Lady Lilias and the Devil in Plaid - Julie Johnstone Page 0,82
inside, tankards raised and smiles on their faces. It was not all sadness here, and that lifted Lilias’s gloom just a bit.
After Kilgore secured the gig, he helped her down. Her slippers sank into a layer of slosh that made disgust roil in her stomach as he led her to the vendor carts. Just as he’d said, there were five of them lined up on the street.
“What are these for exactly?” she asked.
“Oh, most of the people who live here don’t know how to cook, nor do they have the means to do so in their homes, so the vendors sell food.”
“For a peer, you know a great deal about life in St. Giles.”
“As I said, I make it my business to know my enemies.”
Somehow she thought it was more than that, but again, questions would have to wait.
Kilgore’s hand came to her shoulder. “I’ll open the window as soon as I get in the house so I will be sure to hear your bird call.”
She nodded, her heartbeat increasing now that their plan was about to come to fruition.
“I’ll be back before you know I’m gone,” he said, winking at her. And then he withdrew his pistol, straightened, and made his way to the front door of Mr. Levine’s home.
It was thirty steps from where she was, exactly as he had said it would be. He knocked with his pistol raised, and when the door remained closed, she exhaled with relief. She gasped in admiration as Kilgore made quick work of getting past whatever lock Mr. Levine surely had in place. The door opened and closed behind Kilgore, and she was left to wait.
Anxiousness turned in her stomach, and her palms grew damp as she stared at the dark house, willing him to hurry. Something rustled by her feet, startling her, then that same something scampered across her foot. Shock made a scream rise swiftly, but she clamped her teeth down and kicked her feet to rid herself of what had to be a rat. To her horror, however, instead of kicking the rat away, the creature seemed to multiply in the dim light, and squeaking sounds rose from the ground. As the rustling increased, she could just make out a stream of rats flooding out of one of the carts. She did scream then, slapping a palm over her mouth and scampering back, away from the cart and straight into something solid.
Her pulse exploded as steely arms encircled her, and a deep, rough voice said, “Hello, Mrs. Artemis.”
Just as she opened her mouth to scream yet again, Mr. Levine’s door banged open across the street and Kilgore charged from the home roaring, pistol raised.
Mr. Levine jerked her roughly against him, one arm releasing her and the other locking her in place. A blade suddenly shimmered in the moonlight, and then the sharp point of it came to her throat, and she cried out in fear.
“I’ll slit her throat if you don’t lower your pistol,” Mr. Levine called out, and when Kilgore took another step toward them, to her relief, Mr. Levine jerked the blade away from her throat. But it was short lived as the dagger glinted above her for a moment before the heavy handle met her skull and darkness descended.
Nash drove the gig hell-bent on reaching Lilias. Beside him, Carrington held on, which was wise. Nash took the turns to St. Giles at a pace that caused alarm to slither through him, but he did not slow down. As the roads grew narrower and the stench increased, so did his fear. It had seeped into every part of him as Carrington’s wife had told him of Lilias’s latest mission with Kilgore. If anything happened to Lilias, Nash didn’t know what he would do, who he would hate the most—himself for denying them for so long, his mother for lying to Lilias and telling her he was betrothed to Miss Balfour, or Kilgore for agreeing to accompany Lilias into the rookery at night to steal from a man Nash sensed was unstable.
The fog was pervasive tonight, making seeing conditions deplorable, and as he rounded the dark corner where Clyde’s Pub was, a man appeared from the thick, white mist and staggered toward them. Nash had to pull back sharply on the horse’s reins in order to avoid running the man down. “Get the hell out of the way!” he yelled at the drunk, his blood pumping through him so fast all his senses were on fire.