Chapter 40 #2
Grey cuddled her close and kissed her again, while he still had the chance, blatantly taking advantage of her hysterics.
With her hands free, she wrapped them around his neck and eagerly lifted her lips to his.
He knew he had to stop this. He would, just as soon as his heart quit trying to leap out of his chest.
Or her brother arrived. Andrew’s frantic cries rang through the length of the gallery.
Grey reluctantly set Ellie on the floor. “You’re bleeding. We need to take you to Dr. Walker. Who did this? Did you see him?”
“Tiny.” She grabbed his lapels so he couldn’t pull away. “Mort’s paintings. He may be destroying them. They’re evidence.”
Andrew limped into the storage area and collapsed on a crate in disgust. “Dammit, El, can’t you stay out of trouble for just one day?”
She giggled.
The fool woman giggled. Grey didn’t want to know what was going on inside that fascinating head of hers. He needed to focus on strangling Tiny.
No one had given the shrimp a second look. Tubercular Tiny hadn’t the strength to dig a turnip—but he’d been able to knock down Ellie. Grey’s insides roiled.
Thea finally arrived, along with Fletch and Damien as deputies, since Hunt continued holding court and required the bailiff’s presence.
With regret, Grey watched Andrew and Thea hustle Eleanor away. He desperately wished to follow, to hold her again and be certain he wasn’t responsible for any serious harm, but first—he had a Bradford to kill.
“Where is Tiny staying? Does he have a horse?” Grey threw open the back door, but no transportation miraculously appeared.
“We’ve sent men to block the road out of town in both directions. Unless he goes out Sutter’s Lane—which ends in a sheep farm—he can’t go far.” Fletch, the former soldier and current clockmaker, stepped into the alley. “Do any of the artists own a horse he might steal?”
While he was holding Ellie and people poured into the gallery, Grey had lost track of everyone present. A tug at his sleeve caused him to glance down at Ellie’s little maid. Silas stood beside her, wide-eyed.
“Mr. Tiny stole Mr. Andrew’s pony cart from the inn and has it down to the river, sir,” Peg said anxiously.
“I can speak for myself,” Silas muttered, pushing forward. “He said he’d pay me to help him load. When I said the cart weren’t mine, he knocked me down and stole it! I came to find you, sir.”
Fletch and Arnaud took off down the alley, in the direction of the river. Grey wanted to do the same, but these. . . He had staff and the burden of responsibilities weighing on him now.
“Silas found me so we could find you,” Peg said stalwartly. “But now I have to go find my lady again. It’s awful hard keeping up with gentry.”
Any other time, Grey would have laughed, but this was twice now that Peg had brought warnings.
He gave them both coins and remanded them to Andrew, who was at the physician’s cottage with his sister.
“Tell the women there what is happening. Stand guard. We don’t know what Tiny will do next or who is helping him. ”
Not giving the boy time to argue, Grey finally raced after the others. If the scoundrel meant to make a run for the river, he wouldn’t find his oars. Grey wasn’t stupid enough to let another pirate waylay him.
By the time Grey reached the riverbank, Tiny already had the rowboat laden with canvas and was frantically attempting to steer into the current with part of a canvas frame. Arnaud and Fletch were on the bank, pulling off their boots.
Artists and clockmakers weren’t wealthy and couldn’t afford to ruin boots. Grey’s boots had been ruined so many times. . . He shed his coat and walked straight out into the slow current to confront the villain he meant to strangle.
Tiny struggled frantically to escape the reeds, into the faster-flowing current in the center.
Grey grabbed the side of the boat. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to bring an oar or I’d bash out your brains.”
In reply, Tiny swung his board. With the strength of fury, Grey caught it and flung it into the river.
Both hands now free, he gripped Tiny by the coat collar and pounded his fist into the scoundrel’s nose with a satisfying crunch.
Much as he would like to repeat the maneuver, Tiny was too tiny to put up much of a fight. He squalled and grabbed his nose.
Boots off, Arnaud and Fletch waded out to retrieve the rowboat and its load of canvas.
“Where are my oars?” Tiny screamed, kicking as Grey hauled him to shore.
“In the river, where they belong. I’m done with being hit over the head.” That wasn’t even a lie. Gray could retrieve the oars anytime he liked, from under the reeds where he’d tied them. If anyone swung an oar from here on out, it would be him.
That sounded as if he meant to stay.
Except now, he had an estate without anyone but a gouty steward maintaining it. If Grey had anything to say about it, Stew was never going back there again. Ever.
And he had a beautiful assistant who wanted to stay here, because she was exceptionally brilliant and knew better than to stay around a man who only brought disaster.
He needed an ivory tower.