Forever a Lady. Delilah Marvelle
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Название: Forever a Lady
Автор: Delilah Marvelle
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
isbn: 9781408997857
isbn:
Matthew shook his head in disbelief. “If the marshals can’t keep up with it, it means there isn’t enough muscle to go around. It’s obvious some sort of watch has to be put together using local men.”
Coleman puffed out a breath. “Most of these men don’t even know how to read, let alone think properly enough to do the right thing. It would be like inviting a herd of unbroken stallions into your stable and asking them to line up for a saddle. Believe me, I’ve tried to round up men. They only want to fend for themselves.”
“Then we will find better men.” Matthew flexed his hand, trying to push away the throbbing and angst writhing within him. “Though, I should probably invest in a pistol first. How much does a pistol cost anyway?”
“Matthew.” His father set a hand on his arm. “You cannot be taking justice into your hands like this. ’Tis an idea that will see you arrested or, worse yet, killed.”
Matthew edged toward his father. “In my opinion, I’m already in manacles. And if I die, it will be on my terms, Da, not theirs. I don’t know what the hell needs to be done here, but I’m not doing it sitting on a crate filled with whatever is left of your goddamn newspaper.”
Those taut features sagged. His father released his arm with a half nod, and quietly rounded him, leaving the room.
Realizing he’d been stupid and harsh, Matthew called out after him. “I’m sorry, Da. I didn’t mean that.”
“I deserve it,” his father called back. “I do.”
“No, you—” Matthew swiped his face and paused, his fingers grazing the leather patch. God. His life was a mess.
“A good pistol costs ten to fifteen dollars,” Coleman provided. “Not including the lead you’d need.”
Matthew winced. “Gut me already. I can’t afford that.”
“I never bought mine.”
Matthew angled his head to better see him. “What do you mean? Where did you get it?”
Coleman quirked a dark brow. “Are you really that naive?”
Matthew stared and then rasped, “You mean, you stole it?”
Coleman strode toward him, set a hand on his shoulder and leaned in. “It’s only stealing, Milton, if you do it for your own gain or if you never give it back. Do you know how many people I’ve saved with this here pistol? Countless. I doubt God is going to be punishing me anytime soon. If you want a pistol, we’ll go get you one. A good one.”
Matthew held that gaze. Mad though it was, this man was on to something momentous. Something that, Matthew knew, was about to change not only his life but the lives of others.
CHAPTER ONE
The city inspector reports the death of 118 persons during this ending week. 31 men, 24 women and 63 children.
—The Truth Teller, a New York Newspaper for Gentlemen
Eight years later
New York City—Squeeze Gut Alley, evening
THE SOUND OF HOOVES thudding against the dirt road in the far distance beyond the dim, gaslit street made Matthew snap up a hand to signal his men, who all quietly lurked across the street. The five he’d chosen out of his group of forty, strategically spread apart, one by one, backing into the shadows of narrow doorways.
Still watching the street, Matthew yanked out both pistols from his leather belts. Setting his jaw, he edged back into the shadows beside Coleman before whispering in riled annoyance, “Where the hell is Royce?”
Coleman leaned toward him and whispered back, “You know damn well that bastard only follows his own orders.”
“Yes, well, we’re about to show that no-name marshal how to do his job. Again.”
“Now, now, don’t get ahead of yourself, Milton. We’ve got nothing yet. We’re all standing outside a brothel that appears to be out of business, and most of our informants are worth less than shite.”
“Thank you for always pointing out the obvious, Coleman.”
They fell into silence.
A blurred movement approached and a wooden cart with two barrels rolled up to the curb, pulled by a single ragged-looking horse. A large-boned man sat on the dilapidated seat of the cart, his head covered with a wool sack whose eyes had been crudely cut out. The man hopped down from the cart, adjusting the sack on his head. Glancing around, he pulled out a butcher knife and hurried toward the back of the cart.
Justice was about to pierce Five Points. Because if this didn’t look nefarious enough to jump on, Matthew didn’t know what nefarious was anymore. Pointing both pistols at the man’s head, Matthew strode out of the shadows and into the street toward him. “You. Drop the knife. Do it. Now.”
The man froze as Coleman, Andrews, Cassidy, Kerner, Bryson and Plunkett all stepped out of the shadows and also pointed pistols, surrounding him.
The wool-masked man swung toward Matthew, tossing his knife toward the pavement with a clatter and held up both ungloved hands. “I’m delivering oats. You can’t shoot me for that.” His clipped, gruff accent reeked of all things British.
Cassidy rounded the cart, his scarred face appearing in the glow from the gaslight before disappearing into the shadows again as his giant physique stalked toward the man. “Oats, my arse. You Brits seem to always think you’re above the law. Much like the Brit who had the gall to slit me face.” Cassidy paused before the man. He yanked the wool sack off that head and whipped it aside, revealing beady eyes and a balding head. Cassidy cocked his pistol with a metal click and growled out, “I say we kill this feck and send England a message.”
Matthew bit back the need to jump forward and backhand Cassidy. This was exactly what happened when an Irishman had too much justice boiling his blood. He fought against everyone. And woe to the man who also happened to be British. If it weren’t for the fact that Cassidy was dedicated to the cause and would fight with his own teeth to the end for it, Matthew would have booted him long ago.
Veering closer to Cassidy, Matthew hardened his voice. “This has nothing to do with England or your face. So calm the hell down. We don’t need dead bodies or the marshals on our arses.”
Cassidy hissed out a breath but otherwise said nothing.
“Check the barrels,” Matthew called out to Coleman.
Tucking away both pistols, Coleman jogged over to the cart and, with a swing of his long legs, jumped up onto the back of it. Angling toward the two wooden barrels, Coleman pried each one open, tossing aside both lids with a clatter. He glanced up, his chiseled grim face dimly lit by the gas lamp beyond. “They’re both here.”
A breath escaped Matthew.
Bending over each barrel, Coleman dug his hands in and hefted out a young girl of no more than СКАЧАТЬ