“Never doubt it.”
Quinn raised his refilled glass in a toast. “To the fair Miss Benbridge.”
Filled with anticipation for the future, Colin drank eagerly to that.
“What are you about?” Colin muttered to himself just a few hours later as he clung to the shadows of an alleyway and followed Cartland at a discreet distance.
The man had left his mistress’s home an hour past and had been strolling rather aimlessly ever since. Because he continued to move in the general direction of his lodgings, Colin followed. He could not have Cartland returning while Quinn might still be there.
The night was pleasant, the sky clear but for a few clouds. A full moon hung low, providing ample illumination when not blocked by a building. Still, Colin would much rather be in his cabin at the moment, sleeping away the hours until he could stand at the bow and breathe deeply of the crisp sea air.
Cartland turned a corner, and Colin fell behind, counting silently until the appropriate lapse had passed and he could round the building as well and continue his leisurely pursuit.
He made his move and paused, startled to find a private courtyard ahead. Cartland stood there, engrossed in discussion with someone who appeared to have been waiting. Two brick posts held lanterns marking the entrance to the outdoor retreat. A small fountain and a neatly trimmed, tiny lawn were the only other items in the space.
Colin hung back, drawing his cloak around him to better disguise his frame in the darkness. He was not an easy man to hide, not at a few inches over six feet in height and sixteen stone, but he had learned the art of concealment and practiced it well.
Oddly enough, while he could attribute his size to his laborer parents, Cartland was also quite large, and his breeding was more refined. He worked for a living only because his father had bankrupted them, and he made certain that everyone knew he was above certain tasks. Killing was not one of them. That was a duty he enjoyed far too much for Colin’s taste, which was why they associated with each other only when forced to by necessity.
Creeping along the damp stone wall, Colin moved closer to the two men, hoping to hear something that would help to explain this assignation.
“. . . you may tell the agent-general . . . ”
“. . . forget your place! You are not . . .”
“. . . I will see to it, Leroux, provided I am compensated. . .”
The debate seemed to grow more heated with Cartland gesturing roughly with one hand, while the gentleman with whom he spoke began to pace. The sound of heels tapping restlessly along cobblestones helped to disguise Colin’s stealthy approach. Cartland’s evening garments were covered by a short cape secured with a jeweled brooch that gleamed in the lantern light. The other man was hatless, coatless, and much shorter. He was also highly agitated.
“You have not followed through with your end of our arrangement!” Leroux snapped. “How dare you approach me for more money when you have yet to accomplish the task you were previously paid for!”
“I was underpaid,” Cartland scoffed, his features hidden beneath the rim of his tricorn.
“I will inform the agent-general of your ridiculous demands, and advise him to seek someone more trustworthy to work on his behalf.”
“Oh?” There was a smugness to Cartland’s tone that alarmed Colin, but before he could act, it was too late. The light of the moon caught the edge of a blade and then it was gone, embedded deeply within Leroux’s gut.
There was a pained gasp and then a thick gurgle.
“You can pass along something else for me as well,” Cartland bit out, as he withdrew the dagger and thrust it home again. “I am not a lackey to be set aside when I have outlived my usefulness.”
Suddenly a dark form leaped from the shadows and tackled Cartland, knocking his hat aside. The blade slipped free and clattered to the cobblestone. Leroux sank to his knees, his hands clutching at the welling blood.
Rolling and writhing upon the ground, the would-be rescuer fought brutally, delivering blows that echoed off the buildings around them. Material ripped and venomous words were exchanged as Cartland gained the upper hand. Pinning his assailant to the ground, he reached for the knife lying just a few feet away.
“Cartland!” Colin abandoned his attempt at stealth and rushed toward the fray, tossing his cloak over his shoulder to bare the hilt of his small sword.
Startled, Cartland pulled back, revealing a face etched with bloodlust and cold, dark eyes. The man beneath him took the opening and swung his fist hard and fast, clipping Cartland in the temple and sending him reeling to the side.
Colin ran through the posts that marked the entrance and pulled his blade free. “You have much to answer for!”
“It won’t be to you,” Cartland cried, kicking out with his feet.
Sidestepping the assault, Colin lunged, piercing Cartland’s shoulder. The man roared like a wounded animal and flailed in fury.
Circling, Colin turned his head to look at the unfortunate Leroux. His open, sightless eyes betrayed his demise.
It was too late. The man who had the ear of Talleyrand-Périgord was dead.