Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Max stood outside Lord Whitehouse’s estate, Ironheart and several constables flanking him.
Tension filled his gut, sitting like a weight. He wasn’t worried for himself. It was Sophie and Abigail’s safety that gave him concern. “You know the plan?” he asked Ironheart.
“Crystal clear.” The other man nodded. “You’re certain about your part?”
“She can’t stay here,” he replied. “If I don’t return tonight…”
“I’m to find another way to remove her. Understood.” For once, Ironheart neither smiled nor joked. He looked deadly serious.
With a few quick huffs of breath, Max melted into the dark, finding his way to the back door of the garden, which was now locked. No matter. Scaling the wall, he dropped to the soft earth, cocking his head to listen. It was a large garden, with many sections. Guards could be anywhere, but as he circled the perimeter, he was fairly certain there were only two by the kitchen door.
One had a cheroot in his mouth, the bit of light from it making him easy to spot. The other stood next to him, a short sword held loosely in his grip. “Seems like a lot of trouble for a couple of orphans.”
“It’s not them he’s worried about,” the other answered. “Some lord is fighting him hard.”
“How do ye know that?”
“Heard it,” the second answered.
Max grinned into the dark. He was the lord, and provided nothing happened to Sophie, he was going to enjoy this evening. Creeping through the shadow, he reached the men before they had any idea he was there. He didn’t even bother with his weapon. Plucking the sword from the second guard’s hand, he hit him hard with the handle, sending him crashing to the ground.
The other’s cheroot fell from his mouth as he made a lunge for Max, but a stiff fist to the nose sent the man crashing to the ground. Working quickly, he pulled out some rope from his satchel and tied them both. He couldn’t have them giving him a hard time on the way back out.
He slid the kitchen door open, waiting until the maid had gone, and the cook’s back was turned away before he slid through the door. Stepping into the kitchen, he ducked into the butler’s pantry, immediately meeting a footman.
“Shh,” he whispered as he pressed the blade to the man’s throat.
The man’s eyes went wide as he held up his hands. “Please, sir.”
“Sophie,” he muttered, pressing the blade a bit deeper into the man’s skin. Then, he pointed.
The other man gave the tiniest nod as Max pushed him forward.
Max heard the front bell echo through the foyer. Ironheart had arrived with the constables. Good.
The footman led him up to the first floor and started down the hall. With his eyes narrowed, he grabbed the man’s collar, yanking him back, and pressing the sword to his throat again. “Wrong.”
“Please,” the men begged. “I just got confused. I?—”
Max knew Sophie was on the second floor, just as he knew this man lied. This time he pressed hard enough to draw blood. “Lie again and you will die.”
“All right,” the other man whimpered. “Please. It’s one more floor.”
“Tell me where,” he said even as he pushed the man forward.
“Third door on the left, but there are guards,” the other man hissed. “They’ll kill us both.”
They started up the stairs, but just as they reached the top, Max used the handle of the short sword on the back of the man’s head. Catching him in his arms, he laid him softly on the floor. Then, still hidden in the stairwell, he glanced down the hall. The two men leaned on either side of the door, one looking as though he might fall asleep at any moment.
For a second, Max considered his options. Then, looking down at the still footman, he gave him a push with his foot, sending the footman back down the spiral stairs. Pressing himself to the wall, both guards came charging into the stairwell. In short order, he knocked them both out.
Racing to Sophie’s door, he unclicked the heavy lock that had been placed upon it.
Sophie stood just on the other side, Abigail in her arms. Both wore a look of shock and fear, but he didn’t have time to comfort them.
Grabbing Sophie’s hand, he pulled her into the hall. “Come on.”
He started down the hall, half dragging Sophie behind. He was stronger in every metric, and she carried a child. With a small rumble, he reached back and plucked Abigail from her arms. “We need to move quickly.”
Abigail squawked but Sophie softly murmured, “Hush,” as they went down the stairs.
He could hear the loud voices of men arguing, and he knew that Ironheart was doing his job. He was the distraction, and by the time he was done, Plimpton would be in custody. The man had been impersonating a lord, and that was not an offense taken lightly.
By drawing out the arrest for as long as possible, Ironheart was giving him a chance to escape with Sophie. Max might have tried to have the constables remove her. If Plimpton wasn’t her uncle, she would have been there under false pretense. But Max hadn’t wanted to risk it. Lord Whitehouse might have insisted she wasn’t in the house and the constables would have to be made of stern stuff to demand a search.
Max hadn’t wanted to chance it.
As they reentered the kitchen, a maid caught sight of them and let out a blood-curdling scream.
“Damn it,” he muttered even as he pulled Sophie toward the door.
Dashing out into the darkness, he followed the garden wall, even as the shouts of several footmen filled the night.
His breath shot out of his chest as he laid eyes on the garden door. He knew it was locked, and the wood slats were thick, the hinges large. He could try to kick it down. Shaking his head, he stopped, lifting the child to set her atop the six-foot wall.
“Come now,” he said, grabbing Sophie’s waist and lifting her.
She weighed far more than he’d imagined, and he grunted with the effort to lift her up past his shoulders.
“Sorry about that,” she whispered back, even as the voices of the men searching for them grew louder.
He set her on the wall and heaved himself up and over. Then he reached up his arms. “Abigail first.”
Sophie reached for the girl, handing her down to him. He set her just to his right and then she jumped into arms.
That’s when he felt it. Her dress was like a knight’s armor. Heavy and filled with metal. “What the…”
“I’ll explain later.”
With a nod, he picked up Abigail and took Sophie’s hand. They dashed to his carriage at the end of the alley. He heard the shouts, and looking back, he saw several men pouring from the gate and coming over the wall. Moving faster, he pulled a stumbling Sophie behind him. The men pressed closer, and it was a race to make it to the carriage in time.
“Get ready,” he shouted at his driver.
That’s when from behind them, a shot rang out in the night.
He felt Sophie jolt. Stumble.
His eyes grew wide as she nearly fell. Wrapping an arm around her, he dragged her against him, carrying them both the final steps to the carriage as he set Abigail down and then hopped inside with Sophie. “Go, damn it, go!”
The driver snapped the reins, and the carriage jerked to a start even as another shot rang out in the night. He barely heard the sound as he sat on the floor between the seats, Sophie tight in his arms. Had she been hit?