A Dangerous Lord

by Beers, Laura

  Miss Polly’s face lit up when she saw him. “Bryan,” she said, “what an unexpected surprise.”

  “I hope I am not intruding.”

  “You are never intruding,” she said. “What can I help you with?”

  He glanced back at the door, then asked, “Who is the new girl?”

  Miss Polly let out a sigh. “That’s Lydia, and she means well.”

  “Is that so?”

  “She is just struggling to find her place here.”

  Corbyn walked over to the bed and sat down. “How have you been?”

  “I am well,” Miss Polly replied, shifting in her chair to face him. “Business is booming right now.”

  “I am happy to hear that.”

  Miss Polly gave him a curious look. “What brings you by?”

  “Nothing but the pleasure of speaking to an old friend,” he lied.

  She laughed, as he hoped she would. “I surely doubt that,” she said. “I believe we both know why you are here.”

  He grew serious. “I regret to inform you that Hannity was killed.”

  Miss Polly gasped, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth. “Not Hannity.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “That is a travesty.”

  “By your reaction,” he started, “I take it that you or your girls haven’t heard anything about his death, then.”

  “I haven’t, and none of my girls mentioned anything to me.”

  “That is disconcerting.”

  Rising, Miss Polly walked over to the bed and sat next to him. “You should know that I spoke to Hannity a few days ago.”

  “You did?”

  She nodded. “He came by looking for information.”

  “May I ask what you spoke about?”

  “He asked if we had received any counterfeit bills as payment.”

  Corbyn knitted his brows. “Do you know what led him to that question?”

  With a shake of her head, Miss Polly replied, “He didn’t say, and I didn’t ask.”

  “Have you received counterfeit bills as payment?”

  “Not that I am aware of, but it is generally the pound or two-pound notes that are forged,” she replied. “And most of our clientele don’t have that type of money to spare.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Corbyn remarked. “Hannity wasn’t working a case that involved counterfeiting.”

  “Perhaps he had a lead that you weren’t aware of.”

  “I suppose that is true,” he said, momentarily retreating to his own thoughts.

  Miss Polly reached for his hand. “How are you handling Hannity’s loss?”

  “I’m fine,” he said, glancing down at their hands.

  “Are you?”

  Corbyn frowned. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

  “Because I know you and Hannity were friends.”

  “That is true, but we both knew the risks associated with our jobs,” he said. “Frankly, I am surprised that I am still alive after all this time.”

  Miss Polly squeezed his hand. “It is acceptable to mourn the loss of a friend.”

  “I’m afraid that I don’t have time to mourn his loss.”

  “Why is that?”

  Corbyn slipped his hand out from hers and rose. “I have to track down Hannity’s murderer, and discover why the blazes he was asking about forged banknotes.”

  Miss Polly’s eyes held a hint of pity. “You are emotional.”

  “I am not,” he replied. “Emotions get you killed.”

  “I don’t pretend to know what your job is, but I must assume it is rather important,” Miss Polly said.

  “It is.”

  Rising, Miss Polly stood in front of him. “Promise me that you will be careful, Bryan.”

  “I can’t promise that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because being careful does not solve cases.”

  Miss Polly pressed her lips together. “You have always been infuriating.”

  He chuckled. “I won’t disagree with that.”

  “Well, I have always enjoyed our chats,” Miss Polly said, “and I would hate for them to come to an end.”

  “They won’t.”

  “I am pleased to hear that,” Miss Polly remarked, smiling. “One of the girls did mention that one of her clients let it slip that he was attending radical meetings at The Gutted Fish.”

  “That isn’t far from here.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  Corbyn reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a few coins. “Thank you for the information,” he said, extending them towards her.

  Miss Polly accepted the money and slipped it into a pocket of her gown. “I assure you that it was entirely my pleasure.”

  His eyes roamed her painted face. “I am glad to see that you are looking well.”

  “Then you need spectacles,” she joked.

  He offered her a slight bow. “Until we meet again.”

  “I hope I will see you sooner rather than later, Bryan,” Miss Polly remarked.

  “You will.”

  While he walked over to the door, Miss Polly said, “I urge you to use caution when you go to The Gutted Fish.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Those men are not to be trifled with.”

  Corbyn smirked. “Neither am I.”

  He opened the door and stepped into the hall. As he headed towards the main entrance, Corbyn found, once again, that he had more questions than answers. Why was Hannity investigating counterfeiters? And why hadn’t he divulged that information in his last missive?

  Corbyn stepped outside, tipped his head to acknowledge Donnelly, and headed towards The Gutted Fish. He knew that Oliver was investigating a radical group that would periodically meet at the pub, but he hadn’t mentioned anything about counterfeiting.

  “What were you up to, Hannity?” he muttered under his breath. He knew his friend wasn’t up to anything nefarious, so there must be a logical explanation for all of this.

  As he turned the corner, he saw a brown-haired young woman up ahead, dressed in a pristine pale blue gown, looking deucedly out of place, and his eyes grew wide as realization dawned on him. Jane. What in the blazes was Jane doing near the docks? And why was she unaccompanied?

