A Dangerous Lord

by Beers, Laura

  “I will climb out the window, just as I came in.”

  “Ingenious,” Corbyn mocked, “but I have no doubt that they are guarding that exit, as well.”

  “Then I shall fight my way out,” the attacker promised as he ran forward with his dagger lifted.

  In one swift motion, Corbyn grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted it sharply, causing the dagger to drop to the ground, then punched the man in the jaw.

  The attacker looked at him in surprise as he staggered back.

  Corbyn advanced and jabbed his fist into the man’s stomach. As the intruder doubled over, he hit him in the jaw again, rendering him unconscious.

  Once he confirmed the threat was gone, he rushed over to his father. Relieved that his father was still alive, albeit breathing hard, Corbyn helped him sit up.

  “Are you all right, Father?” he asked.

  “I am, thanks to you.”

  “Can I help you back into bed?”

  Before his father could respond, Corbyn could hear banging on the door leading to the hall. “Your Grace!” the butler shouted.

  Corbyn released his father and walked over to the door. After unlocking it, he opened it wide. “Send for the doctor,” he ordered.

  “He’s already downstairs,” Mott informed him. “I will send a footman down at once to retrieve him.”

  “Very good.” Corbyn reached into his boot and pulled out a muff pistol. “I want you to guard the assailant until the constable arrives,” he said, extending the gun towards the butler.

  Mott accepted the pistol. “It would be my pleasure, milord.” He motioned to two footmen to retrieve the unconscious attacker, and they carried him out of the room.

  Corbyn returned to his father and assisted him into the bed. “Your doctor will be up shortly.”

  His father reached for his hand and gripped it tightly. “Thank you for saving me, my dear boy.”

  “It was an easy feat,” he responded, hoping to lighten the mood.

  “I thought I was going to die,” his father said weakly.

  “But you didn’t,” Corbyn pressed.

  “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

  “In the army,” he swiftly replied.

  “It was rather magnificent to watch,” his father said.

  A white-haired man rushed into the room with a bag in his hand and approached the bed. “Are you feeling all right, Your Grace?”

  “I am perfectly well,” his father answered. “Just a few bumps and bruises, but no harm done.”

  “That is good, but I would like to examine you just to be sure.”

  “Absolutely not,” his father replied firmly. “I already informed you that I am well, and I have no intention of letting you put those bloody leeches anywhere near me ever again.”

  Corbyn heard his mother laugh softly from the doorway. “I see that Andrew has already made a speedy recovery.”

  “That he has,” Corbyn confirmed as he approached her.

  His mother smiled tenderly at him. “Thank you for saving his life.”

  “It was an easy thing.”

  “I can’t imagine that to be the case.”

  Corbyn kissed her cheek. “If you will excuse me, I need to get back to work.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Now?”

  “I don’t believe it is necessary for me to remain here,” he said. “Do you?”

  His mother frowned. “I suppose not.”

  “Do not fret. I shall return soon.”

  “See that you do.”

  Corbyn paced his small office as he tried to reign in his temper at the two agents standing before him. They were experienced agents, but they had failed their assignment of guarding his father.

  Corbyn stopped and turned to face them. “Do either of you want to explain how my father’s attacker slipped past you, scaled up the wall, and entered my father’s bedchamber without being seen?”

  The dark-haired agent spoke up. “I was watching the front of the townhouse, per your instructions, but the next thing I knew, I woke up in an alleyway with a splitting headache,” Groff confessed.

  Corbyn turned his attention towards the other agent. “And what is your excuse, Meachem?”

  “I was hit over the head, as well,” Meachem said.

  Corbyn tossed his hands up in the air. “How is it possible that two seasoned agents, such as yourselves, could be so easily overpowered?”

  Meachem glanced over at Groff. “Before I was hit over the head, I heard someone approaching, but I thought he was one of ours because I heard him use a bird call.”

  “Did you reply back?” Corbyn asked.

  Meachem nodded. “I did.”

  “Thus, giving away your position.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Corbyn walked around his desk and sat down. “It’s discomfiting to hear that,” he admitted. “Is there anything else that you can tell me about my father’s attacker?”

  Both agents shook their heads.

  “You are lucky neither of you were killed today,” Corbyn said. “Next time, I hope you use more caution when you are on an assignment. The line between life and death is rather a fine one for us.”

  “Yes, sir,” they replied in unison.

  “Be off with you,” Corbyn ordered with a wave of his hand.

  After the agents left the room, Corbyn’s eyes scanned over the piles of correspondence that he needed to review, but he found his mind straying towards the events of his father’s attack. The suspect had managed to dupe two of his agents and enter the townhouse without being seen. That, in and of itself, was no small feat.

  But why kill his father? He had to assume that this was the work of Kerley. What would he gain by killing him? Nothing. He hadn’t even bothered to search the suspect for a letter. There was no need.

  Corbyn leaned back in his chair and turned his attention towards the window. None of his agents had found anything that would give a lead on where Kerley was hiding. How was that possible? Someone had to know something.

  The door to his office was thrown open and Lord Daniel stormed in. “Have you made any progress on the forged banknotes yet?”

