Chapter 15
THE VICAR
London
He was glad to be back in Town. It had been a shame to lose two more of his fold to the gallows. But there were always men who needed blunt and would do almost anything to get it.
“Come in,” he called at the knock.
DB entered with another man, immediately making him wary.
“You didn’t mention bringing a guest,” he said, his tone neutral.
“I thought I’d surprise you,” said DB.
The “surprise” moved forward, pulling off his cap to show his snow-white hair, ice-blue eyes, and a wicked smile.
“Johns,” said The Vicar, standing and holding out his hand. “Where the devil did he find you?”
“Got a note saying the major was short on men.” He gave The Vicar a salute. “Volunteering for duty, Lord Major.”
“I accept,” he said, a smile curling his lips. “I’m in desperate need of someone to lead my congregation.”
“DB said you’ve exchanged ranks,” said Johns.
After a short discussion—these men didn’t need their hands held—he left for the theater. Once settled in his box, he waited for the curtain to open, thinking about his DB and Johns.
They had served with him in the war. Men of courage and strength who couldn’t comprehend the word “no.” DB, a brilliant marksman, was born to be an assassin. Quiet, unassuming, able to slip in and out of a crowded place and never be noticed.
Johns’s personality was the opposite. Jovial and charming, he was able to gather men around him and demand allegiance.
But disobey an order or threaten the safety of his commander, and those clear-blue eyes could turn deadly in a breath.
Their loyalty was unquestioned. All three had saved each other’s lives more than once.
None of them would have survived Waterloo without the trio staying together.
Yes, the tide was changing. He realized the curtain had risen and focused on the stage. When a supporting actress took the stage, he blinked.
Who was that divine creature?
Glorious hair the color of an expensive burgundy. Green eyes richer than emeralds.
Then she spoke, and her sensuous voice enveloped him. He drew in a deep breath, his pulse racing as if he’d run the entire length of Rotten Row. No woman had affected him like this.
He peered over his shoulder and beckoned his man with the crook of a finger. “Find out what her name is and if she’s married.” Not that it mattered.
He listened to her as she sang, her voice like an angel. He was enchanted by this vivacious woman. His eyes scanned the crowd and noticed other men watching her, wanting her. Jealousy burned in his gut.
“Her name is Miss Honora O’Brien,” his man said upon returning. “She is not married and will also be performing later this month.”
The Vicar smiled and settled back in his chair to enjoy the play. He may become a more frequent visitor of the theater.
As she left the stage, he decided he would have her. Miss Honora O’Brien would be his.