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The sun hadjust set as Guy tucked his pistol into the waistband of his trousers. He planned to intercept whoever was delivering the messages to Burke and force the man to talk. It was a simple plan, but sometimes those worked the best.
The sound of footsteps could be heard in the hall and he wondered if someone was going to deliver him another message. He stepped closer to the door and waited. Once the footsteps stopped in front of his door, he threw open the door and pointed the pistol at the person.
To his surprise, a familiar face was at the other end of the barrel.
“Lord Hawthorne,” Guy said in astonishment as he quickly lowered the gun. “What are you doing here?”
The marquess glanced down the hall. “Perhaps we should discuss this in your room.”
“Quite right,” Guy agreed, opening the door wide for the retired agent. “Come in.”
After the door was closed, Hawthorne said, “Corbyn sent me.”
“Of course he did,” Guy muttered.
“He was worried because he hadn’t received word from you.”
Guy frowned. “There was no need for you to come all this way,” he said. “I just sent off a missive.”
Hawthorne’s eyes scanned the room with disapproval on his features. “I do hope my room is better than this one.”
“How long do you intend to stay?”
“Until you finish the assignment.”
Guy huffed. “I don’t need help.”
“I never implied that you did, but that is my assignment.”
“I thought you were retired.”
Hawthorne gave him an amused look. “I am, but I help out where I can.”
“I have everything under control.”
“I don’t doubt that, but you know how Corbyn can get,” Hawthorne said. “He was worried you might be in trouble.”
“I am not,” he replied. “I may have been shot at—”
“You’ve been shot at?”
Guy reached up and touched his bandaged arm. “I have, but I am not sure it pertains to the assignment.”
“Why else would someone shoot at you?” Hawthorne asked. “You haven’t been in Anmore long enough to make enemies.”
“There is a particular young woman—”
“I should have assumed as much.”
Guy’s stomach rumbled, and he realized that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “Would you care to continue this conversation over some food?”
“I would,” Hawthorne replied. “I am rather famished.”
They departed from the room and headed down the stairs. Once they secured a table in the corner, an older, red-headed serving woman approached them. “What can I get ye blokes?”
“We are both hungry,” Guy replied.
“Ye’re in luck. We still have some venison soup,” she said.
