Chapter Sixteen

Maxwell bolted upright. The sudden movement sent a burst of fire across his side. He pushed the blanket off and checked Bryn’s work. A neat row of stitches, the skin reddened but not inflamed.

He checked the time, pulled his ruined shirt over his head so as to not scandalize the servants, and dragged himself to his room to rinse his mouth and change into something less ripped and bloody. A light repast of bread and cheese settled his stomach. He wasn’t sure whether it was the liquor, nerves over the night’s endeavor, or his admissions to Bryn that was the cause.

By the time he emerged, feeling close to human again, the earl and Lionel were sitting side by side on the settee, sharing a pot of tea as Bryn paced by the window.

The earl set his teacup down and scooted to the edge of his seat. “Miss McCann informs me there has been another attempt on your life, but you’re looking hardy and hale.”

He didn’t feel either. “I’m well enough. This time it was two hired thugs. Claimed that Danny McAfee, leader of the apprentice gang, hired them to kill or maim me.”

The earl and Lionel exchanged a glance. Both looked worried, which in turn worried Maxwell. He’d expected the earl to scoff at the attempt as yet another adventure.

“They’re opportunists. I’ve never heard of them targeting someone specific and in broad daylight.” The earl rubbed a finger along his lip.

“They must have been watching the house. I went out unexpectedly and to nowhere they could have anticipated. They cornered me in an alley.”

“Perhaps the gang is branching out into hired work.”

“Perhaps, but I suspect someone else is giving McAfee orders. Any ideas who that might be?” Maxwell shot a look at the earl.

“I’m not in possession of such information. Yet.” The earl’s mouth twitched behind his finger. “Besides avoiding them, I haven’t given those upstart apprentices much thought.”

“Do they have a purpose?” Bryn had tucked herself next to the thick velvet drapes—her eyes bright and her chin sharp—like a bird at hunt.

For the first time, Lionel spoke. “They organized with grand ideals of better pay and shorter hours. Blame the system, not the men.”

The earl made a phishing sound. “They’re little better than common thieves.”

“They’re likely watching the house right now. Tonight’s plan is foolish beyond the extreme.” Bryn peeked out the front window before twitching the drapes closed.

“She’s right,” the earl said. “You’ll need to sneak out the back.”

Bryn stalked forward, the air crackling with her anger. “No. He should stay here. Safe. You’re all fools. Well, perhaps not you, Mr. Masterson, as I haven’t heard your opinion on the matter, but definitely you two.” She wagged her finger back and forth at the earl and Maxwell.

The protectiveness in her voice gave him pause. It felt like more than a night bound them. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“You can’t promise me that.” She stomped a foot. “Let me help. I could stand guard outside the building. Or even scale the wall in your place. You’re injured.”

“Absolutely not.” Maxwell rose, his throbbing side a reminder Bryn’s point was valid. “You’d be a distraction, making it even more dangerous. Edinburgh is not safe at night. Or the day, for that matter. You are going to stay here with the earl and Mr. Masterson. Is that understood?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I understand.” But might not obey, her defiant look said as if she’d spoken aloud.

He turned toward the two gentlemen. “Make sure she doesn’t follow me. Tie her up if you have to.”

“We’ll do whatever’s necessary,” the earl said over Lionel’s stumbling protests.

He stalked out the drawing room door, refusing to look back even though he wanted one more glimpse of her.

“Stop right there, Drake.” Bryn grabbed his arm and pulled him around, his wish granted.

Anger radiated off her, but her eyes were soft, wide, worried. For him. How long had it been since someone had worried over his well-being? With her hair escaping its pins and her face flushed, she was lovely. He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Have you noticed you call me Drake when you’re annoyed?” he asked softly.

“Keep yourself alive, Drake, or I’ll never forgive you.” She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and laid a hard kiss on his mouth. With an eviscerating look that seared, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the drawing room.

He felt like he’d taken a physical hit, shaken and off-balance. For the first time in forever, he had something to live for. Someone to survive for. Which was exactly the sort of thinking that would get him killed. He blew out a long breath and made his way through the narrow mews at the back of the town house, making friends with the shadows.

He moved behind the row of houses and tipped his hat at the random hostler that roused at his passing. No one raised an alarm.

Nearing the main thoroughfare and the tavern, Maxwell pulled his hat low and scanned the milling crowd of working men looking to take the winter’s chill off with some ale and entertainment. The scene appeared wholly ordinary. He slipped inside and found Penny slouched at a corner table that afforded him a view of the front doors.

Penny gave him an almost imperceptible shake of his head, which Maxwell interpreted to mean they shouldn’t be spotted together much less observed leaving together. He made his way to the bar and ordered an ale, not bothering to remove his hat, gloves, or greatcoat. He took a sip, his stomach protesting the addition of alcohol.

Penny weaved to the back of the tavern and disappeared down a narrow hallway. Maxwell left his ale for the front door and strolled down the street, waiting for Penny’s signal.

“Are you ready then, sir?”

