* * *
Grasping both lengths of the rope, Wrexford slowly lowered himself down from the beams. He dared not call out a warning for Hawk to stay silent, but no sound came from the shadowed chair. Thinking of the brutal beating he had just witnessed, he feared the boy might be unconscious—or worse.
However, as he darted between the crates, a small voice quickly put his worries to rest.
“Cor, that was a wery neat trick, m’lord—just like a spider spinnin’ down from its web!” Hawk’s one good eye was widened in admiration. “It wuz awfully brave of ye te try it.”
The boy thought him brave?God Almighty.
“Not as brave as taking a punch to the mouth from a bastard four times your size.” The earl took a brief moment to gently blot the blood from the boy’s face.
“It didn’t hurt wery much,” lisped Hawk. “The sweetmeat vendor at C’vent Garden hits much harder wid his fives. The thrashing he gave me when I filched some sugarplums wuz a lot worse.”
“Shhh, don’t try to talk, lad. I’ll have you free in a tick.” Wrexford reached for the knife in his boot.
Bloody hell.
He stared at the hopelessly knotted tangle of rope around the boy and cursed himself for a clumsy fool. The blade must have fallen out in the crawlspace.
Hawk was staring, too. “I fink we need a knife.”
Or an avenging angel with a grand sword to smite through the bonds.
“Aye, lad, but I was damnable gudgeon and dropped mine—”
“I got the one ye gave me.” The boy flashed a lopsided smile. “I did what ye told me and hid it wery carefully in my boot.”
A quick tug, a quick shake, and the stag-handled knife plopped into his palm. Exhaling a pent-up breath, Wrexford cut through the rope. “Well done, lad. Can you stand?”
Hawk rose, and though a little unsteady on his feet, he managed to stay upright. Wrexford took a moment to chafe the blood back into the boy’s limbs as he considered his next step. The basement’s layout presented a dilemma. Getting the boy to safety meant it couldn’t be done without taking the chance that Lowell would escape with his devilish concoction.
A ripple of air stirred through the space. The candle flame quivered, and the overhead pulley rattled.
Or could it?
It was risky. Damnably risky.
He swept the boy up in his arms. “What say you, Weasel? Can you be strong and brave for just a little while longer?”
Hawk grinned, showing the gap in his teeth. “Oiy.”
“Good lad.” Wrexford hurried to the dangling rope and lading hook. Grabbing the curved piece of iron, he cut a small slash in Hawk’s breeches and worked it through the fabric. “Listen carefully. I’ll pull you up to the rafters. Crawl across the center beam and you’ll find a passageway. It will bring you to a set of stairs. . . .” He quickly explained how to exit the building. “Mrs. Sloane and your brother are waiting directly across the street in a stairwell. I want you to fly like a falcon, and don’t stop for anything until you’re in m’lady’s arms. Can you do that?”
“Oiy.”
There was no time for second guessing. “Then up you go.”
* * *
Mist swirled in the sunken stairwell. Charlotte was so stiff from the chill dampness that it hurt to wriggle her toes. Stifling a yawn, Raven flexed his shoulders and crawled up to the top step for a peek at the surroundings.
“Trouble,” he grumbled. “His Nibs must have run into trouble, else he’d be here by now.”
“Patience,” counseled Charlotte, though she, too, was aching to know what was happening inside the building.
“Maybe I ought te have a look around.”
“Absolutely not.” She understood the urge, but Wrexford had trusted them to keep their word. A promise. Like mist, it had no corporeal substance. Try to grab hold of it, andpoof—one’s fingers caught nothing but a faint tickling sensation against the skin. And yet she felt it a bond of honor that ought not be broken.
