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open the door of the still moving coach and stand on the step. She craned her neck to look past him.
    His house appeared to be ablaze with light and a host of men and women moved from the small circular park across from John’s home and out into the street. For a moment, Mallory feared that the party from Lady Ramsgate’s had managed to race them to Mayfair and now waited to poke more cruel fun. But peering out the window, she didn’t recognize anyone. This group of men and women was dressed too plainly, and they were too sober to be more of John’s friends.
    The coach rolled to a stop. A man’s rough face, framed by an officious-looking leather top hat, glared at them in the torch light. “Lord Craige?” he demanded.
    John stepped down to confront the man, who took a step back as if awed by the height and breadth of her infamous husband. “I am he.”
    At that moment, another man in the crowd, his expression ugly, pounded on the window on Mallory’s side of the coach. She jumped, startled by the man’s anger. Suddenly deciding she hadno desire to be trapped inside the small coach, she tried to push her way out on John’s side, but he protectively refused to let her leave, guarding the door with his body.
    â€œWhat is going on here?” John demanded.
    Before the officious-looking man could answer, a voice shouted from the crowd, “I’ll tell you what’s going on!” The man pushed his way to the front and Mallory recognized him as the one who had pounded on her coach window. “His high-and-mighty lordship owes me money, and now it looks like I won’t ever get paid because the magistrate is going to have him taken away.”
    â€œThe magistrate!” Mallory repeated, even as John stiffened at the threat.
    â€œThis is absolute nonsense,” her husband said. “I owe no man.”
    â€œYou owe me,” another man cried. “Fourteen hundred pounds for feed and boarding.”
    â€œLouis Barron is my man of business,” John said with indifference, as if such matters were beneath his notice. “Submit your bills to him and you’ll be paid, with interest. I’ll draft a note to him on the morrow with my instructions—”
    â€œBah! I’ve had it up to here with your Mr. Barron,” the first creditor answered. “We’ve sent all your bills to Mr. Barron, and we’ve sick of his excuses. We want what’s right and ours. That’s why we’ve sent for the bailiff.” Heads in the crowd nodded; fists were raised threateningly.
    â€œAnd I’ll see that you receive payment,” John announced, in a voice of steady command. Mallory marveled at his control. Her knees had turnedto pudding. Fourteen hundred pounds in debt for feed!
    John continued calmly, “Give me a moment to escort my wife to our door and we will settle this matter like gentlemen.”
    Angry shouts met his words. “You ain’t goin’ anywhere, guv!” a voice called.
    Another said, “The gaol’s the only settlement you’ll get!”
    Terrified, Mallory touched John’s arm, just as the man in the top hat who had first confronted them stepped forward. For the first time, Mallory noticed the man’s blue coat and vivid waistcoat. A Bow Street Runner!
    â€œI’m afraid they have the right of it, Lord Craige,” the Runner said. “The Magistrate of Bow Street has ordered me to bring you before him.”
    â€œNow?” John asked. “At this hour of the night?”
    â€œYes, my lord.”
    â€œAnd for what reason?”
    â€œBankruptcy, my lord,” the Runner replied respectfully.
    The first creditor practically danced with glee as he delivered the news. “That’s right, Lord Craige, you’re bloody broke!”

Chapter 4
    O true-love, have you my gold ?
    And can you set me free ?
    Or are you come to see me hung
    All on the gallows tree ?
    â€œThe