  He watched as she ducked into an alley next to The Gutted Fish, and he found himself increasing his stride to catch up to her.

  Jane realized now that she may have been too impulsive in following Oliver through the rookeries. Men were watching her with interest as she passed by them, and she tried to appear unaffected by their blatant perusal. Fortunately, she still retained her reticule around her right wrist, which contained her muff pistol. She could protect herself if the situation warranted it.

  But she wasn’t fooling herself. She was terrified right now. The men and women’s eyes grew even more bleak as she headed closer to the docks, and she was horrified to see children dressed in rags begging on the street. The smell wafting off the river was horrific, and she wished she had a handkerchief scented with rosewater to place over her nose.

  Regardless, she could always make her presence known to her brother, and he would escort her back to the orphanage. But she didn’t want to do that… at least, not yet. She wanted to see where her brother was going.

  Oliver had no reason for being in a place like this, and she was determined to find some answers. With a purposeful stride, she continued to stay a few yards behind him, ignoring the men and women brushing past her.

  She watched as Oliver entered a two-level brown brick building where a sign above the door read The Gutted Fish. Stopping on the street, Jane had the sense to know that her presence in a pub wouldn’t go unnoticed, much like her presence in the rookeries.

  A woman ran into the back of her and nearly knocked her over. “Watch where you’re going,” the woman warned as she continued down the narrow road.

  Jane knew she couldn’t stay on the street, nor could she go into the pub. Pressing her lips t
ogether, she turned her attention towards an alley next to The Gutted Fish. Windows lined the wall of the pub, and she decided to peer inside and see what her brother was up to. She doubted he came all this way just for a drink. If that was the case, there were plenty of pubs closer to Hawthorne House.

  Quickly coming to a decision, she hurried towards the alley and stepped onto the slick cobblestone. The smell of urine and excrement was overwhelming as she headed deeper into the alley. She stopped outside of one of the lower windows and peered into the hall. A fireplace sat in the middle and divided the room into two sections. Her eyes scanned the crowded room, but she saw no sign of Oliver.

  Drat.

  He must be on the other side of the fireplace or in an entirely different room, she mused.

  A male’s voice came from next to her. “What are you looking for?”

  Jane gasped as she stepped back from the window. It took her only a moment to recognize Lord Evan in the dimly lit alleyway, but she couldn’t help but notice that he was dressed quite plainly. Not that he normally dressed as a dandy. No, he always dressed the part of the gentleman that he was.

  Lord Evan was a tall, broad-shouldered, yet lean, man with a square jaw. His dark hair was brushed forward, but it was a little longer than was fashionable. She had always considered him to be a handsome man.

  He watched her intently, and she realized he was still waiting for her response. “You startled me,” she declared.

  “That wasn’t my intention.”

  “Then what was?”

  He lifted his brow. “May I ask why you are peering into the windows of a pub?”

  She lifted one of her shoulders. “Perhaps I wanted to go in and have myself a drink.”

  “I think not,” Lord Evan said with a chuckle.

  “You don’t know that,” she argued, tilting her chin.

  He gave her a pointed look. “Why don’t you tell me what you are really doing here?” he asked. “I would prefer the truth, if you don’t mind.”

  The fight drained out of her. “I followed Oliver to The Gutted Fish,” she admitted.

  “You followed him all the way from Hawthorne House?” he asked in disapproval.

  She shook her head. “I was at Madalene’s orphanage when I saw Oliver walking past the building.”

  “And you thought it would be a good idea to follow him deep into the rookeries?”

  Jane winced. “At the time, yes.”

  “What about now?”

  Lowering her gaze, she replied, “Not so much.”

  “Why not?”

  “I saw Oliver enter the pub, but I can’t see where he went.”

  Lord Evan crossed his arms over his wide chest. “Why is that so important to you?”

  Jane pursed her lips together. “I know that my brothers are keeping secrets from me,” she admitted, “but Oliver has the most.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Jane gestured towards the window. “He walked all the way to the docks to frequent a pub. Why is this pub so important to him?”

  “Perhaps he just likes the ale at The Gutted Fish.”

  “Or he is doing something unseemly.”

  “If he was, would you try to stop him?”

  Jane paused. “I would,” she responded honestly. “But more so to protect Emmeline than Oliver. She is madly in love with him.”

  Cocking his head, Lord Evan asked, “You don’t think Oliver loves his wife?”

  “He claims that he does, but he disappears for days on end,” she explained. “Where does he go, and for what purpose?”

  “Have you tried asking Oliver?”

  She nodded. “I have, and he just dismisses me out of hand. Frankly, it is quite vexing.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you?”

  Lord Evan dropped his arms. “Not really,” he said. “Men are entitled to their secrets.”

  “Even if it harms others?”

  “Even then.”

  Jane lifted her brow. “I disagree.”

  “I am not surprised,” he said, giving her a disapproving look, “but a woman of your station should not be roaming the streets, especially unaccompanied.”

  “No one saw me.”

  Lord Evan stepped closer to her. “No?” he asked. “Because I saw you.”

  “That is different.”

  “Why?”

