“What are you doing?” he demanded curtly.
“Hush,” she whispered. “There is someone else here, watching us.”
How she could see anything through the inky darkness, he could not say. Garrick’s eyes had yet to adjust, and he doubted they would. He could do nothing but accept her word.
Trust her.
Did he dare, truly and fully? Completely? He should not.
“Where is your pistol?” she asked next.
But then her hand was within his jacket, fingers searching, seeking, finding its hiding place unerringly. He was so affected by her touch that he reacted far too slowly.
“Blast it, Pen,” he growled. “Give me that.”
“No,” she said simply.
His mind went wild with possibilities. Did she even know how to properly handle a pistol? Was she intending to rob him? Shoot him? Had this entire melodrama been a farce authored by her? Why the devil had her brothers decided to stay within, and where were the damned watchmen the Suttons had promised?
“Stop where you are,” Pen said in a low voice filled with calm authority.
Through the shadows, he could discern the shape of her, the pistol in her hands, pointed at something in the distance. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as an eerie shiver rolled down his spine. There was a scraping sound, then booted footfalls rushing forward, toward Pen.
“Give me the blunt and no one will get hurt,” growled a low, masculine voice. “If you don’t do as I say, I’ll shoot.”
Without thought, Garrick threw himself forward, determined to keep Pen from harm. His body slammed into another with so much force, his teeth clacked together. But Garrick had been spending a great deal of time at Winter’s Boxing Academy recently, and he was more than prepared. Spurred on by the thought of any harm coming to Pen, he slammed his fist into the face of his shadowy opponent and was rewarded by the crunch of bone.
Hopefully he had broken the villain’s nose. But Garrick was not prepared to stop there. He had to make certain Pen was safe. The need to protect Pen driving him, he delivered punches to his opponent’s jaw and midsection.
Garrick’s fists flew with increased assurance, landing blows wherever he could. The man grunted, attempting to swing back, but Garrick had the advantage and overpowered him until his foe was on his back in the seedy alley, pinned by Garrick’s knee on his chest.
His heart was thundering in his ears, victory roaring through his veins.
“Stop! Please! Christ in heaven, stop, you madman!” begged his opponent. “I surrender.”
“Garrick!” Pen’s worried voice cut through the haze of bloodlust surrounding him. “Are you hurt?”
Whilst the other man had landed some blows, he was teeming with so much fury that he scarcely felt a thing.
“I am well,” he managed. “What of you?”
“I am unhurt as well.”
Thank God. If anything had happened to her…no, he could not bear to think of such a terrible possibility.
The man beneath him moaned with pain, jolting him back to the present.
“Where is Lord Aidan Weir?” Garrick demanded of him.
Just then, a pair of watchmen dashed down the alley, carrying lanterns that chased the darkness.
“I’ll take you to him,” the man said.
* * *
In a small,threadbare chamber above The Beggar’s Purse, Aidan was tied to the headboard of a narrow bed, a faded coverlet at his waist scarcely preserving his modesty. From what Pen could tell as she peered over Garrick’s shoulder, he appeared to be entirely unclothed. Nary a stitch on him.
She had been prepared for any number of sights. But strangely, this had not been one of them. She found herself newly relieved the watch had taken away the man Garrick had defended her against in the alley, along with his wife, who had been found awaiting her husband in a hired hack near the front façade of The Beggar’s Purse. The plan had been for the two of them to abscond with the one thousand pounds, leaving poor Aidan in his current state.
Hart and Wolf were awaiting them below, Wolf taking the opportunity to charm the proprietress and give her his opinion on the state of her ale. Pen had offered to accompany Garrick, needing to know for certain that her friend was safe as the man and his wife had claimed.
“Garrick,” Aidan greeted his brother, relief in his voice, “thank Christ. I need to piss. Untie me, will you?”
Pen laughed, but after the unexpected upheaval of the last half hour, first with the assailant rushing them in the alley and then with the frantic race upstairs to find Aidan, the sound emerged as somewhat hysterical.
“That is the manner of greeting I receive?” Garrick snapped coolly. “After Miss Sutton and I were nearly attacked as we tried to pay the ransom to save your miserable hide?”
“Pen?”
At the sound of her friend’s voice, she dutifully stepped to the side, revealing her presence. Aidan’s eyes were wide as they met hers, and his mouth opened, then closed, as if he was searching for the proper words and failing miserably. “What the devil are you doing here?”
A flush darkened his cheekbones, presumably at being caught en flagrante delicto after what she could only suppose was a tryst gone wrong with the woman who had lured him to The Beggar’s Purse.
“Lord Lindsey enlisted my brothers and me to help find you and secure your freedom,” she said grimly.