentioned how helpful you’ve been.” Max kept his voice friendly. “What was in the letter?”

  “A request that she meet someone at St. Katherine’s church.” The girl chewed on her bottom lip. “It wasn’t a friendly request, at that.”

  “And she went?” Max’s eyebrows hit the ceiling. “Alone? The damn fool woman didn’t take a footman with her at least?”

  Lucy furrowed her brow. “Well, she first asked for Bob, but he hadn’t come in yet. Rufus said he had to wait for the wine delivery. Sam has been feeling poorly and is still out back in the—”

  “When did she leave?” he interrupted her.

  “About thirty minutes ago. She should be getting there about now. But—”

  Max didn’t wait to hear Lucy’s next words. He ran for the door, bursting through before the doorman could open it. The footman was halfway down the block in the rented phaeton. Max pounded after them, a shout choked in his throat. That little idiot. Even with Bob, Rufus, and Sam down, there were still plenty of other servants she could have taken with her. Or better yet, she could have missed the meeting and given Max the letter, letting him handle the situation. He was going to throttle her when he found her.

  The footman had set the horse at a slow clop, and Max soon caught up. Without a word, he hauled the footman down from his seat, ignoring his yelp. He put a foot on the step then changed his mind.

  “Help me unharness the animal,” he shouted at the servant. In under a minute, the horse was free. Grabbing its mane, Max swung up onto its bare back and kicked his heels into the horse’s flanks. He shot forward, leaving an open-mouthed footman and listing phaeton behind.

  Without hesitation, he guided the horse to his target. Thankfully, he was familiar with St. Katherine’s location. It was across from Simon’s, and he knew the way there almost as well as he knew his way home.

  The horse pounded down the streets, rattling his bones. He hadn’t ridden bareback since he’d been a child and his seat wasn’t comfortable. After he throttled Colleen, he’d ask her to kiss it and make it better. If she forgave him for the fire.

  If he found her alive.

  Digging his heels into the heaving flanks of the horse, Max flew towards St. Katherine’s. And prayed.

  He reached the creamy white cathedral and raced the horse up the broad steps. Before the front doors, he slid from his mount’s back, stumbled, and pounded into the narthex. Colleen would have been with the man for ten minutes. Ten minutes where she was unprotected. Vulnerable. A person could be beaten to death in moments. Choked to death in under sixty seconds. If the attacker had a knife or a gun …

  He burst into the nave, chest heaving. The door slammed behind him, the hollow echo ringing through the empty church. Candles flickered along the walls, and a gray light filtered through the high windows.

  Pacing the center aisle, Max looked down every row, expecting to see a crumpled body lying on a pew. He reached the altar and turned, resting his hands on his hips. Where was she? A shadow flickered to his right, the toe of a boot sliding behind a large pillar.

  Max took a step towards the hidden figure, and the main door swung open.

  A woman’s silhouette stood outlined in the rectangle of light. “Max?” Colleen called out. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  His leg muscles gave way, and Max had to lock his knees to stay upright. “Colleen.” His voice was more whisper than rasp. She was alive. And whole.

  Footsteps skittered to his right, running away from him. Max caught sight of the swirl of a black cloak and a squat hat. A side door clanged shut. He looked from Colleen, to the outlaw’s escape route, and back to Colleen. Shoulders tight, Max prowled towards the obstinate woman, not willing to take the chance that the man who’d fled had been the only cutthroat Zed had sent.

  He grasped her elbow and hustled her from the church.

  “Shouldn’t we go after him?”

  “No,” he bit out. The horse was gone, and Max hoped the animal was smart enough to find its way back home. A hackney rested at the curb, the driver lounging against it, twirling his hat in his hands. He opened his mouth when he saw Colleen, but Max ignored him and pulled her around the conveyance. Max headed across the street, practically dragging Colleen behind him.

  She twisted, looking back at St. Katherine’s. “I don’t understand. We’ve been afforded the opportunity to speak to another member of the blackmail ring. Why are we letting him get away?”

  “Speak? Do you think all that man wanted was a conversation?” They climbed the steps of the stately building that faced the church.

  A footman swung open the door at his approach and sketched a bow. “Lord Sutton.”

  Max pressed Colleen into the foyer, his shoulders finally unclenching when she was safe within those four walls.

  “Where are we?” Colleen tugged at the hem of her spencer, one of her new ones, Max noted, and peered around the lushly-decorated foyer. “What is this place?”

  “My club.”

  Her auburn brows disappeared beneath her sweep of hair.

  “My other club. Simon’s. I’m a member here, as well.”

  The head butler hurried towards them, deep creases marring the man’s forehead. “Lord Sutton. So nice to see you this evening.” Spreading his arms, he tried to herd them back towards the front door. “But I can’t allow your guest to enter. The members haven’t voted to allow women tonight.”

  Nor almost any other night. Rothchild’s wife was the last woman to grace these halls. Max ground his back teeth together. The rules were starting to irritate him. “It’s not entry I need, but the use of a carriage. I assume my guest is allowed in one of those, even if it does belong to the club?”

  “Of course.” The butler nodded at the footman, and the younger man stole from the room. “Can I bring you and your guest something to drink while you wait? A cup of tea, perhaps?” the man asked, giving Colleen an indulgent smile.

  “I don’t kno
w about you, but I could use a shot of Irish whiskey.” Colleen adjusted the brim of her hat. “It’s been a hell of a couple of days.”

  Max snorted, a portion of his anger easing. The butler looked shocked at her language, and truth be told, so was Max. But she was right. It had been a hell of a couple of days.

  “We’re fine,” Max told the man. “We’ll just wait here until the carriage comes around.”

  “Of course.” Pressing his lips into a white slash, the butler gave one last disapproving look at Colleen and oozed down the hall.

  She fingered the chain of her pocket watch. “I hope I didn’t just get you blacklisted. But I don’t like hearing I’m not welcome merely because of the accident of my birth.”

  “I’ll survive.”

  “Then do you want to tell me why you were at St. Katherine’s?” She cocked her head. “You received my note in time?”

  Max’s anger roared back at full force. “No, I didn’t get your damn note. I went to the club and learned you were actually fool enough to go meet a stranger alone, I raced here as fast as I could.”

  “I didn’t plan to come here unattended, but none of the servants were available to come with me.”

  “There was still the footman at the front door, the stable boy—”

  She sighed. “I had to leave some people at the club so it would function.” She nodded to the front door. “I did ask the hackney driver to wait for me so if Zed, or whoever it was he sent, tried anything outside the church, I would have a measure of protection.”

  “And if he tried something inside St. Katherine’s?”

  Colleen opened her mouth. Closed it. “No one would harm a woman inside a house of God. It’s a sanctuary,” she said in a hushed voice.

  Max inhaled sharply. “You’d risk your life on the assumption that everyone is as pious as you?”

  She lowered her gaze to the floor and toed the carpet. “By my estimations, it was worth the risk. I took precautions, and besides, Zed is a businessman.” She raised her chin and stared up at him. “I know businessmen. If he could obtain my cooperation, the information I would provide to him would potentially be worth in the tens of thousands of pounds. He wouldn’t hurt the golden goose.”