daughter from a murderous foe. Miss Sheridan’s brothers were no better: it had been her damned brother Godfrey’s job to walk home with her, but instead he’d chosen to dally with a barmaid. He had chosen a tup…over his sister’s welfare.
During the search for her, Godfrey had been stricken with guilt. That hadn’t appeased Severin for the bastard deserved to feel like shite. If he represented the protection available to Fancy, then she was a sitting duck.
Severin flashed to her tender worry that he might hurt her donkey, the endearing way she’d called him the Master of Bribes. The way she’d bantered with him and asked meddlesome questions. He saw her on the riverbank, refusing to let go of that deuced fish because she wanted to feed her family supper. He heard her loyal defense of her friend’s happiness and her spirited rebuttal to his views on love…a tinker’s daughter telling a duke what was what.
And Severin knew he could not allow her to come to harm.
“Until the villain is captured, it is not safe for the women to remain here,” he said.
“I am of the same mind.” Murray braced his hands on his hips, his hazel gaze meeting Severin’s. “London?”
It was the obvious choice, for both men had resources there.
“Aye,” Severin agreed. “As soon as possible.”
Murray nodded, sprawling into the adjacent wingchair.
“Beatrice will not want to abandon her estate,” he muttered.
“Convince her,” Severin said.
The Scot shot him a wry look. “In case it has escaped your notice, she is a lady whose opinion is not easily swayed once she has made up her mind.”
He had noticed. In truth, he, himself, preferred females who were possessed of a less obstinate nature. While Lady Beatrice’s steel backbone would have been a boon where his siblings were concerned, it was not a quality he sought in a mate. He liked females with a softer touch.
He lifted his brows. “As your intentions toward our hostess appear to be honorable, you might as well get used to changing her mind. I don’t envy you, Murray.”
“Don’t you?” The other’s voice was bland, his gaze wary.
“Not a whit.” In fact, Severin suspected he had dodged a bullet. “I wish the two of you well.”
Murray gave a slow nod. “I appreciate it, Knighton. And I’m obliged for your willingness to help Beatrice.”
It wasn’t just the lady that Severin was concerned about, but that was none of Murray’s business. He lifted his chin in return; that was all that was needed to acknowledge that the two were on the same page. As dukes of the London underworld, they shared a moral code. An eye for an eye, yes, but innocents—women and children, in particular—were to be protected.
The door opened, and the men rose as Lady Beatrice swept in. She looked haggard, shadows smudged beneath her eyes.
Apprehension tautened Severin’s chest. How is Fancy?
“Fancy’s asleep now.” Lady Beatrice motioned them to sit, joining the tinker on the divan. “The physician said that rest is good for her. He did a thorough examination, and the bruise on the temple and chafing at her wrists were the only injuries he found. He said no permanent damage was done and that she ought to be right as rain after a few days.”
A breath left Severin, one he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. No permanent damage, only the superficial injuries. Thank God.
“Who would do such a thing to me Fancy?” Sheridan spoke up, his bespectacled gaze bewildered. “She’s a good girl, never done ’arm to a fly.”
“Fancy didn’t do anything to deserve this,” Lady Beatrice said. “It’s my fault.”
“The fault is not yours,” Severin and Murray said as one.
“O’ course this ain’t your fault, Miss Bea,” Sheridan added gruffly. “You’ve always been a friend to us Sheridans and Fancy especially. If I know me daughter—and I do, seeing as I raised ’er since she was a babe—she would not be wanting you to feel responsible for the actions o’ the bastard who did this, pardon my plain speaking. She’d be telling you to concentrate on ’ow to keep yourself safe from this sneaky coward.”
“Sheridan is correct,” Severin said, leaning forward in his chair. “We must plan for your safety, Lady Beatrice, and the safety of Miss Sheridan.”
“Knighton and I have a plan,” Murray cut in.
“What sort of a plan?” Lady Beatrice asked warily.
Murray faced her. The Scot inhaled deeply before presenting the plan for London. Having bargained with Murray in the past, Severin noted with faint amusement that the famed negotiator showed signs of