Page 7 of The Rogue’s Embrace

Lisandro and Stephen arrived early for Sunday mass the following morning. After their visit to St James's the previous day, they now had a plan in place. Every attempt to blend in with the rest of the parishioners had been made; both were dressed in regulation black suits with white linen shirts. Their morning coats did little however to hide their well-toned physiques and more than one young lady batted her eyelashes at them.

After taking their seats several rows back from the altar but to one side, they sat quietly, heads facing forward, and waited.

The aging Father Hurtado shuffled in, coming down to the front of the pulpit and stopping in front of one of the deacons. They exchanged a few words, after which the priest nodded his welcome to various parishioners as they made their way into the church and found a space in the pews.

Lisandro watched the Father's gaze as it swept over the gathering. When Father Hurtado put his hands together and held them to his lips, Stephen cleared his throat. "That's the signal."

The priest dropped his right hand and touched the front of his robe five times. With his left hand, he brushed away an invisible piece of lint eight times. As he turned and headed back toward the pulpit, his gaze locked with Lisandro's for the briefest of moments.

Right-hand side of the aisle, which makes our man on this side. Five rows back from the front. Eight seats in from the aisle.

Adrenaline coursed through him. Se?or Alba was here in the church. The man who had helped kidnap Maria de Elizondo was sitting a matter of feet away.

He let out a shaky breath, knowing that while he would dearly have loved to step out and make his way over to where Se?or Alba sat, seizing him violently by the throat, it wouldn't help Maria. If the kidnappers were any sort of professionals, they would have protocols set in place. If Alba didn't return from church, they may well have standing orders to kill their captive.

Stephen coughed. Then coughed again. Lisandro reached out and patted him gently on the back. "Are you alright?"

"I'm trying to find a reason for us to leave. A coughing fit seems as good as any,"

he replied.

The spluttering grew louder, and the people around them made not-so-subtle noises about the disturbance. With a dramatic shake of the head, Stephen pointed to the aisle and got to his feet. He and Lisandro beat a hasty retreat out the front door.

Outside in George Street, Stephen made a miraculous recovery. "What did you see as we left?" he asked.

Lisandro pulled a notebook out of his coat pocket and jotted down some pertinent details. Short, tidy moustache, and well dressed. Middle-aged, if the kiss of gray hairs at his temple was any indication.

"From the respectable gap between him and the next group of people in his pew, he appeared to be alone. I didn't get a long look at him, but he seemed comfortable in his skin. You wouldn't pick him as being a man who had stolen a young woman from her home,"

replied Lisandro.

"Damn. I was hoping we might get someone who looked furtive and out of place. The fact that he feels confident enough to risk venturing out into society tells us a great deal about the sort of people who have Maria,"

said Stephen.

For the next hour they stood on the opposite side of the street, waiting for Sunday mass to conclude. A little before midday, the first parishioners began to file out of St James's church. Lisandro took a step forward, intending to cross over and stand outside the church, but Stephen seized him by the arm. "Let me do this. I blend in better than you."

Lisandro narrowed his eyes at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you look like a Spanish gentleman. If you start following him, he might try to engage you in conversation. Then the game will be up. If I tail him, all he will see if he checks behind him is another pasty-faced Englishman out for a Sunday stroll."

Lisandro nodded, annoyed with himself that Stephen seemed to have a stronger grip on managing things than he did. Lisandro wasn't one for playing second fiddle, but with so much at stake, his pride would simply have to endure it.

Stephen leaned in close. "Just remember you are the one who is going to have to get Maria de Elizondo home to her family. Springing her from her prison in London may be the easy part. Getting the two of you back to Spain is going to be fraught with danger."

Lisandro didn't even want to think about the journey home. All that mattered was finding Maria and then figuring out the best way to rescue her.

"Here we go,"

said Stephen.

His friend stepped nonchalantly off the pavement and crossed the road. He walked past the front of the church, then stopped a little way up the street to peer in a shop's window, a good ten yards behind Alba.

You are very good, my friend.

It was an honor to watch a master at work. For such a large man, Sir Stephen Moore possessed an almost magical ability to blend into crowds. People might see him, but he moved in such a way that their brains seemed to barely register his presence. He was a ghost walking among them.

The moment Se?or Alba made to move away from the church and walk farther down George Street, Stephen followed. Lisandro waited until they were almost out of sight, then started slowly after them.