  “We have not.”

  Lord Daniel gave him a disapproving look. “It has been days.”

  “Unfortunately, there is not much to go on,” Corbyn replied honestly.

  “When has that stopped you before?” Lord Daniel asked, giving him a pointed look.

  Corbyn winced. “All of my agents have been scouring London, but they have yet to find any leads.”

  Lord Daniel sat in the chair in front of the desk. “The Home Secretary is not a patient man,” he huffed.

  “I am well aware.”

  “If you weren’t such a blasted good agent, then I would have already dismissed you.”

  “I take that as a compliment.”

  “You should, because it was meant as one.”

  Corbyn leaned forward in his chair. “We do have a suspect, though.”

  “That is some progress.”

  “It is, but we have no idea where to find him.”

  Lord Daniel shook his head. “You have one of the most sophisticated spying agencies in the world, and you can’t find one man?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  Putting his hand up, Lord Daniel said, “Just do what you were assigned to do.”

  “As you wish.”

  Lord Daniel’s demeanor softened. “I heard your father was attacked this morning.”

  “You did?”

  Lord Daniel nodded. “The magistrate is a personal friend of mine.”

  “Ah, I see,” Corbyn said.

  “May I ask what happened?”

  Corbyn threaded his fingers together and placed them on the desk. “An attacker managed to overpower two of my agents, sneak into the townhouse, and attempt to smother my father with a pillow.”

  “It’s a good thing you were there then, wasn’t it?”

  “It was.”

  “Would you care fo
r me to pull some strings and gain access for you to interrogate the man?” Lord Daniel asked.

  Corbyn nodded. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  “I would not.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lord Daniel rose from his chair and tugged down on his ivory waistcoat. “If you will excuse me, I have a meeting I must attend.”

  “I appreciate you stopping by. It saves me the time of writing a missive.”

  “As usual, I have enjoyed our chat, but I hope our next one proves to be much more useful.”

  “It will.”

  “See that it does,” Lord Daniel said firmly. “It would be a shame if the Home Secretary asked for your resignation.”

  Rising, Corbyn assured him, “It won’t come to that.”

  “I truly hope not.”

  Corbyn slowly lowered himself back onto the chair as Lord Daniel left his office. He was not one to be cowed by threats, but he couldn’t help but wonder if Lord Daniel was right. So far, they hadn’t really found anything to lead them to Kerley’s operation.

  As he reached for a correspondence from one of the piles, a knock came at his window. He glanced over at it and, to his great surprise, he saw Stewart standing there.

  He rose, walked over to the window, and opened it. “What are you doing here?”

  “I followed Lord Daniel to your office,” Stewart announced.

  “I see, but why not come by the main door?”

  “I knew I wouldn’t be granted an audience with you.”

  “You would be correct.” Corbyn stepped back from the window. “You might as well come in, since you are already here.”

  Stewart climbed through the window and closed it behind him. “I wanted to speak to you, but you left your townhouse early this morning.”

  “That is not unusual for me.”

  “I assumed as much, but I wanted to tell you at once what I discovered.”

  Corbyn gestured towards a chair. “Would you care to sit?”

  “I would,” Stewart said, accepting the proffered seat. “I think I might have found a lead on Kerley’s operation.”

  “You have?”

  “One of my informants told me that a man has been asking a bunch of questions about forged banknotes.”

  “That’s not a surprise,” Corbyn said. “Most of my agents have been asking questions.”

  “Yes, but the word on the street is that this man was abducted and is being held at a building deep within the rookeries,” Stewart revealed. “If it’s true, it might be one of your agents.”

  “Do you know where this building is?”

  “I do.”

  “Let’s go, then,” Corbyn said, shoving his chair back. He came around his desk and opened the door. “I’ll go first, or you may be shot on the way out.”

  “By all means, please lead the way.”

  Corbyn headed down the hall, tipping his head at the agent standing guard at the door, who did a terrible job of hiding his bewilderment at seeing Stewart. As he exited the building, Corbyn turned towards Hobbs and Bond, who were guarding the main entry.

  “Just so you are aware, a Bow Street Runner bested you today,” Corbyn revealed.

  “How?” Hobbs asked, glancing between them.

  Gesturing towards Stewart, Corbyn shared, “He slipped past you and approached my window without being detected.”

  “Are we dismissed?” Bond asked nervously.

  Corbyn shook his head. “No, but it better not happen again, or we will be having a very different discussion.”

  “Yes, sir,” they said in unison.

  Hobbs stepped forward. “Would you like me to hail you a hackney?”

  “That would be nice.”

  Once a hackney was secured, Corbyn and Stewart stepped inside the cramped coach and sat opposite one another.

  “I must admit that you have pleasantly surprised me,” Corbyn said. “It is an impressive feat to sneak past two of my agents.”

  “As I said before, not all Bow Street Runners are incompetent,” Stewart replied.

  “I am starting to believe that.”

  Stewart chuckled. “That is high praise coming from someone like you.”

  “May I ask how long you have been a Bow Street Runner?”

