"I know where they live," Obadiah said solemnly. "Miss Godet is a former acquaintance of mine."
"That's right.' El's smile turned positively gleeful, or at least gleeful for her. "Obadiah and Miss Godet are old friends."
The man looked as if he had swallowed a lemon. He nodded to each of them and left the room.
"I am certain this is all a hoax, Framlingwood. If I were you, I would worry more about having five mistresses living in five side-by-side houses and finding out about each other. One of them committing murder on your person is more likely than any outside threat."
"Oh, I have that well in hand, Your Grace." Derek stood, bowed, and headed for the door.
"Of course, you do."
El's laughter taunted Derek all the way down the corridor. What the hell had he gotten himself into?
2
2 SEPTEMBER, 1826
NUMBER ONE GROSVENOR STREET
Mayfair, London
Obadiah Lassen plastered the bland but alert look of a bored Mayfair footman on his face before settling in for another long day of watching the row of elegant townhouses on Grosvenor Street owned by the Earl of Framlingwood.
A stormy, rain-lashed morning had given way to rare, clear blue skies with only occasional small puffs of cotton-like clouds sailing past high above.
He'd long ago abandoned the oilskin cape Framlingwood's staff used to protect their elaborate, liveried uniforms from the elements.
He rolled his powerful neck and stretched his shoulders tentatively, praying the overly tight jacket he'd borrowed for his watchman duties wouldn't split at the seams.
Damn El for offering Adrienne the position as the earl's mistress. And...damn Adrienne for abandoning Obadiah's protection for that of the complete ass of an aristocrat, Derek Selkirk, the current Earl of Framlingwood.
Obadiah shrugged his massive shoulders, forgetting for a moment where he was, and heard something rip. By the gods, now he'd have to wield a needle and thread to repair the damned jacket.
Not that he wasn't a dab hand with those particular tools. In the years he'd been with Captain Eleanor Goodrum, he'd stitched up many a wound on the men in her crew whilst aboard theLady Muirgen, where he fervently wished he were now. TheLady Muirgenwhere he did double duty as both the captain's sailing master and surgeon when need be.
His thoughts jerked suddenly from the deck of Captain El's ship at the sound of a woman's terrified shrieks piercing the quiet down the block from Bond Street. Adrienne's terrified shrieks.
Without another thought, he was off and running toward the sounds emanating from the corner of Bond Street, his boots pounding against the hard-packed surface of Grosvenor Street. His arms pumped hard against the constraints of his borrowed jacket.
2 September,1826
Corner of Bond and Grosvenor Street
Adrienne thanked the luck of the whirling planets above that she'd grown up on the unforgiving streets of St. Pierre on Martinique. The words "missish" and "weak" were not in her vocabulary. Whatever gang had decided to tempt the hangman's noose at Old Bailey by attacking her and her two footmen in the light of high noon on Bond Street had sadly mistaken her for a fainting flower of Mayfair.
Their first miscalculation? Thinking only one ruffian was required to subdue her whilst two others attacked Young Rutherford and John the footman. Young Rutherford was slowly getting the upper hand. He was slender but fast and tough as a whippet. Her footman was very tall and exceedingly handsome, but at the moment was more concerned about protecting his face from the rapid punches of his attacker.
Adrienne slumped momentarily into the iron-like grasp of the idiot whose stench of garlic and onions was stronger than his strength of grip, although he'd applied considerable force to the wooden bat he'd used to hit the side of her face. Once he'd let himself be lulled into thinking she'd given up, Adrienne suddenly stamped down on the top of his foot with the heel of one of her walking boots whilst at the same time holding her breath and viciously biting the top of his hand.
When the dolt screamed and let her go, she took advantage of the freedom of her arms to grasp her parasol from the ground like a sword and rain fierce lashes down on the bastard. And then a peculiar thing happened. One moment, he was leering and lunging for her again, and the next, he was sprawled facedown with Obadiah's boot caving in the back of his neck. The other two men attacking the earl's men immediately tore off across Bond Street and disappeared toward the alley-side mews once they saw Obadiah.
When he nodded toward Young Rutherford, the young man raced down the street to fetch a Peeler to help haul away the lone captive. And then he advanced on Adrienne, cracking his knuckles, his face flushed with a murderous expression somewhere between fear and rage.
She'd wondered what her former lover had been doing lurking about the stoops of their townhouses the last few days. Now she knew. He'd obviously been ordered to guard them. Andapparently with good reason. It seemed someone had declared war on the earl's precious "pearls" of Grosvenor Street.
Adrienne gave a huge sigh of exasperation. Now she'd have to soothe the hulking beast of a man before her...and explain why she'd abandoned him while he'd been away at sea.
Obadiah suckedin a breath that circled the very bottom of his lungs before huffing the same air back out in a rush and glaring at the petite, stubborn woman before him.