Ten minutes of turning left and right into laneways and streets kept him on his toes. More than once, Lisandro found himself leaping into a shop's doorway to avoid being seen. It was hard staying on both Se?or Alba and Sir Stephen's tail without losing them.

He had just turned left out of Harley Street and into Queen Anne when a hand reached out and took a firm hold of his sleeve. Stephen pulled him into the front of a butcher's shop and dragged him toward the back. As he passed by the counter, Stephen nodded to the owner. "A pound of your best pork sausages please, my good man."

At the rear of the shop, he let go of Lisandro's arm. "Sorry. I had to do that. Couldn't have you wandering any farther down the street. Our friend just walked in the front door of number nine."

Relief washed over him. Finally, they had something solid to work with, to build their hopes upon. If they had located where Maria was being held, the chances of being able to successfully rescue her had suddenly risen.

The thud of the butcher's cleaver cutting through meat and then hitting the wooden block interrupted their conversation. Without batting an eyelid, Stephen pointed to a tray of pork pies which sat on the nearby counter. "Oh, and can we have a half dozen of the pies? They look good."

Lisandro wasn't the least bit interested in the pies; he wanted to know what they were going to do about Maria. He forced himself to take a slow, deep breath and calm down. This wasn't his first time dealing with a complicated situation. One couldn't just rush into action.

"We need to get around into the next street or the rear laneway and see what the back of the house looks like," he said.

"Yes. But first, we need to do some homework about the address itself. Who owns it, and who is currently living there? That information will give us options as to how we go about securing Maria's release. It may also provide vital information regarding the people behind her abduction. There are plenty of places in Spain, Portugal, or even France where they could have taken her. I still can't get my head around why they chose England,"

replied Stephen.

Lisandro had worked that question over and over in his mind. The fact that the kidnappers had taken Maria far away worried him greatly. Being the enemy of Don Elizondo meant he didn't have an insight into the Duke of Villabona's life or who, outside of his family, might hold a grudge against him. But one thing was universal—powerful men tended to make powerful enemies.

The butcher came around to the front of the counter, the meat wrapped in newspaper. Stephen dug into his pocket and pulled out some coins. He gave them to the man who counted out the required money, then handed the change back along with the parcel. They hurried out of the shop.

After crossing over Queen Anne Street, Stephen led Lisandro into a narrow laneway, then turned left. He stopped, ripped open the top of the butcher's paper, and pulled out a sausage.

"You are not going to eat raw meat, are you?"

asked Lisandro.

Stephen raised an eyebrow. "No, but experience tells me that if they are any sort of self-respecting criminals, they will have a guard dog."

Lisandro grinned. Trust Stephen to be always thinking ahead.

At the rear of number nine, Lisandro bent and cupped his hands. Stephen placed his boot in the ready-made step and grabbed a hold of the fence with one hand while Lisandro lifted.

Lisandro groaned. His friend was no lightweight.

"You have been eating too many pork pies,"

he said, through gritted teeth.

"Stop complaining. Now hold still a moment,"

whispered Stephen.

Lisandro sucked in a breath and prayed that his knees would forgive him. A trickle of sweat slid down his back.

The low, threatening growl of a dog came from the yard, and he immediately fell silent. The last thing either of them wanted was for the animal to start barking.

Stephen whistled, then cooed softly. "Here, boy. I have a lovely sausage for you."

Crouched as he was, Lisandro couldn't see anything that was happening on the other side of the fence but snuffling and the wet sound of a sausage being gulped soon drifted to his ears.

"Good dog. Now you stay quiet and you will get another sausage."

A welcome tap on his shoulder had Lisandro lowering his hands, and Stephen stepping away. Lisandro shook out his fingers as they walked back toward the street.

"You were right about the dog," he said.

"Of course, I was. Though it's only an old bulldog. From the way it swallowed those sausages down almost whole, I would say it is missing quite a few teeth. Oh, and it's only got three legs,"

replied Stephen.

That was good news. There was nothing worse than being chased by a beast in possession of a set of sharp teeth, especially when they were snapping at your heels.

On their way home, Stephen gave a full account of what he had seen in the rear of number nine while Lisandro made mental notes. By the time they had reached the offices of the RR Coaching Company, the kernel of a plan was already forming in Lisandro's mind.

A plan to rescue Maria.