Fiona was up from her chair and ready to throw her arms around him but Ian demanded, “Where have you been?”
Liam shrugged off a reply and his mother, something he wouldn’t have done several weeks ago. Instead, he said, “There is a gent here in the neighborhood to see you, Ian. He’s been asking for you at Boney’s.” Boney’s was the pub around the corner and not a place for young boys. Liam’s voice was also losing the soft lilt of their native country and in its place was the edge of the streets.
Ian rose to his good six feet and more. “Didn’t I tell you to stay away from the pubs?”
Liam’s chin came up before he hesitated and then bowed his head slightly, an acceptance of his uncle’s authority—but for how much longer?
“What does the man want?” Ian asked.
“I don’t know,” Liam answered. “He’s on his way here right now. He’s driving a big coach and his horses—! Gawd, Ian, you ought to see them. Matched grays. They are the handsomest I’ve ever seen.”
There was a movement, a shadow in the hallway. His reflexes honed by years of war, Ian pulled Liam and Fiona behind him and faced the door just as a gentleman dressed in a green striped coat with a cherry vest moved with the silence of a cat to stand in the doorway. He wore his impossibly black hair combed forward into curls fringing his forehead. His hat was a green silk to matchhis coat. “The boy is a good messenger,” the gentleman said. “They told me at the pub if I were to follow him, I would find you.”
“What do you want me for?” he asked the man coldly.
“ ’Tis not I who want you, but my employer, Dunmore Harrell. You have heard of him?”
Who hadn’t heard of “Pirate” Harrell, the Scotsman who had made a fortune for himself in trade through hard work and unorthodox investing and was now accepted in the highest circles? Harrell had even married the widow of a duke. There was not a man who wanted to make something better of himself who did not admire him.
“What does he want with me?” Ian asked.
“My name is Parker and we have a job for you, Mr. Campion. We’ve heard you are a man with a talent for doing what is necessary.”
“And how did you hear that?” Ian asked, wary and all too conscious of Liam listening. There were things he’d had to do to earn money he’d rather not have his family know.
Parker sensed his reticence. He looked Ian right in the eye and said, “From your satisfied employers of course.”
Ian weighed the risk. It would do no harm to listen to what the man had to say. “My service doesn’t come cheap and I’ll not do anything illegal,” he lied.
The foppish Parker smiled. “We didn’t think you would, sir. As to the particulars, perhaps you will be kind enough to step downstairs with me? A coach awaits to take us to see Mr. Harrell.”
Fiona placed her hand on Ian’s arm. “Be careful, brother,” she whispered. She claimed she had the gift of the sight and although Ian often had his doubts concerning her supposed powers, he was not one to ignore good advice.
“Should I not go?”
“You must.”
Her sudden urgency made him pause. She squeezed his arm. “Go. You must go.”
Ian didn’t like his sudden doubts but he forced them aside. What harm was there in hearing what a man like Harrell had to offer? Had he not just been wishing for a piece of luck?
He covered her hand with his. “I’ll be back shortly. Hand me my knapsack.” Reaching for his hat, he turned to Liam. “Watch the family—and that means you don’t go out.”
The lad nodded solemnly.
Satisfied, Ian said, “I’ll fix the door when I return.”
Downstairs, a handsome, black-enameled carriage took up the width of the street, its bright brass fittings and driver dressed in gold-trimmed livery commanding everyone’s attention. Liam had been right. The grays were prime bloodstock. Horses werein the Campions’ blood and they knew fine cattle when they saw them.
Parker waved a perfumed kerchief in front of his nose. “The streets stink. Climb in.”
Conscious that everyone gaped at him, including the whore in the window, Ian did as ordered. He had never been inside such a large coach or one as luxuriously decked out as this, with its velvet cushions and burled wood paneling. The fop jumped in behind him, a footman closed the door, and in moments they were on their way, the footman shouting at people, “Make way for the horses.”
“What is this about?” Ian asked Parker.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” was the cryptic answer.
Ian grunted his response. He hated surprises.
