Page 81 of The Not So Perfect Duke

Chapter 24

Althea gasped. Damn it all, her revolver was in her case in the carriage, though she had a small knife in her garter. But that was no match for a gun. And any sudden movement and this man could shoot one or both of them before she lifted her gown enough to access the weapon.

“Silas Browning. What do you want?” Damon asked, his voice steady.

Browning?

But, of course, he referred to Damon by name. Damon stepped forward, but Althea laid her hand on his arm to halt him. Any perceived attack could cause Browning to fire the weapon.

“My bleedin’ money. Where is it?” the man demanded.

“Yes. It is blood money,” Damon spat. “Buying and selling children as if they are bales of cotton to barter at a market. You disgust me.”

Browning growled. “Don’t act high and mighty with me, you bleedin’ hypocrite. You lot take advantage of those less fortunate as quick as taking a breath. I worked hard for that money. I earned my coin, and I want it. Take me to it, or I will shoot you both here in the alley. I got nothing to lose.”

Before Damon could respond, a dark figure dropped down on Browning from above, knocking him off his feet. The revolver skittered across the cobblestones, and Althea reached to grab it. It was hard to see what was happening as most of the alley lay in shadow. Browning was getting to his feet when this strange person pummeled Browning with quicksilver punches and a roundhouse kick to the chin that sent Browning reeling across the ground.

The dark man stood over Browning and then kicked him in the face. The sickening crunch of bone followed by a high-pitched scream was soon silenced when the dark man grabbed a fistful of Browning’s thinning hair and banged his head against the cobblestones, effectively silencing him.

The burst of violence was shocking to observe. Althea held the revolver close to her side in case this mysterious man decided to attack them.

The man turned and stepped out of the shadows. The nearby gas street lamp illumination cast him in an eerie glow. The tall man wore black leather from head to toe and was a remarkable sight from his wide-brimmed hat, face mask, long flowing coat, waistcoat, trousers, and boots. Tucked in his belt was a cudgel of some sort. He took off the hat and gave an exaggerated bow. Even his hair was covered by a black scarf.

“The Sentinel, at your service.” The voice was deep but muffled, the words hard to make out. The man plopped his hat on his head and sprinted from the alley.

“What in the hell?” Damon muttered. He moved forward as if to give chase, but Althea held up her hand.

“Let him go. He assisted us, and that is all that matters.”

Damon pointed toward the street. “Did you see the way he was dressed? The Sentinel?”

“Guardian, sentry, lookout. Watchman. He is a vigilante. The East End is notorious for them and has been for centuries. How many ghosts and shadows have existed in the past and present? More than we know. There is something familiar about him, and I will have to puzzle it through.”

“You do that. Meanwhile, keep the gun on Browning, and I will fetch the carriage and bring it here. We will stuff the man in the conveyance and take him to Clarendon Place. We have questions.” Damon crouched down and placed the tips of two fingers against Browning’s neck. “Bloodied, but still alive.”

Damon stood, looped his arm about her waist, and kissed her hard. “That was an exciting end to the evening.”

Althea nuzzled his neck. “The night is not over yet.”

“How true. Keep an eye on him.” Damon kissed her forehead and rushed from of the alley.

Althea kicked Browning with the toe of her shoe. Out cold, and no doubt would be for some time. Then Althea looked up. The building before her had a long staircase to the flat above. How long had this Sentinel been up there? Had he followed them to the restaurant, keeping watch? It was the only explanation that made sense. Unless he came upon them by chance. Althea would get to the bottom of it soon enough.

The carriage pulled up, and Dawson and Damon jumped down, and with Damon taking his feet and the driver taking Browning’s shoulders, they carried him toward the carriage. Althea hurried as quickly as she could assist in holding the door open, and the men effectively dumped him within. Then Damon aided her in and then followed. The door slammed, and they were off at a brisk pace.

A groan came from the crumbled figure on the floor, but he remained unconscious. Althea kept the revolver pointed at Browning.

“What are we going to do with him?” she whispered.

“I am not certain. Question the blackguard. I could call the police as he held a gun on us and threatened to kill us. I could say he tried to rob us and play up the incident. But that would be a blatant lie. Low, even for me. We will do as you suggested: hold his money in exchange for information. And a promise he leaves the city never to return.”

Althea nodded. “I believe that is the best solution.”

In no time at all, they arrived at Clarendon Place. Browning started to stir. With Dawson’s assistance, they dragged Browning upright into the town house, and a startled Kingsley held the door.

“Kingsley, bring gauze, plasters, and a bowl of hot water. Quickly, now,” Damon demanded as they headed to the study.

“At once, Your Grace.” The butler hurried off, and the men dragged Browning to a chair and sat him on it. His head lolled, and Damon grabbed a fistful of Browning’s hair and slapped him hard.