Page 9 of Thief Taker

Elias edged further around the desk, closer to the door. “I think I can imagine, my lord. But I wouldn’t advise it in this case…”

“You dare threaten me, boy?”

“A fair warning, my lord.”

“Damn your nerve!” The nob prowled closer, close enough that Elias could see his small, hard eyes and ill-tempered mouth. “I won’t have insolence.”

Elias had a clear shot at the door, and the desk now blocked his pursuer. If he ran, he might make it back to the ballroom unscathed. But the other man’s eyes darted in the same direction, to the door and back, anticipating Elias’s move. A smile curved his fleshy lips. “Run, then. I enjoy a chase.”

For a long moment Elias stood frozen, a hare eyeing the hound. In the far distance he could hear music and laughter and people, and, somewhere closer, a man’s footsteps. But all in the room was thick, breathless silence. The nob swung his cane again, and Elias bolted.

One, two, three steps and he was at the door. But an instant from escape, a hand seized his arm and swung him back around, slamming him hard against the wall, knocking the punchbowl from his hands and the breath from his lungs.

“That was a mistake,” the man breathed, holding Elias in place with his heavy cane pressed like a threat across his throat. “Insolent dog.”

Anger made Elias sharp, clear of mind. This bastard was no more dangerous than Dick Radcliffe or a dozen other men he’d sent to Newgate. He let his blade slip down into his hand and held it low at his side. He didn’t want to kill him—it would be messy, and dangerous—but he’d rather hang for murder than let the bastard baste him. “I warn you, let me go.”

The nob leaned closer, pressing his cane harder against Elias’s throat. “Or what?”

A sharp, upward thrust would gut him nicely. “Or I’ll—”

“What the devil is this?”

Another man filled the doorway, imposing in his greatcoat and mud-spattered riding boots, bringing with him the scent of a cold winter night. A crop of unruly dark hair framed a sharp-boned face that had seen more sun than an English winter could account for. And even in the candlelight Elias could see the startling blue of his eyes. He looked gloriously incongruous amid the frippery of high society. Whoever he was, a hot flare of relief rushed through Elias at the sight of him.

But the nob didn’t let him go. “It’s none of your damned concern, sir. I found this man nosing through his lordship’s correspondence and will discipline him as I see fit.”

“You will do no such thing,” the newcomer said. “Release that man immediately.”

“I’ll do as I damn well please. Who the devil are you to give me orders?”

With a sudden lunge, the newcomer grabbed the nob by his coat and hauled him away from Elias. “Don’t you know me, my lord? I’m Christopher Duvall and this is my father’s house.” He shoved the man back so hard that he stumbled and almost fell.

Now free, Elias edged closer to the door.

Duvall spared him half a glance. “Are you harmed?”

Elias shook his head, sheathing his knife before it was noticed. Something about the man’s direct look kept him silent, though. He wasn’t sure whether it was meant to be intimidating or was just painfully frank.

“Duvall?” The nob straightened his coat. “I beg your pardon.”

“Where is my brother?”

“At the card table, I imagine. Did you wish to join him?” He laughed at the other man’s expression. “No, I didn’t think so.”

In a flash of anger Duvall swung at him, but his blow was stopped. The other man’s powerful fingers curled around Duvall’s fist. “If you touch me,” he said, raising his cane in the other hand, “I will have satisfaction, sir.”

With a beat of shock, Elias realised that he was serious. Duvall pulled his hand free and hesitated, as if he might strike again, before stepping back. He must have reached the same conclusion as Elias.

The nob gave a scant bow, a mockery of politeness. “Marlborough at your service.”

So this was Lord Marlborough. The man who held Rowsley’s debts.

Duvall lifted his chin, looking at Marlborough down the length of a fine, straight nose. “I know who you are, my lord. And what you are.”

Marlborough made no reply, just straightened his coat, pushed past Duvall and strolled out of the room.

Duvall watched him go, then returned his attention to Elias. His eyes widened and a strange moment followed as they regarded each other in silence. Duvall appeared to be waiting for something from Elias. What? A thank-you? He’d have a long wait. Elias hadn’t needed rescuing to begin with, and he wasn’t in the habit of tugging his forelock to anyone. But before he could say anything, Duvall was striding to the door. “Go back downstairs,” he said. “This evening is over.”