Chapter 6
Six
Theodore Roth sat motionless atop his black stallion. His hat brim shadowed his face, leaving only the glint of his eyes visible under the faint flicker of a gaslamp.
Across the narrow street, a weathered townhouse stood silent and waiting. Theo’s gloved hand tightened imperceptibly on the reins. Tonight would be different.
The door creaked open, and a hunched figure slipped out, clutching a bulging sack against his chest. The man glanced furtively up and down the street before stepping into the mist.
Theo shifted slightly, signaling with two fingers. The Bow Street Runners, hidden in the deeper shadows, moved into position.
The thug darted left, quick as a rat.
Theo was quicker. He dismounted in one smooth, fluid motion, his boots striking the pavement with a muffled thud. Three strides closed the distance. He seized the man by the collar and slammed him hard against the brick wall.
“What—what are you doing?” the thug gasped, struggling like a trapped animal.
Theo leaned in closer, his grip unyielding. “You remember what you took from me,” he said, his voice low and steady, a blade wrapped in velvet.
The man grunted, twisting to no avail. His breath stank of gin and fear, and Theo’s fingers tightened until his knuckles whitened.
The alley blurred.
“Hide, Theo. Hide, darling. Please!”
Her voice was a trembling whisper, her hands firm despite the terror in her eyes. She pushed him out of the room.
“Go. Go now!”
He fled, heart hammering, into the cold void of silence, the crack of splintering wood and heavy boots pursuing him into the dark.
Theo’s jaw locked. He forced himself back into the present, the stench of the alley burning in his nose.
“Your Grace?” one of the Runners said, approaching cautiously, a set of manacles dangling from his hand.
Theo released the thug with a shove, sending him sprawling into the Runner’s grip.
“Take him to the magistrate,” Theo ordered, his tone clipped. “He will be thoroughly questioned in the afternoon.”
The thug cursed under his breath. “You got the wrong man. I don’t know you.”
Theo’s gaze was cold enough to freeze the mist around them. “You will.”
The Runner paused. “Shall we begin without you, Your Grace?”
Theo’s eyes hardened further. “No. Not until I arrive.”
The thug, bruised and breathing heavily, gave a mocking laugh that ended in a cough.
Theo turned without another word, mounting his horse in a swift, practiced motion. He spurred the stallion forward, the mist parting before him as he rode.
As he neared the outskirts of Mayfair, the streets grew quieter, the gaslights fewer. A sharp cry pierced the mist.
“Help! Somebody help!”
Theo reined in his horse, scanning the gloom. Another cry—desperate, masculine—echoed down an alleyway to his right.
Suppressing a sigh, Theo guided his stallion toward the sound. The scene he found might have been almost comical were it not so pitiable: a man pinned beneath a sagging horse, feebly waving one arm.
“Over here! Please!”
Theo dismounted and approached. In the dim light of the moon, he could barely make out the man’s features. The horse, clearly exhausted, shifted its weight, but the man remained trapped.
“Hold still,” Theo ordered.
He seized the horse’s bridle, murmuring low, steady words until the beast, sensing a firmer hand, attempted to rise. With a great heave, Theo managed to shift the horse enough for the man to wriggle free.
The man scrambled to his feet, brushing dust from his coat.
“Thank you, sir, thank you!” he gushed.
Theo stepped back, finally getting a good look at him. It was Baron Wexley, the dandy who had nearly crashed with his bride.
Wexley brushed dirt from his coat then recognition dawned on his face. He gave a clumsy bow, wincing slightly as he did so. “Your Grace,” he gasped. “Thank you, truly.”
A nod was Theo’s only response.
“Took a horse from my stables,” Wexley said, shaking his head. “Had no idea the poor beast was ill. Came here—” He gestured sheepishly at the shadowed building behind him. “—to try my luck. Lost a hundred guineas at cards. Figured that was my sign to call it a night.”
Theo glanced at the building, recognizing it immediately as a notorious gaming hell.
“The horse needs a veterinarian more than you need luck,” Theo observed.
“I know,” Wexley said, looking genuinely miserable. “But I don’t know where to find one at this hour, and we are at the edge of town.”
Theo bit back his impatience. Leaving Wexley to fuss over the animal, he strode to the street and hailed two youth lingering nearby.
“Find Farmer Bill,” Theo instructed. “Tell him to come quickly—there’s a horse in need.” The boys nodded and raced off.
“Who’s Farmer Bill?” Wexley asked, limping slightly as he approached.
“A man who tends to injured horses,” Theo explained. “He lives nearby.”
“Thank you again, Your Grace,” Wexley said, attempting another bow that nearly toppled him.
Theo raised an eyebrow. “You are injured. Shall I fetch a physician as well?”
“Oh, I shall manage,” Wexley said hastily. “No bones broken, I think.”
Satisfied the situation was under control, Theo turned to leave—then paused.
“Baron Wexley,” he said without looking back, “next time, check your horses before you take them out.”
“Of course, of course,” Wexley said hurriedly.
Theo mounted his stallion, gathering the reins.
“And,” he added, voice flat, “leave Lady April alone. She is my betrothed, and I don’t intend to share.”
Wexley’s mouth opened and closed several times before he managed a reply.
“Oh—oh, yes! Yes, of course! Wouldn’t dream of interfering, Your Grace! Lovely girl, but—well—I would never—”
Theo shook his head and rode off into the night, leaving Wexley sputtering behind him. How the fool managed to take Lady April out was beyond him. But then she was polite enough not to refuse a baron’s courtship, especially in her debut season when she did not know better.
Stone Hall appeared in the distance, a grim silhouette against the dawn sky. He quickened his horse before stopping at the front steps. Dismounting, he tossed the reins to a waiting groom.
The butler, Redmond, awaited him with a lantern. “Welcome back, Your Grace,” Redmond said, bowing low. “A letter arrived in your absence.” He handed it to Theo when he was fully in the front hall.
Theo took the letter, the thick parchment cool against his gloved fingers. He broke the plain seal and unfolded it.
Your Grace,
I thought it might be agreeable—if you are not otherwise engaged—to join my family and me for a modest picnic at Hyde Park tomorrow afternoon. I trust the weather will be fine, but should it not be, we will simply find shelter and laugh about it as any proper adventurers would.
Yours,
Lady April
Theo stared at the graceful handwriting, reading the words again and again.
Laugh about it. As any proper adventurers would.
A reluctant warmth stirred in his chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome. He folded the letter carefully, slipping it inside his coat.
“Redmond,” he said, his voice quieter now, “send word to Bow Street. Inform them the questioning set for today afternoon is postponed.”
“At once, Your Grace,” Redmond replied.
Theo considered what he had just said then added, “Until I send them word.”
The butler bowed and left him in the hall. Theo lingered for a moment, his thoughts on Lady April. He had not expected her invitation this soon, given how outraged she had been about his lack of tears at the opera.
Ridiculous woman!
He must honor her invitation, for his future depended on it. On her.