Yet, somehow, even now, he knew Alexandra Quinn would always hold a piece of him.
He’d gone so damned long without seeing her. Without holding her. Without breathing in her scent.
Eight long years.
He turned back to the window. Slipping the curtain to the side, he surveyed the quiet, darkened street. No sign of trouble. That, at least, worked in his favor.
If only he knew who’d sent Rooney after Alex. The antiquities collectors he’d encountered would not deal with the likes of that blighter. Only a man without a speck of conscience would dispatch such a vile rotter after a woman.
Bugger it, he wanted to kill the bastard. He’d struggled to rein in his fury when he’d swung the bludgeon against Rooney’s thick skull. The sight of the hulking bastard’s hand pressed to Alex’s throat had sparked a primitive rage, but he’d kept the emotion tightly leashed, if only for her sake. They had to discover what the cad knew of the threat.
If only Rooney’s trail had not gone cold. Benedict had raced back to London, only to learn the man he’d pursued was hiding in plain sight. Damnable shame he had not gotten to Alex before the vicious cur put his filthy hands on her.
But he’d neutralized the danger. He’d done that much.
He did not deceive himself that the threat had passed. To the contrary, in his gut, he knew the events of the evening were only the beginning.
…
Keeping an eye on Benedict as he stood with his back to her, peering into the darkness beyond the window, Alex retrieved ammunition from a drawer in the sideboard and reloaded her Sharps. She felt no fear of him, even after all these years. But prudence had always been one of her strong suits, or so she’d been told—best to be prepared should a new menace rear its head.
“I want you to know I’ve reloaded my pistol,” she said, keeping her voice calm and even.
His broad shoulders lifted and fell. “I am also armed,” he said, not bothering to turn around. “Surely, you don’t think I came here with a hunk of wood as my only weapon.”
“To be perfectly frank, I do not know what to think about any of this. If you have a gun in your possession, why didn’t you use it? As I recall, you are a crack shot.”
“I’d been advised Rooney would be wearing body armor,” he explained. “It’s a habit the rotter cultivated. A gun is not useless against him, but I did not intend to inflict a fatal wound.”
With a nod of understanding, she joined Benedict at the window. He peered out, searching the darkness.
He stilled.
“Someone is there…voices…outside the house.” He retrieved a Webley revolver from a holster beneath his jacket.
Coupled with Benedict’s pronouncement, the quiet knock against the front door might as well have been an explosion, it startled her so. Alex took in the sound. Two taps. Followed by three raps in quick succession.
She let out the breath she’d gulped at Benedict’s announcement and stilled him with a gentle touch. “Wait. I know who it is.”
His brow furrowed. “You were expecting a guest?”
If she hadn’t known better, she might have believed him jealous at the prospect of a late-night arrival. She cast aside the thought. She had far more pressing matters to consider.
“No… Not a guest. I suspect my sister’s husband has gotten word about the situation. As you well know, Colton has informants throughout the city.”
She turned to the doorway, but Benedict caught her by the arm. “Where do you think you’re going? You can’t be certain it’s him.”
Another coded knock drifted through the glass. “Colton and I have worked this out—it’s an alert.”
Benedict flashed a questioning glance. “You speak as if this occurs on a regular basis.”
“I would not say it is a typical occurrence,” she offered, deliberately vague. It wouldn’t be wise to reveal too much of her involvement in the high-level investigative service her brother-in-law had established at the Crown’s behest. She’d offer no more on the subject. “I really should answer the door. If Colton does not receive the expected response, hewilltake action.”
“Stay here.” Benedict stalked from the room down the corridor to the front entry, weapon in hand.
She hurried after him. “Do be careful, Benedict. I cannot guarantee that Matthew Colton willnotshoot first and ask questions later.”
Chapter Five
