Deb Marlowe - Cinderella in the Regency Ballroom - Her Cinderella Season / Tall, Dark and Disreputable

‘I just meant to ask if you knew what sort of man you were taking orders from,’ Jack said, never taking his eyes off of the big lout.

‘The sort with gold in his pockets,’ snickered the first man. ‘And before ye ask, no, I don’t care how he come by it—as long as he’s forkin’ over my share.’ He thrust his chin towards Jack. ‘Do it, Post.’

The big sailor moved in. Jack braced himself and waited … waited … until the cudgel swung at him in a potentially devastating blow. Quickly he jumped forwards, thrusting his knife, point up and aiming for the vulnerable juncture under the man’s arm.

But the goliath possessed surprisingly swift reflexes. He shifted his aim and blocked the driving thrust of the knife with the cudgel. The point buried itself in the rough wood. With a grin and a sudden, practised jerk, he yanked the blade right from Jack’s grip.

His gut twisting, Jack knew he was finished. But he’d be damned if he went down without a fight. He ducked low and aimed a powerful blow right into that massive midsection.

He swore his wrist cracked. His fingers grew numb. But the giant just grinned. He reached for Jack. Those thick fingers closed around his neckcloth—and suddenly the great ham-hand spasmed open.

Jack looked up into the broad face so close to his. He met a pair of bulging eyes and flinched at the sight of a mouth wide open in a wordless grunt of pain. From this vantage point, the reason for his silence was clear. Some time, somewhere in this man’s violent past, his tongue had been cut out.

Jack strained, trying to slide out from against the door as the brute turned half-away, reaching behind him. His gaze following, Jack saw the hilt of a knife protruding from the man’s meaty thigh.

The giant grasped the knife. With a thick grunt, he pulled it free. Jack acted instantly, kicking the blade out of the oaf’s hand. Never too proud to take advantage of an opponent’s misfortune, Jack aimed another hard kick at his wounded limb. As the leg began to buckle, he reached up and, yanking hard, pulled his knife free from the cudgel. In a flash, he had it at the man’s throat. The point pricked, drawing blood, before his opponent realised his predicament.

The giant froze. Jack looked over at his companion. ‘Back away,’ he snarled. ‘I’ll cut his throat if I have to.’

A curious, regular tapping sounded out of the mist. Jack tensed, waiting to see what new threat would emerge. Someone had thrown that knife. But which combatant had it been meant for?

His mouth dropped and a wave of surprise and relief swept over him as the fog gave up another figure, wiry, grizzled and wearing an elaborately carved peg below one knee.

‘Eli!’ Jack grinned. ‘You’re like a bad penny, always turning up where you’re least expected.’

The diminutive groom brandished another wickedly long knife. ‘Fun’s over for tonight, mates,’ he said.

The swarthy man let out an ugly laugh. ‘Says you.’ He gestured to his partner. ‘Kill ’em bo—’ His sentence ended abruptly as his legs flew out from beneath him. He flailed briefly and hit the cobblestones hard. In a second’s time, the dark-skinned man in a turban kneeled over him and rested a pistol nonchalantly against his chest.

‘Good evening to you, Aswan.’ This time a dose of humiliation mixed with Jack’s relief. How many times would the Egyptian have to snatch him from the jaws of death?

‘The pair of ye got nowhere to go, ‘cept to hell,’ Eli told the villains with a nod. He gestured for Aswan to release his captive. ‘Unless you’re in a hurry to get there, get up and off wi’ ye both.’

‘Aye, and you keep your friend where he belongs,’ snarled the small man. ‘If we see him again we won’t be giving him his chance—it’ll be a knife in the back from out of the dark.’ He glared at Jack. ‘Understand? Keep to your own lot, bookworm.’

The pair faded into the fog.

‘Come on.’ Eli clapped Jack on the shoulder. ‘This damp is makin’ me leg ache.’

The three of them walked to Leman Street, where they hailed a hackney and had it convey them to a still-open coffee house in the Strand.

The place was empty. The shopkeeper had thrown the chairs up on the tables to sweep, but he was thrilled to stir up a cheery fire and arrange three of his best seats in front of it. He bustled off to fetch coffee and Eli groaned as he settled in and rubbed his leg. ‘Well, which is it, man?’ he asked Jack.

‘Which is what?’ Jack gazed, puzzled, from one of his rescuers to the other.

The groom exchanged a glance with the Egyptian. ‘We told ye we’d deal with this lot. And then we hear tell of a Mayfair toff askin’ questions all over the riverside.’ He shrugged. ‘A man don’t get hisself into a situation like that unless he’s got either a death wish or woman trouble. So which is it?’

Jack groaned and hung his head in his hands.

‘Woman trouble.’ Eli sighed.

Jack peered up at the pair of them. ‘Well, I suppose I should thank you, at any rate.’ He grimaced. ‘What do you hear from Devonshire?’

‘We heard from Trey today. He’s got everything well in hand.’

‘Well in hand?’ Jack scoffed. ‘Batiste’s got his fingers in every pie from here to there and Trey’s got it well in hand?’

‘What I want to know,’ Eli demanded, ‘is why you were at the Horse tonight.’

Jack explained, but Eli just shook his head. ‘It’s more likely that tapster’s in league with Batiste’s men. He probably lured you there and tipped them off.’

‘Well, I had to take the chance, didn’t I?’

The coffee came then, and Eli sighed as he wrapped his hands around his hot cup. Aswan glanced at his mug with distaste.

‘Effendi , why do you feel as if you must take this chance?’ the Egyptian asked.

Jack stared blankly. ‘You just said it, Aswan. Batiste is a dangerous man.’ He glanced around at the empty room, but still lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Chione is your family. Trey and the rest will be soon enough. Can you stomach the thought of him out there, hovering, just waiting for his chance to hurt them? They deserve to live their lives free, without fear and without a constant nagging threat in the background.’

‘Batiste’s more’n dangerous. He’s obsessed, I’d say,’ Eli replied. ‘Treyford wants him taken jest as bad as ye. He’s not above throwin’ his title around, neither. Aswan says as how they’ve had the Navy in Devonshire, and the Foreign Office, too. Even had a couple of Americans in.’ He took a long swallow and grinned in satisfaction. ‘Damned good coffee here.’

‘Treyford sends a message. He has a favour to ask of you,’ Aswan said abruptly. ‘He says you have done well with your cors—corres—?’ He looked to Eli for help.

‘Correspondence. Damned good idea, that. But he’s got someone he’d like you to talk to, as well.’

‘Who is it?’

‘Broken-down seaman, as used to sail with Batiste.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard that one before.’ Jack grinned.

‘No, this one should be no threat. Mervyn’s had word of him. Name o’ Crump. He’s poorly and been set up in the new Seamen’s Hospital. Mervyn says as it’s unlikely he’ll be coming out.’

‘Why me? Wouldn’t he be more likely to speak with you, someone who knows the life he’s led?’

‘No.’ Eli shook his head. ‘He’ll know of my relationship with Mervyn and there’s a risk he won’t want anything to do with me. Crump crewed with Batiste when the bastard still worked for Latimer Shipping. He went with Batiste when the pair o’ them fought and Batiste struck out on his own. He’ll know much about where Batiste hides his head when the chips start to stack against him.’