Coldly Leath regarded Greengrass. “Right now I’m two minutes from consigning you to hell and your threats with you.”
Greengrass grinned, unconvinced. “Brave words. You’re here and you’ve got my brass. I’d say you’d do pretty much anything to protect your high and mighty family name.”
“Show me the diary,” Leath bit out.
After a pause to demonstrate his power, Greengrass opened the journal and, holding it, slid it toward Leath. The light in the inn was terrible, Leath suspected to stop patrons inspecting their purchases too closely. But he recognized his uncle’s incongruously beautiful copperplate and caught some words he wouldn’t use in polite society.
Greengrass snapped the book shut and tugged it back. “Satisfied?”
He’d kept Greengrass talking as long as he could to give the others time to take their places. Brown the coachman stood at the bar to back him up. “Yes.”
“Then let’s go.” Greengrass drained his mug and rose, tucking the diary into his coat.
Hell’s bells, Harmsworth and co were right about him being a huge bugger. Greengrass’s hairless head brushed the blackened beams on the stained ceiling. Leath dwarfed most men, but he felt like a molehill beside a mountain.
Greengrass gave a mocking wave toward a door that Leath hadn’t noticed. As they stepped into a
dark corridor, he slid his hand into his pocket and curled his fingers around a pistol. He hoped like hell that the others found this exit. He hoped like hell that the strapping coachman saw that he and Greengrass used neither of the identified doors. Brown’s orders were to report any deviation from the plan to Sedgemoor.
Still, Leath was armed with two guns and he had a knife in his boot. If Greengrass played up, he was prepared.
Greengrass pushed a small door and crouched to go through. Leath bent to follow and found himself in a choke hold as he emerged.
“Give me the bloody money.”
Leath raised his pistol. “There’s no need for this.” With Greengrass’s arm squeezing his windpipe, the words emerged as a croak. “A clean exchange, then we go our separate ways.”
“You’re too easy, my fine lordship,” the man grunted into his ear, ignoring the gun. “Lord Neville called you the proudest cove in England. Proud coves don’t bend so polite to blackmail. There’s some trick.”
Leath wrenched Greengrass’s arm from his throat. He gulped air into his aching lungs and aimed the gun. “I want the diary.”
Greengrass sneered. “You’re not a man to kill in cold blood.”
“Perhaps not, but I’d maim without blinking,” he snapped, sidling to bring the end of the alley into view. It was ominously empty. How the hell had they missed this exit? Last night, he and the others had thoroughly checked the inn. He’d have laid money that they’d counted every door and window.
“Just testing your mettle, my lord.” Greengrass reached for the diary.
Behind Leath, running feet thudded in the corridor. Greengrass’s hand stilled.
Good God, no. Not now.
Clearly the Almighty wasn’t listening. The coachman burst through the door. “My lord!”
Greengrass stiffened and swore. “You bastard.”
Faster than lightning, he punched Leath in the head. Pain exploded behind his eyes and he staggered into the rough brick wall. Brown grabbed him before he fell, but he was in no mood to thank the fool.
When Leath’s vision cleared, Greengrass aimed a pistol at Brown. Leath might be furious with the dolt, but he didn’t want him dead.
“Give me my money, you slimy sod.”
“Hoy!” Leath bellowed to alert the men watching the inn. Surely they weren’t far away.
The street remained empty.
“I’ll bring him down, my lord.”
“Don’t move, you idiot,” he snarled to the coachman. “He’ll shoot you.”