Page 106 of Never Beguile a Duke

Silas sent Juliette back upstairs, then entered the room, took a seat across from Warwick, and said, “We received a second missive from Mr. Curtis with the location of the meeting. Mr. Braddock suggested stationing himself at the gaming hall this evening to give us an advantage tomorrow. Grisham went with him.”

Warwick nodded, confirming his agreement with the scheme. “Are Lennox and Mansfield also headed into town?”

“Actually,” Silas said with a chuckle, “they’re outside searching for pebbles with which to fill the coin sack.”

“I’m offended none of you thought I would return.” Warwick shifted in his chair and groaned. “Should we inform them that their task is no longer essential?”

“Eventually.” Silas grinned. “In the meantime, may I offer you a drink?”

“Is that wise?” Warwick stretched out his leg, rubbing his thigh. “Shouldn’t a clear head be your aim?”

“Sleep is,” Silas replied with a heavy sigh, “but I fear that is a goal I won’t achieve this evening.”

“Nor I,” Roxburghe said, setting the sack of coins on the cushion beside him as he collapsed on the sofa.

None of them slept.

The next morning, Silas—legs curled into his stomach—lay on the dirty floor of Roxburghe’s coach as they bounced across the frozen landscape.

“Can you see me?” he asked, rolling his head toward Roxburghe.

“Yes. However, this should fix that issue.” Roxburghe leaned forward and lifted a thick fur from the opposite bench. “Wait for the count of ten, then remove the covering and follow me into the gaming hall.”

“We still don’t know who Mr. Curtis’ accomplice is,” Silas replied as Roxburghe shook out the fur. “We cannot assume it was Mr. Hollingsworth.”

“I’m hoping the scoundrel exposes himself as well.” Roxburghe spread the cover over Silas. “They’ll think me outnumbered, and that will be our advantage.”

As the coach turned onto the main road leading into Wiltshire, Roxburghe fell silent. His steady breathing was the only indication of his presence. The wheels rolled to a stop, the coach door opened, and Roxburghe stepped down from the cabin.

After the door slammed shut, Silas diligently counted to ten, then pulled the fur from his face. He uncurled and rolled onto his knees. Twitching the window curtain aside, he peered through the glass, seeking Roxburghe’s brown head among the patrons entering the building.

A cloaked man appeared beside Roxburghe and grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the entrance. Silas caught the flash of a pistol as the man rammed the muzzle into Roxburghe’s side.

Nodding slowly, Roxburghe reached into his borrowed greatcoat and removed the sack of coins, which he passed to the man. As the man’s fingers closed around the bag, he swung his other arm and struck Roxburghe in the head with the gun.

Roxburghe crumpled into a heap on the snow-covered ground, and the man leaped over Roxburghe’s body and raced down the street, bypassing the gaming hall and whipping around the corner.

“Mr. Dunn,” Silas yelled, exploding from the coach and capturing the driver’s attention. “See to your master!”

Racing past Roxburghe’s unconscious form, Silas chased after the cloaked man. When Silas turned the corner, his gaze scoured the nearly empty street, seeking the black cloak. However, none of the people visible wore the article.

His gaze slid back across the road. At the far end, moving at a speed greater than walking would allow, a dark blob hastened to the left, disappearing onto the next street.

Where was the man heading? This wasn’t the location of Mr. Curtis’ last residence. In truth, the area felt quite familiar…

Silas’ heart dropped. They were heading toward Mrs. Webb’s residence.

When he rounded the next corner, an empty street greeted him. He issued a soft curse, then slogged toward the Webb house, hoping his suspicion regarding the unknown accomplice’s hiding place was correct.

It seemed a logical connection; Mr. Curtis would know the Webbs were currently staying at Silas’ residence, and without any servants, the house would be vacant.

Silas crept through the break in the iron fence surrounding the property and into the garden, keeping his body low as he moved across the grounds. Inching toward the residence, his breath caught as a dull thudding reverberated toward him, and he dropped flat, burying himself in the snow.

“Open the door!” the cloaked man yelled, beating his fist upon the wood.

Terror coursed through Silas’ veins. He recognized the voice’s owner… It was Mr. Hollingsworth.

If he’d participated in Miss Fernsby-Webb’s kidnapping, had her mother assisted as well?