Taming of the Beast (Scandalous Affairs #2) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,5
his chair, the wood scraping along the stone floor, and she jumped.
The warden flashed a smile. “Second thoughts, Mrs. X?”
Since she’d been born a month early—and by all tales shared, a frail babe whom her parents had expected and possibly even hoped would perish—she’d been underestimated. Faye, however, had been misjudged as weak far too many times, and she’d no intention of faltering now. “Not at all, Mr. Hinton,” she replied, matching the frost in his tone. “Not at all.”
With that, Faye sat back in her seat and waited for one of the most notorious criminals in England to arrive.
“You’ve been summoned.”
Of all the words Tynan had heard uttered in his thirty-three years on this earth, there’d been one uttered with far greater frequency than any other before—summons.
He’d issued them. To prisoners he’d bartered with. To lords and ladies who’d requested a meeting, though he’d set the terms of those exchanges.
He’d spoken that word aloud so many times before that it took a moment to register that the statement wasn’t on repeat in his brain, but rather had been spoken outside his cell. Directed at him.
“Did you hear me?” Smithfield snapped, scraping his large ring of keys over the metal bars. “Hinton’s called for you.”
Lying precisely where he’d been when the new jailer had taken his leave a short while ago, Tynan remained there. To rise too quickly would bespeak a desperation when it was very likely that Hinton or the guard before Tynan was merely toying with him. “Two meetings in one day? And so close together at that? Unlikely.” He yawned, patting that sound with his left palm.
Smithfield growled, “Who the hell do you think you are to presume to know what the warden wants? Hinton said you’ll come, and by God, you’ll come.” He reached for the club at his waist. “Now, on your feet.”
He’d called this cage home for nearly five months now. In that time, he’d not been allowed to leave once.
As if Hinton feared letting him out, that even stone walls and armed guards surrounding him wouldn’t be able to keep him.
Warning bells went up. Something was amiss.
Off.
And anything off in these parts meant danger for the condemned.
“Did you hear me?”
Tynan slowly stood. “Tsk, tsk. Be thankful I’m no longer warden…” It was one post he’d craved, that position of power in these parts that he’d intended to claim since he’d been just eleven years old. And one he hoped to again one day know.
The color bled from Smith’s fleshy cheeks. The young fellow, who’d likely be eaten alive in this place, stumbled back a step before catching himself. “I’ll take your weapon,” he said, terror lending an increased pitch to the other man’s voice.
Aye, he’d be lost here for sure.
“This one?” Tynan asked in silken tones as he removed the wickedly long dagger from his waistband. He extended it quickly, and the boy darted back another step, his back colliding with the wall. Chuckling, Tynan squatted and slid the knife forward through the slats. The jewel-encrusted piece landed just shy of the boy’s immaculate boots.
With fingers that shook, Smithfield pulled a pair of manacles from inside his jacket. While the pup struggled, Tynan studied his hands. That was the mark of Hinton’s men. Immaculate hands. Smooth. White. Unscarred. And clean. They were that, too. The hands of boys who hailed from different parts than the Rookeries or the Dials. People who had no place in these parts, men who’d eventually be devoured by the evil that dwelled here.
Hinton sought to transform Newgate into a gentleman’s playground, a place run and ruled by people who had no idea what this world really was.
Smithfield managed to get a grip on the key to Tynan’s cell.
Another guard, silent until now, appeared.
Ah, so perhaps Hinton wasn’t so much a fool after all. He’d sense enough to put two guards on him.
“Nice and slow,” Smithfield ordered, his voice steadier than before as he inserted the key into the lock.
Click.
Tynan briefly closed his eyes. How satisfying that sound was. It always had been. But a time ago, it had been satisfying for a different reason, that distinct sound of the dregs of society being locked away.
Now, it held out that elusive freedom he’d not even allowed himself to contemplate for the danger that came in such hungering.
That moment proved short-lived as the heavy, cold manacles slid over his wrists, and he found himself effectively disarmed. The guard made quick work of patting Tynan down, searching him for additional weapons.