Read Online What Isabella Desires by Anne Mallory - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Anne Mallory
Ads: Link
word to Calliope and a quick escape, before he had been able to enter polite society once more. Good thing the party had barely approached polite.
He felt somewhat horrified to have thought of her in a sexual way. She was sweet, innocent Isabella. Not innocent is some ways, she had been married, of course—and she could be downright surly sometimes—but overall, she radiated a sort of pure goodness that he liked to bask in, like a cat in a sunny spot. She maintained a positive outlook on the world that he refused to taint.
He flipped his pocket watch as he neared the gardens. A sturdy hedge separated them from the yard beyond. He reached his destination and whistled a low tune to announce his presence.
He felt the person on the other side of the hedge before he spoke. “Evenin’, Lord Roth, or morning, as it were.”
“Good morning, Kurp.” He scanned the gardens, but the few stragglers outside weren’t close enough to hear. “Your report?”
Meeting with underground contacts visibly during the day was stupid, and Marcus didn’t consider himself a stupid man. No one expected him to meet his men during social functions, which made them perfect. This meeting was closer to daylight hours than usually planned, but the bleary eyes of the guests would compensate.
“Not good,” Kurp replied. “Crosby gang got Fletcher, and we ain’t heard from Fysh in a sennight. The lads try not to show it, but they’re gettin’ nervous.”
Marcus clutched his watch. “Yes. It’s understandable.”
“This was left.”
Marcus lifted the heavy paper that was passed under the hedge.
You are running out of background players, Lord Roth. On whom will I satisfy my vengeance when the last is gone? Perhaps bigger game? Your compatriots at the top? Your friends? I’ll have my due. This I promise.
The paper crunched between his fingers.
“Do you recognize the handwriting, my lord?” Kurp’s voice was expectant, hopeful.
Marcus relaxed his grip and examined the looping l’s and t’s and the scrawl of the base letters in the faint light. “No. He is too smart for that. He’ll have had someone else write the letters. Still, I’ll run it by Stephen.”
Marcus sensed the disappointment through the hedge, and felt its echo. They all wanted answers. They were all relying on him.
“Send a purse to Fletcher’s wife and tell her about the place in Dover. What about Kramer?”
“Had a pint with him a few hours ago.”
Relief washed through him. Relief that at least a few of his men still survived. “Good. He’s holding on, then?”
“He said he wasn’t worried. Y’ know how Kramer is. Would take someone cuttin’ out his bleedin’ heart before he showed fear.”
Marcus watched a guest stumble toward the gardens, before another man grabbed him and steered him back to the terrace. “Will you see him again this week?”
“Should.”
“Tell him to stay low instead of doing his routine at the docks next weekend.”
Silence greeted that announcement. They had never pulled back before, and it would grate on the boys to show fear of what was happening.
Marcus turned his pocket watch end over end in his palm, closing his eyes briefly. “I know, Kurp. It’s not what I like either, but I want to get a handle on this before going forward. Things have gotten out of control since the shake-up.”
“Yes.” Kurp sounded resigned, then determined: “We will find this bastard and give him his collar day.”
Marcus gave a mirthless grin. He had the feeling that the man responsible wasn’t going to make it to a formal execution. If nothing else, one of the men would probably “slip” while transporting him. He could just imagine it. “Sorry sir,” they’d say to him, “My knife slipped from my hands. Right between his ribs. Right queer it was.”
It wasn’t a question of whether he and his men would find the man responsible. They would. They always did. And after murdering two of their number already, and with
He felt somewhat horrified to have thought of her in a sexual way. She was sweet, innocent Isabella. Not innocent is some ways, she had been married, of course—and she could be downright surly sometimes—but overall, she radiated a sort of pure goodness that he liked to bask in, like a cat in a sunny spot. She maintained a positive outlook on the world that he refused to taint.
He flipped his pocket watch as he neared the gardens. A sturdy hedge separated them from the yard beyond. He reached his destination and whistled a low tune to announce his presence.
He felt the person on the other side of the hedge before he spoke. “Evenin’, Lord Roth, or morning, as it were.”
“Good morning, Kurp.” He scanned the gardens, but the few stragglers outside weren’t close enough to hear. “Your report?”
Meeting with underground contacts visibly during the day was stupid, and Marcus didn’t consider himself a stupid man. No one expected him to meet his men during social functions, which made them perfect. This meeting was closer to daylight hours than usually planned, but the bleary eyes of the guests would compensate.
“Not good,” Kurp replied. “Crosby gang got Fletcher, and we ain’t heard from Fysh in a sennight. The lads try not to show it, but they’re gettin’ nervous.”
Marcus clutched his watch. “Yes. It’s understandable.”
“This was left.”
Marcus lifted the heavy paper that was passed under the hedge.
You are running out of background players, Lord Roth. On whom will I satisfy my vengeance when the last is gone? Perhaps bigger game? Your compatriots at the top? Your friends? I’ll have my due. This I promise.
The paper crunched between his fingers.
“Do you recognize the handwriting, my lord?” Kurp’s voice was expectant, hopeful.
Marcus relaxed his grip and examined the looping l’s and t’s and the scrawl of the base letters in the faint light. “No. He is too smart for that. He’ll have had someone else write the letters. Still, I’ll run it by Stephen.”
Marcus sensed the disappointment through the hedge, and felt its echo. They all wanted answers. They were all relying on him.
“Send a purse to Fletcher’s wife and tell her about the place in Dover. What about Kramer?”
“Had a pint with him a few hours ago.”
Relief washed through him. Relief that at least a few of his men still survived. “Good. He’s holding on, then?”
“He said he wasn’t worried. Y’ know how Kramer is. Would take someone cuttin’ out his bleedin’ heart before he showed fear.”
Marcus watched a guest stumble toward the gardens, before another man grabbed him and steered him back to the terrace. “Will you see him again this week?”
“Should.”
“Tell him to stay low instead of doing his routine at the docks next weekend.”
Silence greeted that announcement. They had never pulled back before, and it would grate on the boys to show fear of what was happening.
Marcus turned his pocket watch end over end in his palm, closing his eyes briefly. “I know, Kurp. It’s not what I like either, but I want to get a handle on this before going forward. Things have gotten out of control since the shake-up.”
“Yes.” Kurp sounded resigned, then determined: “We will find this bastard and give him his collar day.”
Marcus gave a mirthless grin. He had the feeling that the man responsible wasn’t going to make it to a formal execution. If nothing else, one of the men would probably “slip” while transporting him. He could just imagine it. “Sorry sir,” they’d say to him, “My knife slipped from my hands. Right between his ribs. Right queer it was.”
It wasn’t a question of whether he and his men would find the man responsible. They would. They always did. And after murdering two of their number already, and with
Similar Books