Maxwell reached for the knife in his boot before the voice registered as friend, not foe. Penny stepped out of the alley as if birthed from the darkness.

“As ready as I’ll ever be. Did you learn anything of interest this afternoon?”

“Nothing of note. Typical sort of building. We’ll head round to the back. Lucky for us, the ledges are wide. It should be an easy climb.”

They reached the back of Dewey, Pickett, and Franklin, and without further ado, Penny fit himself to the bricks and climbed as if he were an eight-legged spider. If this was Penny out of practice, how good had the man been in his prime? Penny reached the second-floor ledge without a single misplaced foot. Maxwell, on the other hand, had scrambled for purchase half a dozen times, the wound on his side throbbing.

Penny checked the first window, found it latched, and moved on to the next. It opened soundlessly, and he swung himself inside. Maxwell’s entrance was less graceful and louder. Penny shushed him, and Maxwell mimicked his stillness. The silence felt vast.

“Someone else is here,” Penny whispered.

They had landed in a library of sorts. Leather-bound books lined one wall from floor to ceiling. Pickett’s office was located at the front of the building. Penny guided them out and down the hall, unerringly toward their target.

They stopped outside, the boards under their feet creaking. A candle flickered from under the door, and the sound of drawers rattling came from inside.

Penny held up three fingers and counted down one finger at a time. Maxwell nodded, understanding the intent. At the signal, Penny threw the door open to reveal an open window and a snuffed, smoking candle on the floor. A stiff, cold wind blew papers around the office.

Maxwell ran to the window. A man dressed in black jumped the last dozen feet to the ground, rolled to his feet, and ran off with a limping gait. Penny pulled the window and draperies closed with a swift glance up and down the street to see if anyone bore witness to their predecessor’s escape.

“Blast and damn.” Penny was the picture of calm. “Let’s see if the bounder got what we came for.”

Maxwell wanted to wail and tear at his hair. So close. They’d been so close. They riffled through the papers, not finding MacShane’s will. The man might have run off with it or it might well be buried under the mess.

Penny checked out the window through a crack in the drapes. “Sir, we shouldn’t tarry.”

Maxwell kicked and sent papers flying off the floor but led the way back to the library.

“Careful now. Coming down’s a sight more difficult than going up.” With that piece of comforting advice, Penny tossed a leg over the sill and made the descent look like child’s play.

Maxwell took a deep breath and followed but left the window open. If Penny expected him to close it whilst balanced on the ledge, he could go piss in the wind.

Although it took Maxwell twice as long, he landed on the ground unscathed except for aching muscles and a sore side. Relief and eagerness to see Bryn offset the disappointment of the night, and he quickened their pace home.

* * * * *

Bryn meandered the drawing room and chewed on her nails. Mrs. Winslow had joined them for the vigil. While the earl and Mrs. Winslow engaged in half-hearted flirting, Lionel Masterson’s attention wandered from her to his book, and though he seemed on the verge several times, he didn’t speak.

Heavy footsteps echoed. She launched herself into the entry and scooted around Penny to Maxwell. Not caring who saw them, she ran her hands from his shoulders to his wrists and then from the top of his chest to his waist, cataloging that all his parts were in working order and there were no extra holes or gashes.

“You’re alive. And unhurt?” None of the tightness from the afternoon was present around his mouth and eyes.

“I’m well enough. Although your confidence is underwhelming, lass.” The amusement in his voice didn’t dent her worry.

“Please don’t make light. The evening has been torture. Imagining…”

Penny’s voice rumbled indistinctly from the drawing room. She pressed her cheek against his chest, feeling the sharp edges of his buttons but needing to hear the strong cadence of his heartbeat. “Was it worth the risk?” she asked.

“We were beaten to the punch.” Frustration stamped out any lingering humor. “The blighter escaped out the window before we could catch him. Left the office ransacked.”

“I’m sorry.”

He took her hand and squeezed before putting a proper distance between them and gesturing her into the drawing room to join the others. She stayed on the edges and observed.

The earl paced and tapped his temples as if trying to fit this new puzzle piece into the mystery. “Either the devil caught wind of our visit to Pickett and took it upon himself to get the will out of his hands, or Pickett himself betrayed us.”

Penny swirled a glass of brandy, his hip propped against the window sash while taking the occasional peek outside. “He was damnably unprofessional. Pardon the language, ladies. I’m used to Miss Lily.”

“What makes you say that?” The earl stopped and tilted his head.

“He’d no talent for tossing an office. Papers pulled out in droves from the drawers and scattered. The will could have very well been there, but there’s no way any of us could have found it in that mess.”

“Perhaps that was his intent,” the earl said.

“Perhaps.” Penny sniffed as if offended by the man’s standards when it came to the proper techniques of breaking and entering. “His exit was none too skillful either. Climbed the front face where anyone could have seen him, panicked, fell the last dozen feet or so, and then limped off.”

Lionel rubbed his chin. “Whereas the men who attacked Drake in the alley were paid professionals. Could we be dealing with two different factions, gentlemen?”

