The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,111

his knees. He rifled through Con’s coat. Con heard the tear of his coat being rent. Then the villain cooed. “Look at this, Billy. At least ten pounds in ’ere. And ’e said ’e didn’t ’ave a thing.”

Spittle landed on Con’s cheek. The man tugged brutally on Con’s ear, then smacked him hard. A solid kick to his back nearly broke his spine.

It surely broke his ribs. He couldn’t breathe. He felt blood trickling from him, making a sticky mess on his fingers, and his eyes were starting to swell shut. If they’d meant to kill him, they were close. He might still bleed to death. Or suffer a fatal infection. And all before he was to marry Elizabeth, and protect her from men like her father and Captain Finn.

He ground his teeth together, kicking his legs slightly as he tried to get up. He couldn’t die here.

“You better not die yet,” the little man said. “Eight thousand, and if you don’t ’ave it by the end of the month, it’s going up to ten. Don’t make us come to your ’ouse to get it, neither. You know the place.”

The men’s boots scuffled on the cobblestones. The sound grew fainter, or else Con was finally losing consciousness. Then, from what must be the alley’s entrance, Con heard the little man yell out, “Oi! There’s a man dying in the street ’ere. Someone ’elp ’im!”

Because really, who’d be around to get them their money if he died?

Elizabeth rose from her desk at the sound of a man’s voice coming from the hallway. The low, insistent tones clipped along with a sense of urgency. Her own man’s responding concern frightened her almost as much. She went into the hallway. Empty.

Faster now, she went to the foyer. Her heart thudded against her breast. Naught but premonition, for she had no reason to worry now that Con was freed. But she did.

A dark figure loomed in the foyer. Lord Bart. She touched her hand to her throat. “My lord? What’s wrong?”

He turned to her with a grave expression. “Constantine has been attacked.”

“Attacked?” She didn’t understand. “By whom?”

He grimaced.

Rand, once a prizefighter and now the protector of this house, came to attention. “May I be of service, my lord?” A glint in his eye reminded her that he could be counted on at any time to defend her.

Lord Bart shook his head. “The constabularies have been dispatched. But I fear not much will be done. There are… circumstances.” He grasped his hat between his hands, almost crushing the felt. His mind seemed elsewhere. Then he turned to Elizabeth. “He’s badly beaten. I—” He looked away but a moment, but it was enough to tell her Con’s injuries were very, very bad indeed. Her throat choked. Why? Why had this happened? Would her father have stooped so low as to call thugs into it? Was arresting him not enough? Or had Nicholas taken matters into his own hands? Frustrated by the slow pace of the law?

“I think he would want you to come,” Lord Bart finished, breaking into her thoughts. “I will escort you to Merritt House when you are ready.”

She looked around herself, feeling disoriented. What did she need to take with her? She could think of nothing she required more than to be at Con’s side this very instant. “I’ll go now,” she said. “If I require anything, I’ll send for it.”

Her insides were cold. Cramped. She struggled for answers, but asked no more questions.

Her carriage was brought around and she woodenly entered its dark confines. Lord Bart followed her into the blood red interior. He sat rear-facing. He offered her no sense of Con’s plight, even after the horses tugged the carriage wheels into motion. She didn’t think he was intentionally severe. He was simply different than Constantine.

They left each other to their own thoughts. She didn’t want to consider what he might be thinking. About her. About Constantine. She wrapped her arms around herself and looked out of the window. London rolled by. At three in the afternoon, people crowded every street, swarming the walks and making a racket that could be heard even over the clatter of the carriage wheels. It was her home, and she loved it. But it could also be a dangerous place.

“Do you have any notion why?” she asked at last. He hadn’t wanted to elaborate in front of her man, but maybe now that they were alone, he’d share his suspicions. Her stomach turned. Please, don’t