That fist was caught within scarred knuckles and flung away as though spoiled milk.
Black cloak and muffler eddied to the pavement, revealing scarlet, a black feather and a sheathed swordstick. Grim as the reaper himself upon battle’s commence, the Prince’s lips curved.
Filgrave spun, only to be wrenched back, fist twining in his neckcloth as he was hauled near. “Georgette,” the Prince snarled. “Remember her?” His black eyes dripped with malice as he slammed the moneylender to the Bow Street officer and his thief takers.
Cursing them all to perdition, Filgrave was dragged up the steps of No. 4, the tall windows of the courthouse reflecting a rivulet of sunlight between the grey cloud.
A firm arm stole around Evelyn’s waist, a whisper of clove at her ear, and she slanted to the warmth. “You are never leaving my side again,” Casper murmured. “I was scared witless for you.”
She swivelled within his grasp in preparation for her punishment, when Artemisia poked her head from the carriage, waving a piece of paper. “Oh, look! I had the plan, not you, Evie. That must have been your shopping list he ripped up.”
The remaining constable grinned, eyed the Prince cagily, and then turned to the duke. “With the threat of a noose around his neck, Your Grace, that fire prigger is singing like a lark. Doubt we’ll need much more to put this Filgrave away for quite a while.”
“My thanks, Mr Hamilton.” Their gentlemanly shake of hands was interrupted by a protracted sigh from Artemisia as she descended the coach, fluffing her skirts.
“He was right though. I’m a pea-goose who hasn’t the aim or heart to shoot a rabid bear. Here is your pistol, Mr…er…Your Highness.” And she waggled the weapon loosely by the trigger guard.
The Prince’s face blanched before he chose his moment to seize the pistol from her sister’s hand and shove it to the band of his breeches. Almost as soon, his expression darkened to disgruntled. “Is that diamond on the floor one of mine?”
At Casper’s nod of assent, he bent to seize it, the polished gem glinting against his rugged hand. He flicked his gaze at Filgrave’s carriage. “Anyone want a ride home?”
“No!” both sisters cried in unison.
He shrugged and lifted one foot to the carriage plate, then paused, rolling the gem between his fingers.
Returning to Artemisia, he grabbed her hand and plonked the diamond within her palm. “It took more than a pea-goose to confront Filgrave. This is yours.” And after a low bow worthy of a prince, he hauled himself to the coachman’s perch.
The horses gently trotted forth…then with a crack of whip, all hell broke loose, the carriage lurching, the street’s costermongers, flower girls and merchants darting for the safety of the pavement.
Artemisia gawked at the gleaming diamond. “Sodding hell,” she murmured. “I can buy a castle.”
* * *
Later that night…
“Close your eyes.”
Casper closed one.
Evelyn cocked a hip, tilted her head and cast a reproving glance.
If she knew what that look did to his nether regions, she’d no doubt…do it again.
Yet he was loath to lose the vision of that silver-hued evening gown caressing her shape, those curls draping her shoulders and lips twitching with merriment.
Nevertheless, her foot began to tap so he shuttered his gaze as instructed.
“Now come with me.”
A door handle clicked, and he recognised the scent of books and ink. Smokiness lingered but that slender hand drew him on, the rustle of skirts and crackle of fire a soothing balm.
A hand to his chest halted his step.
“Open.”
Pinned to the library wall was a charcoal sketch, some fifty inches by thirty. His heart thudded with anticipation, a tingling awareness to his nape.
He compelled his eyes to the lower corners as was his custom – one then the other.
