“Raven,” chided Mistress Quill. “Mind your manners.”
To his surprise, the boy mumbled an apology as he crouched down to retrieve his weapon. It was, noted Wrexford, a simple scrap of steel, sharpened on one side and tapered to a lethal point. Crude but effective.
“Aye, it may be a pinstick,” added Raven belligerently. “But lay another hand on m’lady and you’ll find it shoved straight through your guts.”
What the wretched little imp lacked in size and bulk, he made up for in courage. Wrexford acknowledged the warning with a solemn nod. “Fair enough, lad.”
As the boy put away his blade, the earl did the same, using the moment to take another look around the room. There was no evidence of a male presence, only the telltale signs of a household living on the edge of respectability. The table held only the simple necessities, and the lamps were burning cheap tallow candles—save for a fancy Argent lamp on a large work desk. As for food, he saw only the remains of a rye loaf on the sideboard.
He straightened, aware that the two boys were watching him, the flickering flames setting off sparks of gold in their fierce little eyes. Their avian monikers were appropriate. They reminded him of baby raptors. All gristle and bone. Wary. Wild. Primed to explode into savage violence.
Wrexford reached into his pocket and slowly pulled out his purse. “I have always found that negotiations go more smoothly over a meal.” He shook two guineas into his palm and held them out to the one called Raven. “Why don’t you and your companion run out and buy us some meat pasties . . . and whatever else you wish.”
The glittering coins had a mesmerizing effect. Their eyes widened but they didn’t move a muscle.
“Come, take them,” he murmured. “You have my word of honor your m’lady will be safe with me. I simply wish to talk.”
Longing lit in the scrawny face of the one called Hawk. He let out a tiny sigh.
Mistress Quill flicked a subtle signal, a mere tweak of her finger.
Raven’s reaction was swift. He snatched the money and flew for the door, his smaller shadow right behind him.
“Now, as I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted,” intoned Wrexford, once they were gone, “I came here looking for A. J. Quill, and it appears that I have found my quarry.” He indicated one of the stools. “Do have a seat, m’lady. We have a great many things to discuss.”
CHAPTER 5
“Actually, I have nothing to say to you, sir,” said Charlotte.
“I beg to differ.” Wrexford spoke softly, but his tone was all too familiar. The aristocratic assumption that his Word was God.
She hated him already.
“You are clearly privy to all sorts of secrets here in Town. I wish to know how you obtain them.”
Charlotte responded with a harsh laugh. “If wishes were unicorns, we could all fly to the moon.”
His dark brows pinched together. She had angered him. Whether that was wise or not remained to be seen.
Auribus teneo lupum.There was an old Latin adage about having a wolf by its ears.
In the shifting shapes cast by the candle flames, the earl had a decidedly lupine look. Dark hair tangled around a long face, sharp chin—
“A whimsical image,” growled Wrexford. “But allow me to remind you this is not a whimsical moment. There’s been a grisly murder, and your artwork is provoking the public to believe that I am the culprit.”
Charlotte inhaled sharply. The earl was accusingherof inflammatory behavior? “I am not to blame for your sordid reputation,” she retorted. “I simply observe and listen to what goes on around me, then depict facts that I have gathered. How people choose to interpret them is not my concern.”
His gaze turned lidded, the black scrim of lashes hiding his eyes. “An interesting explanation. I’ll not argue that my actions attract a certain notoriety.” He shifted as a gust of air blew in through the cracks in the window casement, setting the shoulder capes of his dark coat to flapping like the wings of a bat.
She looked away, swallowing a spurt of fear. This man could destroy her with a snap of his well-tended fingers. She must temper her outrage and try to survive.
“What I do care about,” continued the earl, “is how you gather your facts. They are . . . frighteningly accurate.”
Strangely enough, he sounded faintly amused.
Perhaps there was hope.
“And as it would seem that you don’t come by your information through bribery or influence, I can’t help but ask—how the devil do you learn all these things?”
