Chapter 5
Chapter five
Hours later, and try as he might, Eric couldn’t think of a reason not to meet with Lord Chesterhill.
He had no intention of building a relationship with the man.
He’d lived seven and twenty years without a father, so he certainly didn’t need one now.
Besides, Hugh Fletcher was probably mistaken because Eric sure as hell didn’t feel like an aristocrat.
Then again, what if the investigator was correct?
Whatever the case, Eric would not let emotions distract him from his priority, which included protecting Auntie and her girls from Malestorm and freeing them from a life of servitude. He must, no matter what, remain single-minded.
After Eric attended to a few loose ends, he would spend a couple of hours in a carriage, collect his money, spend one night at a fancy estate, return home, and then take care of those he considered family. Easy as devouring Mrs. Paulson’s biscuits.
But, first and foremost, Eric had to ensure Malestorm stayed away from the people he cared about. Tonight, after he was through with the lech, their greedy landlord would never again threaten anyone at The Pink Petal.
Cloaked in darkness and a warm greatcoat, Eric hunkered down on the opposite side of the street and waited for Malestorm to leave his office.
He would follow the man home. Then, as soon as the coast was clear, he would drag him into the shadows and let him know in no uncertain terms that blackmailing Auntie again would be his final demise.
As Eric predicted, he didn’t have to wait long for Malestorm to waddle from his office. Taking care that no one noticed him, Eric crept across the street. He was almost upon his adversary when Malestorm stepped up to a carriage.
“The Theatre Royal,” Malestorm called to the driver.
Well, hell’s thunder. There went Eric’s plan. Now what? He tilted his head to eavesdrop.
“Yes, sir,” the driver said.
“The shows are bloody boring,” Malestorm said. “But I can always find someone or something at the theatre to occupy myself.”
Malestorm’s chortle was laced with multiple layers of malice, sending unsettling chills up Eric’s spine. Malestorm hefted himself into the carriage and within moments, the vehicle rolled away.
Extending his stride, Eric hurried to the end of the street where a carriage for hire waited. “Drury Lane,” he called to the driver. “Post haste.”
London was too bloody overcrowded, and entirely too big, so it took forever to reach the theatre.
Malestorm had already entered by the time Eric arrived.
Since wasted time was akin to sacrilege, Eric slid his mask over his head and patrolled the area for pickpockets as he waited for the show to end.
The January chill must be keeping the criminals at bay because he didn’t stumble across a single thief.
As soon as theatregoers spilled from the building, Eric removed his mask and stood behind one of the grand pillars. This time, he would grab Malestorm before he climbed into a carriage.
Dozens of prattling, well-dressed aristocrats strolled past Eric with nary a glance. Since his clothing and coat were hardly fashionable, they couldn’t possibly think he was one of them—unless his blood smelled as blue as a spoiled aristocrat’s.
Hell’s thunder, he was overthinking his pedigree again. Who gave a whit who his parents were when he had a vile wretch to deal with.
Eventually, Malestorm shuffled into view, strolling alongside none other than the aggressive Lord Riley.
How apropos that the two reprobates were friends.
Still, Malestorm’s satisfied smirk seemed at odds with Riley’s scowl.
It would be darkly humorous and wholly ironic if whatever Malestorm was rambling on about was unpalatable to the future earl.
Eric snorted. If anyone could repulse Riley, who probably had the pox and enjoyed hurting women, it was the opportunistic Malestorm.
As the pair drew closer, Eric caught sight of spun gold hair shining like a crown atop a magnificent goddess. His heartbeat thudded in his ears. It couldn’t be. He was seeing things. He blinked and looked again.
His eyes had not deceived him. The Mayfair beauty was on Lord Riley’s arm. However, if Eric wasn’t mistaken, her smile was forced, and her gloved fingers quivered.
Riley stepped away from her to whisper something to Malestorm. Hugging her cloak close, she wrapped her arms around her torso. Her body convulsed, then shivered. Although the night was chilly, the company she kept was enough to make any sane person shudder.
Whatever Riley said seemed to unsettle Malestorm momentarily. Frowning, he rubbed his brow, but a second later, his wicked grin grew. “I hope your wedding is delightful,” he bellowed so loudly that every bystander in their vicinity probably heard him.
Eric’s instincts told him the vociferous pronouncement was more a threat than a kind sentiment.
And then the truly horrifying reality hit him.
This delicate angel was Riley’s fiancée.
Just last night, the man had been in bed with poor Abigail, paying her to let him do lord knew what when most of Auntie’s girls no longer shared their beds with him due to his taboo tastes and violent nature.
Eric swallowed bile. Obviously, Riley planned to meet his needs in a brothel, then return home to a gently bred wife who would birth him an heir and a few spares.
Many aristocrats did this. Apparently, even Eric’s father.
But how many were as ruthless and aggressive as Riley?
The beauty turned her forced smile on Malestorm. Riley grabbed her elbow and nudged her in the opposite direction as an older woman took Riley’s other elbow. The crowd surged toward the street, and Eric lost sight of them.
Eric needed to deal with Malestorm before he left town. However, something was troubling the beauty. What if Riley abused his fiancée like he did the woman he paid to make his violent fantasies come true? If that was the case, Eric couldn’t pretend he hadn’t noticed her distress and walk away.