  “You are not a busybody.”

  “How do you know that to be true?” he asked with mirth in his eyes. “Did someone tell you that?”

  Jane smiled. “I figured it out on my own.”

  “You are exceptionally clever, Lady Jane.”

  “Thank you.”

  Glancing at the window, Corbyn asked, “Did you find the answers that you were seeking?”

  She blew out a puff of air. “No,” she replied. “He isn’t in the main hall.”

  “Perhaps that is for the best.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “If Oliver wanted you to discover the truth, then he would have told you himself,” Lord Evan explained.

  Lowering her voice, she asked, “What if Oliver is doing something illegal?”

  “Such as?”

  “I have heard that radical groups meet at public houses.”

  “That may be true, but not every pub has radical ties,” Lord Evan said.

  Jane frowned. “Pray tell, why would my brother go to a pub near the docks, then?”

  “If you recall, I already sufficiently explained that perhaps he enjoys the ale of this establishment.” He smiled.

  “I don’t believe that to be the case.”

  “I have an idea,” Lord Evan said, offering his arm to her. “Why don’t I escort you back to the orphanage, and you can ask Oliver yourself when he comes home?”

  “If he comes home,” she muttered.

  “He will,” Lord Evan asserted.

  As Jane accepted his arm, she saw two burly men step into the alley. It seemed clear that they were up to no good by the hardened looks in their eyes.

  “What is wrong?” Lord Evan asked with a puzzled look.

  She pointed towards the two men as she took a step back.

  Lord Evan turned towards the men and promptly greeted them. “Hello, gentlemen.”

  The taller of the two men chuckled. “There are no gentlemen here, bloke.”

  With shaky hands, Jane reached into her reticule and pulled out her muff pistol. She brought it up and pointed it towards the two men.

  Lord Evan reached out and put his hand on top of the gun. He gently lowered it to her side. “There is no reason to shoot anyone.”

  The shorter man bobbed his head, drawing attention to a scar that ran along his forehead. “We are just looking for a good time with the lady, and then we will leave you two alone.”

  Lord Evan put his hands up. “I’m afraid I can’t let that happen,” he said in an apologetic tone.

  The tall man gave him an amused look. “We weren’t looking for permission.”

  Lord Evan ushered Jane behind him. “It would be best if you two depart from this alleyway and pretend that you never saw us,” he warned.

  “Or what?” the short man asked.

  Lord Evan shrugged. “It would save me from roughing you up some,” he said calmly. “If not, I can’t guarantee that either of you will be able to walk out of here on your own accord.”

  The men laughed loudly in response.

  A shiver of fear traveled down Jane’s spine, and she began to bring the pistol back up. Lord Evan put his hand out, stilling her. “Trust me,” he whispered, his alert eyes, never leaving the two men.

  “I do,” she replied as she lowered her pistol back to her side.

  “I am pleased to hear that,” Lord Evan said. “It would be best if you put your muff pistol away.”

  As Jane placed the pistol into her reticule, she watched as he shrugged out of his jacket. Then, he extended it towards her. “Will you hold this for me?” he asked.

  “I will.�
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  Lord Evan gave her a reassuring smile. “Just give me a moment—”

  The tall man cut him off. “You talk big, but—”

  “Do you mind?” Lord Evan demanded, speaking over him. “I am trying to speak to the lady.”

  The man closed his mouth, but his eyes sparked with fury.

  “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” Lord Evan continued, “you need not fear for your safety.”

  Jane bobbed her head, but she still felt an uneasiness in her stomach. How was Lord Evan going to defend them from two men who looked determined to harm them?

  Lord Evan stepped closer to the men. “Shall we begin?”

  The tall man stepped forward and swung at him. Lord Evan easily sidestepped his blow and jabbed him in the side, causing him to drop to his knees and gasp for breath. The short man looked over in surprise at the lord before he put his clenched hands up in front of him. In a swift motion, Lord Evan punched him in the jaw, knocking him backwards.

  “Have you had enough?” Lord Evan asked, glancing between the two men.

  The short man slowly approached Lord Evan, now brandishing a dagger in his left hand. “You will pay for that,” he growled as he spat blood onto the ground.

  “This situation is entirely of your own making,” Lord Evan said as he reached behind him and pulled out an overcoat pistol, “and you are being disrespectful to the lady.”

  The short man dropped his dagger and put his hands up in front of him.

  Lord Evan pointed the pistol at the men as he put his other hand out to Jane. “If you follow us, I will kill you,” he warned.

  The men nodded their understanding and remained where they were.

  Keeping the pistol in his hand, Lord Evan led her out of the alley and down the crowded road. He glanced behind him and let go of her hand. “Fortunately, those men seem to have a lick of sense. They’re not following us.” He tucked his pistol back into the waistband of his trousers.

  “How did you learn to fight like that?” Jane asked curiously as she extended his jacket to him.

  Lord Evan accepted the jacket and shrugged it on. “I was in the army once.”

  “You were?”

  “I was.”

  “I hadn’t realized,” Jane said.

  His voice became gruff. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

  “I can’t imagine what you must have seen,” she attempted.