Chapter 42
Alec swept off his curly beaver hat as he entered the foyer, but something in Wakely’s expression made him pause.
“What’s happened?” His gut twisted and he added, “Where’s her ladyship?”
“Lady Sutcliffe left for St. George’s. She was anxious because—”
“Edie’s gone because of ’er!”
Alec glanced over at the scruffy boy standing in the hallway. “Who the devil are you?”
“This is . . . Fish,” Wakely answered, his tone disapproving. “Her ladyship ordered the scamp fed, but apparently mutton, mashed potatoes, and three tarts have not improved his disposition.”
The boy turned his scowl on the butler. “I don’t need nothin’ improved. I need ter find Edie.”
“Are you speaking of Edwina?” Alec asked.
“Aye, Edie. The fiend took ’er. I told ’er ladyship w’ot ’e looked like, and she went off ter the ’ospital.”
“She wanted me to inform you when you returned,” Wakely said. “I’ve sent word to Mr. Kelly as well. Her ladyship said she needed to speak to Mr. Burnell.”
Alec shoved his hat on his head again. “When did she leave?”
“An hour, no more,” the butler replied.
“Oy! Where’re ye goin’?” Fish demanded when Alec turned to yank open the door.
Alec lifted an eyebrow at the boy’s insolence. “I’m going to find my wife. Does that meet with your approval?”
Fish’s chin jutted up. “Aye, gov, but I’m goin’ with ye.”
***
Kendra’s fingers tightened on the pistol’s trigger as the carriage swayed to a stop.
“What’s your coachman’s name?” she asked Sir Preston.
The carriage rocked as the coachman leapt off his seat. Footsteps crunched outside. Kendra inched backward, making sure she was in a position to cover both Sir Preston and the carriage door.
“Ned,” Sir Preston said.
“Either Ned is extremely loyal or you pay him very well.”
The old man smiled. “He’s loyal. I saved his life when he was a young lad. An emergency appendectomy. You can’t buy that kind of allegiance.”
“Good to know.” Deliberately she shifted the muzzle so it was pointed directly at Sir Preston. “Ned might be willing to take a bullet for you, but he won’t risk your life.”
The door opened and Kendra ordered, “Don’t move, Ned!”
The coachman jerked back, his hand flying to the knife tucked into his belt.
“Freeze, asshole, or I’m going to put a hole in Sir Preston’s head!”
Ned froze. His gaze darted from Kendra to Sir Preston.
“Stay calm,” Sir Preston murmured, giving a little nod to his coachman. His composure was almost eerie, Kendra thought. But she forced herself to ignore it, keeping her eyes on coachman.
“Here’s what you’re going to do, Ned,” she said. “You’re going to place both of your hands on top of your head.”
His lips peeled back in a snarl as he complied. “If you harm Sir Preston, I’ll kill you.”
She ignored the threat. “Lace your fingers together. Now, step back ten paces—no, don’t turn around. Face me and step backwards. Keep your hands on your head, fingers laced.”
Ned’s eyes burned with hatred as he locked his gaze on hers. He stopped after ten paces.
“If you so much as twitch, Ned, I swear to God, you’ll be burying Sir Preston.” She let that sink in, then, without looking away from Ned, she said, “Your turn, Sir Preston.”
“If you’re asking me to get out of the carriage with my hands on my head, I have to decline, my lady. I’m old. This cane isn’t for show; it’s a necessity.”
Shit. “Fine. Get out of the carriage. Slowly.”
He huffed out a laugh. “At my age, that is the only way I can move.”
She waited until he was through the door before pressing the pistol’s muzzle against the back his skull and then looking to Ned again, she said, “Keep your hands on your head and be very still.”
It happened fast. One second, she was following Sir Preston out of the carriage, the next the old man let out a sharp cry and his leg twisted beneath him.
She shot a quick look at Sir Preston, then sensed Ned moving.
She swung back to the coachman, the bigger threat, and pulled the trigger.
Grit exploded out of the brick wall where Ned had been standing a second ago. Son of a bitch.
She cut her gaze to where he’d thrown himself and—
Pain screamed through her, stunning her and stealing her breath. She staggered backward and fell against the carriage steps. She heard a clatter as the pistol fell from her numb fingers.
She looked into Sir Preston’s eyes. Then she dropped her gaze down to his cane’s silver handle that concealed a lethal blade.
A blade that was now embedded in her stomach.