It seemed Eric had no other choice but to deal with his landlord later.
He pushed through the throng until he caught sight of Riley.
As if he were a predator tracking prey, he carefully trailed behind the three aristocrats as they strolled alongside the waiting vehicles.
Meanwhile, the wind helped carry their conversation to Eric’s astute ears.
“Why is our carriage so far away?” the older woman asked.
“I don’t know, but I will take it out on Leonard’s hide,” Riley said.
“Oh, please don’t, Charles,” the beauty said. “I don’t mind. I love to walk, even when it’s cold.”
Riley halted, forcing Eric to stop short so that he didn’t crash into his back.
“Are you telling me how to deal with my staff?” Riley asked.
Christ almighty, the man was rat dung.
The beauty’s back stiffened. “Will they not also be my staff soon?”
Riley leaned into her shoulder and whispered in her ear. She went stone still.
Prickles rose up Eric’s spine. If Riley had threatened her, he would flay his flesh from his bones.
Slowly. Torturously. He’d lower the degenerate into a boiling cauldron, enjoying the man’s screams. Then, right before Riley took his last breath—still alive, but barely—ensuring he felt every inch of pain, Eric would start carving. Slicing. Sawing…
A man with his hands shoved into the pockets of a threadbare coat barreled toward the trio, interrupting Eric’s demented fantasy.
If the out-of-control pedestrian didn’t slow down, he would crash into the beauty.
As Eric ripped his mask from his pocket and slammed it over his head, another man, wielding a knife, charged the trio from the side.
To Eric’s horror, Riley squealed and pushed the beauty in front of him. What a deplorable, cowardly fuckrat!
The barreling man halted abruptly and withdrew a knife from his pocket. “Hand over your jewelry, ladies.” He rested the blade’s point on the beauty’s bosom.
She stoically met the man’s gaze, not a sign of fear in her determined stare.
“I will not,” the elderly woman said. “Charles, do something.”
But Charles was busy cowering behind his brave fiancée, whom he had offered up as a sacrificial lamb.
Eric slammed into the thief who had come from the side.
In one swift move, he grabbed the man’s wrist and wrenched it backward until he heard the satisfying crunch of snapping bone.
The man screamed, and the knife clattered to the ground.
Before Eric had time to throw a punch, the man turned tail and sprinted into the darkness.
Their other assailant snarled as he directed his demands at the stubborn chaperone. “Give me your sapphires or the pretty one dies.” He pressed the knife to the beauty’s neck.
Eric rushed forward and kicked, driving his heel into the attacker’s breadbasket.
The man stumbled backward, and his knife flew through the air.
Eric grabbed the scalawag by his dirty lapels and tossed him onto the ground.
Standing over him, he steadied his ragged breathing.
He’d rather beat this scoundrel to a pulp than tie him up and leave him for the magistrate.
“You,” a gentle, feminine voice said. “You saved me. Again.”
Eric peered over his shoulder to find the beauty regarding him. While he was distracted by her wide eyes, the second man bolted onto his feet and fled.
“What do you mean he saved you again?” Riley asked, his chest puffed up as if he hadn’t just shoved a lady into the path of danger to save himself.
Heir apparent or not, this abhorrent excuse for a man needed to be taught a lesson.
Eric’s fist shot out, smashing Riley in his haughty, upturned nose.
Riley screamed as blood splattered. Once he stopped squealing like a toddler, the cowardly fuckrat brought his hand to his nose as he glared at Eric.
“I will see you hanged,” he declared.
“Help,” the elderly lady screamed. “Help! This masked beast just hit a future peer of the realm.”
Eric rolled his eyes. Frustration aside, he needed to leave immediately before a half dozen Bow Street Runners converged on him.
“Are you well, my lady?” he asked the beauty.
“Miss Juliet,” she said, her sweet voice akin to a gentle caress. “I am, thanks to you.”
“Help! Please help us,” the lady, who was so annoying that she had to be Riley’s relation screeched.
Riley whimpered. “The blighter punched me in the nose.”
Meanwhile, Juliet’s attention remained focused on Eric’s mask. She stepped closer and looked up at him, reverence in her gaze.
Her fingertips brushed over the bottom edge of the fabric. “Who are you?” she whispered as if it were just the two of them standing on that street.
“Juliet.” Riley growled. “What are you doing? Get away from that monster.”
She ignored her fiancé, trailing her finger beneath Eric’s eyes. Sparks sizzled through her glove and the mask to warm Eric from head to toe. Unable to control himself, he wrapped her in his arms. Instead of pulling away, she tilted her head back and parted her lips.
“Juliet!” Riley bellowed.
Eric lowered his mouth to place one gentle kiss on her silky lips, absorbing her sigh as if it were a life-saving breath.
“How indecent,” Riley’s annoying relation said. “Help!”
The clomp of fast-moving footsteps charged toward them. Most likely Bow Street Runners. Eric reluctantly let go of Juliet. Spinning toward the line of carriages, he sprinted between the two closest to him.
“Stop that masked man,” Riley yelled. “He went that way.”
Eric allowed himself one last peek over his shoulder, and his heart somersaulted because Juliet’s fingers rested on the pink lips that he’d just kissed.