  “About eight years,” Stewart replied.

  “Do you enjoy working as one?”

  A pained look came to Stewart’s face. “That is a ticklish question since at times I wished I had taken another path.”

  “Such as?”

  Stewart smirked. “Why do I feel as if you are interrogating me?”

  “I am doing no such thing,” Corbyn replied. “I was just merely curious.”

  Stewart shifted in his seat. “If you must know, I hadn’t planned on becoming a Bow Street Runner, but it happened rather suddenly.”

  “Well, for what it is worth, I believe you are proficient at your job,” Corbyn said.

  “Thank you for that.” Stewart grew serious. “Do you ever tire of killing people?”

  “I suppose I have never thought about it.”

  “I do,” Stewart said. “Sometimes I wonder what I truly signed up for.”

  Corbyn eyed him curiously. “Are you terribly unhappy as a Bow Street Runner?”

  “I just wish I was making more of a difference,” Stewart replied. “I was destined to do so much more than what I have been doing.”

  “Then what is stopping you?”

  Stewart let out a sigh. “I have a sick mother and a sister that I am responsible for, and my paltry income is the only thing keeping us out of the poorhouse.”

  “I am sorry to hear that your mother is sick.”

  “Thank you,” Stewart said, growing silent.

  Corbyn turned his attention towards the window and retreated into his own thoughts. He had a sneaking suspicion that the agent who had been abducted was Sanders. Corbyn hadn’t heard from him in days, and Barrett had found nothing at his place. He hoped they would be able to reach him in time.

  The hackney came to a stop outside of a decaying brick building. The windows were boarded up and the main door was off its hinges.

  “This is it?” Corbyn asked skeptically.

  “According to my informants, it is,” Stewart said as he opened the hackney door.

  They stepped onto the ground and walked up the stairs to the door. Corbyn retrieved his pistol as Stewart moved the door out of the way, revealing a long, dark hall. As they cautiously walked down the dank hall, Corbyn scanned the rooms they passed by, but they were all empty.

  The hall opened up, and in the back of the dimly lit room was Sanders, gagged and tied to a chair. When Sanders saw them, his eyes grew wide, and his muffled voice tried to make its way through the gag.

  Corbyn rushed over to him and pulled the gag out of his mouth.

  “There’s a bomb under the chair!” Sanders declared as he wiggled vehemently in the chair. “The slow fuse was lit when you first entered the building.”

  Corbyn glanced underneath the chair and saw a barrel with a long fuse. He retrieved his dagger and cut the fuse. “That should do the trick.”

  “We have to get out of here!” Sanders exclaimed. “They planted bombs all over the building!”

  Corbyn quickly cut the rope to set Sanders free. The rope had hardly hit the floor when Sanders jumped up from the chair and ran towards the main door.

  Stewart and Corbyn followed Sanders down the hall. They could see the outline of the doorway when they heard multiple explosions behind them.

  “Don’t stop running!” Corbyn ordered.

  The thunder of the building collapsing followed them as they ran through the doorway and out onto the road. Once they crossed the street, they watched the building crumble in on itself.

  Corbyn turned towards Sanders, noticing that he had swollen eyes and a bruised face. “Are you all right?”

  “I am,” Sanders replied.

  Corbyn glanced up and down the street as a growing number of people came out
to see what had happened. “We need to take you to a doctor.”

  “That won’t be necessary, but I would like to eat,” Sanders responded. “I’m rather hungry.”

  “I know just the place,” Corbyn said. “It’s just a few blocks over.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  After Sanders finished his mutton soup, he pushed the bowl away from him and let out a satisfied sigh. “That was delicious,” he said.

  Corbyn leaned forward in his seat. “Now that you’ve eaten, are you ready to answer some questions?”

  “I am,” Sanders replied.

  “What happened?”

  Sanders reached for his tankard and took a long drink. “I was asking questions about the forged banknotes, and these two men grabbed me off the street. They took me to a building on Dupress Street, near the docks.”

  “Did they say what they wanted?” Stewart asked.

  “They roughed me up a bit,” Sanders responded. “They wanted to know why I was asking questions about forged banknotes.”

  “What did you tell them?” Corbyn inquired.

  “Nothing.”

  “You told them nothing?” Corbyn repeated.

  “No, sir,” Sanders said. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been tortured.”

  Stewart lifted his brow at that remark. “It’s not?”

  “Every good agent has been tortured at least once,” Sanders remarked, wincing as he touched his swollen right eye.

  “Can you tell us anything about the men who abducted you?” Corbyn asked.

  Sanders dropped his hand to the table. “They were rough-looking, and they had hard looks in their eyes,” he shared. “They fit in well with the men at the docks.”

  “Would you be able to identify them, if you saw them again?”

  Sanders nodded. “I won’t be forgetting their faces anytime soon.”

  “Did you interact with anyone else?”

  “No.”

  Corbyn tapped his fingers on the table. “Not even someone with a large scar on his right cheek running down to his neck?”

  Sanders shook his head. “I’m sure I would have remembered someone like that.”

  “Yes, I suppose you would have,” Corbyn admitted.