Page 50 of The Duke and the Darkness

“Because I don’t trust your coachman or tigers.”

“I hired them myself.” Her words were forced out between rapid breaths. “They can be trusted.”

He glanced out the window at the rainy night and muttered, “I don’t trust anyone around you.”

He saw the cold realization finally seep over her that tonight had been an attempt on her life. “Why would anyone want to harm me? No one knows who I am.”

He turned back to her. “And yet, in the few weeks you’ve been here, you’ve managed to make yourself visible to half of society at the opera, the gamblers and courtesans at Barton’s, and nearly every member of Parliament who was present at Vauxhall. Quite noticeably, too.”

“Only to gain your attention,” she admitted quietly beneath the loud squeak of the hackney’s wheels, looking small andvulnerable. Even in the darkness, he could see her hands shaking as they rested in her lap. “It didn’t matter what anyone else thought as long as I was able to get close to you.”

“Then disappear as secretly as you’d arrived.”Nota question. “Looks like your plans have changed.”

She silently turned to stare out the window, although he knew she could see nothing of the dark city except black shapes and moving shadows.

Half an hour of silence later, they arrived in St Giles, and the carriage horse let out a shudder of relief as the jarvey reined it to a stop. Devlin helped Peyton to the muddy ground and did his best not to notice that she was still trembling. He tossed up a coin for the old driver, who was most likely thrilled to be on his way out of the dangerous neighborhood and back toward the safety in the west.

“This way.” Devlin led her toward a small warehouse halfway down the street. Thankfully, for once, she didn’t fight him.

He rapped his knuckles against the door and waited. He frowned at Peyton who stared at the wet ground, her face lowered into the shadows. Unable to resist, he caressed her cheek with his knuckles.

She lifted her face to look at him.

“It will be all right,” he assured her.

“You don’t know that,” she argued breathlessly. In the dim light he could see the watery glistening of her eyes. “Proctor, Wilkins…what will I do without them? They’re all I have.”

You have me.But he couldn’t utter that aloud.

A few minutes later, the small, square-shaped inset window in the door opened, and the soft glow of candlelight lit a round face as it peered out. Wide eyes blinked with surprise and sleep. “Mr. Hunter? Is that you, sir?”

Devlin squeezed Peyton’s arm in warning to say nothing. “Sorry to disturb you so late, Mrs. Martin. Can you let us in?”

“Of course!” The window snapped closed, and behind the door came the fumbling sound of dangling keys and the clank of metal in the lock.

The door flung open and revealed an older, plump woman in a flannel dressing robe cinched tightly around her wide waist and a large night cap over her graying hair. Her sleep-blurred eyes blinked rapidly, this time to clear away the fog of interrupted sleep, as she stepped aside to let them pass into the house.

She glanced into the street, taking long looks in both directions. “No children with you?”

“Not tonight. Just me and a friend.” He gestured at Peyton. No other introduction would be made, certainly no explanation given for why Peyton looked so distraught. And her clothing singed at the hem.

But the older woman understood and nodded as she closed the door behind them and locked it securely against the night. After all, in the past five years that Devlin had employed her, she’d grown used to not asking questions. Beginning with his real name. Certainly she knew he wasn’t Mr. Hunter.

Devlin couldn’t have been blessed with a better partner in running Brechenhurst than Mrs. Martin. An experienced former housekeeper at an orphanage in Twyford, she kept an orderly house, supervised a maid of all work and a property caretaker, and took excellent care of the two dozen or so children who appeared on the property’s doorstep every night, seeking shelter from the streets. But what the children needed most was simply a piece of bread, a cup of clean water, and a safe place to sleep out of the elements and away from harm. From the last midnight clang of St Giles-of-the-Fields until the bells sounded again in the morning, the front door was locked tight, the children safe inside. They were all given a bit of food to take with them for breakfast when they were turned out in the morning sothe house could be cleaned and readied for another batch of small visitors come nightfall. Mrs. Martin somehow managed to squeeze them all into the beds on the floors above that had been turned into dormitories without turning any of them away, and the only complaint he ever heard from her was her frustration at not being able to provide help to even more children.

“We’ll spend the night downstairs,” Devlin told her. “No one is to know we’re here, not even Miss Smith and Mr. Hobbes.” He glanced at Peyton and frowned.I don’t trust anyone around you.

“Of course, Mr. Hunter.” Mrs. Martin paused. “Do you want me to bring food and drink for you?” Her eyes flicked to his wounded arm, but she knew her place and didn’t comment directly, instead asking, “Or anything else?”

“No, thank you. But I will need your help delivering two messages.” He held out his hand for her candle. “May I?”

When she handed it over without question, he stepped to the small desk positioned near the door from where Mrs. Martin manned the entrance from sunset until midnight every night. He took two note cards and picked up the quill, then quickly scrawled out two messages, folded, and sealed them with a drop of wax. He wrote the direction on the front of each and snatched up a second candle and holder sitting on the desk. He lit the stub and carried all of it back to Mrs. Martin.

He handed over her candle and the two messages. “Have those delivered immediately by one of the older boys staying here tonight.” He gave her a coin. “Give him this for his troubles. Tell him that each man to whom he delivers the message will pay him another coin when they read it.”

“I know just the boy. Albert can be trusted.”

“Thank you.” Devlin nodded, took Peyton’s arm, and lifted the candle to guide their way. “Good night.”