The dark eyes glittered with a lethal glow. “There will be none foolish enough to trouble me,” he retorted in silky tones.
Something in the harsh set of his features seemed to assure the boy that he was more than a match for even the most hardened criminal.
“Aye, sir.”
A heavy silence descended as they rumbled down the cobbled streets, leaving behind the tidy squares and gardens to enter the narrow, dark lanes that were crowded with gin shops, slaughterhouses and common lodging hovels. It was a maze of alleys, cul-de-sacs and closed courts that made it near impossible to travel without becoming hopelessly lost. And in the shadows lurked the desperate prostitutes, pickpockets and drunkards that clung to a meager existence.
Gideon’s nose twitched as the pervasive smell of raw sewage, rotting fish and sour sweat filled the air. It was the stench of poverty and despair that was in sharp contrast to the luxury they had just left behind.
It was also the stench of danger, he reminded himself.
Having given in to his savage desires, Tristan may not be able to walk the streets during the brightness of daylight, but during the night his powers would be formidable. Far too formidable.
With a covert motion Gideon reached beneath his coat to touch the cold steel of the dagger he had hidden in a secret pocket.
“That be the street she worked,” the urchin abruptly announced, pointing out the window toward a narrow alley that looked precisely the same as every other dingy and dirty alley in the district.
Gideon gave a rap on the carriage roof and awaited the coachman to slow to a halt. The door was pulled open by a footman, but on the point of climbing out Gideon paused to give the boy across from him a stern glance.
“You are to remain here.”
“But, sir ...”
“Have no fear, I shall return momentarily,” he retorted in firm tones.
Confident that he would be obeyed, he slipped out of the carriage and made his way toward the alley. Ignoring the sudden hush that settled through the neighborhood he readily stepped between the overhanging buildings, his form flowing with the skilled grace of a hunter and his vision as sharply clear during the night as during the day. Such eerily fluid movements should have warned all that he was not a foolish dandy out on a lark, but as he had expected he had only to take a few steps before there was a sudden scrap on the cobblestones behind him.
“Right then, turn about nice and slow,” a harsh voice ordered.
Gideon readily complied, his narrowed gaze taking in the thin countenance and mismatched clothing. Although a small, wiry man, there was no mistaking the hard edge to his features nor the gleam of a large knife he held in his hand.
In no mood to tangle with the experienced thief, Gideon softly spoke the words of power that would briefly compel the man to his will.
“I need information and you will provide it, is that understood?” he demanded in tones too low to carry.
There was a brief silence as the thief struggled to battle the spell that clouded his mind before he was giving a grudging nod of his head.
“Yes.”
Gideon stepped closer, his senses fully aware to every sound and scent that filled the alley. He would not be caught unaware by Tristan. Nor any of his slaves.
“There was a prostitute pulled from the river this evening. Did you know her?”
“Called herself Clorinda, she did, but more than likely it were a name she made up to make herself sound more an actress than a tart.”
Gideon waved a dismissive hand. He possessed no interest in the woman’s name, only the reason she had been so flagrantly disposed of.
“Did you see her leave yesterday evening?”
There was a reluctant nod. “Yes.”
“Did she leave with a gentleman?”
“She left with any number of gentlemen.”
Gideon reined in his impatience. “Tell me of the last gentleman who hired her services.”
Even though in Gideon’s power the thief gave a visible shudder. “A fancy bloke with a cape.”