“It’s possible. Considering Bryn and I are both seeking information no one wants found.” Maxwell ran a hand over his face and sat, unable to mask a wince.

It took all her willpower to not hover over him. Instead, she took the seat across from him and fisted her hands in her skirts.

The earl’s voice danced on the edge of urgency and excitement. “Unless we want to wait until someone actually manages to kill Drake off, it’s imperative we attend Sutherland’s dinner party.”

“Should I reconnoiter Sutherland’s house?” Penny asked.

The earl rubbed his hands together. “The man will likely hire on more servants for the house party. Offer yourself up as a footman, Penny.”

“I can’t abide fancy duds, sir. They make me feel strangled.” But Penny’s voice was resigned, his protest weak.

“A few days is all we need. It’ll allow you to get inside and see what this Sutherland gent is really like. See if the rumors are true. Think of our advantage if we know the layout beforehand. It will save us considerable time.”

“I’m supposed to be retired.” Penny emptied his glass with a swallow and clunked it down on the table. “I spent three lovely years with Miss Lily, tending flowers and driving her around London. Very relaxing—minus the incident with Penhaven.”

“Men like us never retire, Penny.” The earl’s half smile was met by a snort.

“Only because men like you won’t let me.”

“I’ll forge you a reference, and we’ll hire a temporary driver tomorrow.”

“Aren’t you all forgetting something?” Bryn popped up. Everyone’s gaze on her sent a flush up her neck, but she concentrated on Maxwell. “The dinner is days away. How will you stay alive until then?”

“I can take care of myself.”

She huffed.

“They’ve tipped their hand. I’ll stay close to home and away from dark alleys. I can certainly take appointments here instead of traveling,” he said.

“How’s your venture progressing, Drake?” the earl asked.

“Almost too well. Between the letters of introduction from Lady Minerva and yourself, I have more work than I can reasonably handle. Enough to hire a clerk or two once things settle.”

“That’s wonderful news.” Lionel rose. “It’s late, and this old body isn’t used to keeping London hours. David, why don’t you rouse poor Edith?”

Mrs. Winslow listed toward the armrest like a ship whose ballast was uneven. The earl touched her shoulder, and she came to as if she had only blinked her eyes shut. The earl escorted her to the bottom of the stairs and kissed her hand before following Lionel and Penny out the door with farewells.

Maxwell pressed a hand against his side for an instant before casting her an inscrutable look and disappearing into his study.

Mrs. Winslow trudged up the stairs, stopping halfway. “Are you coming, Miss Bryn?”

Bryn stood at the bottom of the stairs, her hand on the banister. She glanced back at the closed door of the study. “I should check Maxwell’s stitches.”

“I’ll trust that’s all you’ll be checking?”

Considering the state in which Mrs. Winslow had found her and Maxwell earlier that day, she could hardly blame the woman for asking. “Of course that’s all.”

Mrs. Winslow descended far enough to lay a hand over Bryn’s. “Darling girl, I understand something of love. But if you want your Mr. Drake to come up to scratch, you must play a more elusive game.”

Bryn swallowed. If this was a game, the rules were a mystery.

Mrs. Winslow squeezed her hand, her expression unusually serious, before turning and climbing the stairs. Bryn waited until she heard Mrs. Winslow’s door close before she tentatively knocked on the study door.

“Enter.” His voice rumbled.

There was time to escape. She could hie to the stairs and lock herself in her room. Her hand trembled on the latch. Crossing over the threshold seemed tantamount to crossing another line.

Discarding all common sense, she slipped inside. Slumped in an armchair, Maxwell looked worn and haggard, his face pale, his eyes drawn. All her doubts took flight. He needed her.

“Do you feel feverish?” She placed a hand on his forehead. Not to run her fingers along the hair at his temples or to trail down his cheek, although that’s what her errant hand did anyway. “Let me check your stitches. With the carrying on, you might have ripped them.”

“Not feverish, just bone-tired.” He acquiesced to her demands, pulling his shirt from his breeches and twisting to the side.

She unwound the bandage. He’d bled through the cloth, but her stitches had held with no sign of angry red skin or pus. She rewrapped the wound. Maxwell dropped his shirt and settled into the chair with his knees spread wide and his hands dangling off the armrests, his eyes closed.

He was a stern, sometimes dour man. Others might call him cold. But she knew better. Their night together had proven him to be flesh and blood, passion and heat. And countless times afterward, she’d glimpsed the boy she’d been infatuated with behind his gruffness.

She drank him in. From his dark hair to his sensuous mouth, across his broad shoulders and chest to the bulge she could see faintly outlined by the black woolen breeches.

“I’m not sure what’s going on in that head of yours, but if you keep staring like that, my breeches are likely to combust.”

Bryn’s gaze popped up to find his half-lidded eyes on her. She backed to the door. “I should go. Mrs. Winslow…”

Emotion seethed in the depths of his eyes. Not cold at all, but an inferno. Yet he didn’t speak. She fled to her room, cursing her cowardice, and dreamed about a wholly different outcome to the evening.