the tavernkeeper, awaiting the signal they had agreed upon.
The crowd in the Black Angel was unusually large today—farmers, townspeople, travelers all out enjoying the holiday and the good weather.
So far, there had been no sign of his quarry.
But he was a patient huntsman. Smoking a cheroot, he easily divided his attention between the task at hand, the paper before him... and astonishment at the fact that he was sitting here alone. He still could not believe the way Cap’n Brogan had left so abruptly.
Because of a woman.
He kept shaking his head, still stunned even two days after his captain’s mumbled explanation and sudden departure. Masud never would have believed it possible, would have laughed himself stupid if anyone had even suggested it—but it was clear that Nicholas Brogan, scourge of the high seas, terror of every gentle English heart, had fallen in love. And fallen hard.
After a couple of decades spent resisting the wiles of the fairer sex, the captain was completely besotted. Not that he would ever admit it, of course. Couldn’t see what was right in front of his face. He had sputtered some bilge about honor among thieves and owing the lady his life and then he had gone to rescue her.
Almost more mystifying was what he had said as he left. Two words Masud had never heard from him before.
Be careful.
An expression of concern. A casual sort of thing one might say to a friend.
From a man who had always sworn that he had no friends.
Glancing over the top of his newspaper again, Masud sat up straight. The tavernkeeper was signaling him, surreptitiously gesturing toward a cloaked figure at the far end of the counter.
Masud nodded, and the tavernkeeper carried the package toward the person who had come to claim it. Tension and ready violence flooded through Masud’s veins. So this was the blackmailer, at long last...
He went still, staring at the unmistakable curves beneath that woolen cloak. It was a woman!
The momentary surprise faded a second later. Hadn’t he suspected this possibility? Hell truly had no fury like a woman scorned. He grimaced. The blackmailer’s sex didn’t change a thing. Not with his captain’s life at stake.
She was the one who had chosen to play this dangerous game.
And hell was exactly where this woman was headed.
The tavernkeeper handed her the package. There was no time to waste.
Say your prayers, you blackmailing wench.
Rising from his seat, Masud slipped his hand into his coat pocket, his fingers closing around a knife that fit perfectly in his palm. The small, lethal blade would do the job quickly, quietly.
He would slit her throat and be out the door before anyone knew what had happened.
Before her body even hit the floor.
Chapter 24
London
Fog descended with the gray light of evening, swathing the streets of Cavendish Square in a cloak punctured only by the occasional gleam of a streetlamp. Most of the homes lining the elegant avenues already had their curtains drawn for the night, as families inside gathered for supper. Smoke billowed from every chimney, thick tendrils rising to curl greedily around the sun, which hung suspended like a burnished gold pocket watch over the rooftops.
Nicholas rode alone through the streets, paying little attention to the wealth displayed all around him, even less to the half-finished cheroot smoldering between his fingertips. His stallion clopped along at a walk. Now and then, a carriage clattered past or a harried servant, arms laden with packages, crossed the street in front of him, but he barely noticed. Though he felt a clammy chill in the air, he didn’t bother to button his greatcoat.
The cold and darkness closing in around him matched his mood perfectly.
It had been two days since he’d left Merseyside. Alone. Samantha had been long gone by the time he located her room. She hadn’t needed his help after all, had apparently taken care of her problem herself. All he had found were a swarm of lawmen and her uncle, dead. Evidently she had killed the lecherous old sot herself and escaped.
His gaze fell to the worn cobbles beneath his horse’s hooves. By now, she was no doubt on her way to Venice.
He should feel happy and relieved about that... but he didn’t.
The fact that he would never see her again left him feeling as dark and empty as one of the chimneys that spat smoke into the gathering twilight. He hadn’t realized the truth until it slapped him in the face: part of him had been racing to Merseyside to save