Compromising Miss Milton. Michelle Styles

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СКАЧАТЬ the name of all that is holy, what sort of driving is that? You are paid to avoid potholes, not drive through them!’ Adam banged on the roof.

      Silence filled the unmoving carriage, only to be broken by the tramp of heavy feet and muffled voices. Adam froze, listening. Not poor driving but something far more sinister.

      With a practised hand, he reached towards where his pistol was stored and encountered—air. A loud oath dropped from his lips.

      Adam forced the remains of sleep from his mind. The pistol was there. It had to be. He had carefully placed it alongside the necklace before they had left the coaching inn this morning, an integral part of his ritual. His hand groped for the ruby necklace. His shoulders relaxed slightly. That at least was there.

      Adam reached out again, fumbling in the dark with the latch of a hidden compartment, but despite his frantic groping the space and indeed the carriage remained empty of all weapons. Gone. Vanished.

      What else had they done? And when? The fog of sleep clawed at his mind, making it difficult to think. Adam shook his head, noting the vile taste in his mouth. Drugged. He swore at his own stupidity. Meticulous planning had gone into this unscheduled stop, but this was where it would end. It would not reach the desired conclusion. He would see to it. Personally.

      ‘Down from the carriage!’

      ‘Here, what is this all about?’ His new driver Hawkins’s protest was a heartbeat too slow, too certain.

      ‘We mean business. Stand aside.’

      A single shot rang out.

      Adam grabbed the ruby necklace and slipped it into the waistband of his trousers. Everything else was replaceable, but not the necklace—his talisman, a reminder of who he was and what he had done. If he lost the necklace, he might as well be dead.

      ‘Step out, my lord,’ Hawkins said.

      Adam’s neck muscles relaxed slightly. Hawkins lived. But how loyal was he? His words held the barest veneer of civility.

      Rapidly Adam searched on the floor for the pistol, hoping that in some mad moment of sleep, he had dislodged the weapon. Nothing. His hand closed about his cane, a weapon of sorts, something to even the odds.

      ‘Get out, I say!’ The door rattled again and Hawkins’s voice became harsher. ‘Get out or I will drag your lordship’s carcass from the coach.’

      ‘When I am ready.’

      Adam tugged at the sleeves of his frock coat and straightened his stock. He tucked his cane under his arm and knew he looked the perfect gentleman, perhaps a bit foppish and overly concerned with clothes, but not someone who waited for an opportunity to strike.

      Taking a deep breath, he stepped out into the night and surveyed the scene, weighing his options. Seven men, far too many to fight and have a hope of success. Whoever had planned this had left nothing to chance, but someone always made a mistake.

      The leader snapped his fingers and Hawkins plucked the cane from Adam’s hand. ‘Sorry, my lord. The cane is required. We wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.’

      ‘Is there some problem, Hawkins?’ Adam kept his voice calm and unhurried, the epitome of an aristocrat who frequented the environs of St James’s. ‘Why have you stopped the coach? I need to get to Newcastle to catch the packet to London. The Atheneaum’s annual election waits for no man.’

      ‘Outlaws. Road was blocked ahead and I slowed. These men grabbed the horses’ heads.’ Hawkins shifted from foot to foot as the lantern cast strange elongated shadows. The cane with its hidden sword was now clasped lightly in Hawkins’s unsuspecting hand. ‘It weren’t my fault. Not expecting it, like. There was nothing I could do. Honest my lord.’

      ‘Join me, Hawkins.’ Adam held out his hand, and willed the driver to place the cane into his palm. ‘It is not too late. I will save you, Hawkins.’

      Hawkins took a step backwards, shaking his head. ‘I’m sorry my lord. They…they threatened…my wife and child.’

      ‘Indeed? And here I thought you a single man without a relation in the world.’ Adam lowered his voice. ‘How much did they pay you, Hawkins? How did they get you—drink, gaming or was it opium? Did you think about your wife or child, then?’

      Hawkins raised the cane, but Adam caught it before the first blow fell and pulled Hawkins towards him.

      ‘Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been enough.’ Adam saw the man’s face contort with uncertainty and fear.

      ‘Leave Lord Ravensworth to me. I have waited a lifetime for this moment.’ The leader’s muffled voice rang out again. ‘Back to your place. And this time take his cane out of his reach.’

      The driver yanked the cane away and turned on his heel.

      Another wave of drug-induced tiredness attacked Adam. He fought against it, struggling to stay upright. Survival first. Retribution later.

      ‘You have something we want. Something you stole.’ The leader’s voice was rough, but held a tone that Adam’s brain faintly recognised. ‘A treasure beyond reckoning. Give it here.’

      He lifted his hand and Adam saw the tattoo of a blackbird between the man’s thumb and forefinger. The ground shifted beneath Adam’s feet. He knew the tattoo. Once it had had a meaning, but that was more than a continent and half-a-dozen years away. The gang of particularly murderous thieves who sported the tattoo and who preyed on innocent travellers were dead. The last ones had danced from the end of a noose after he had testified in Bombay.

      ‘You are making a serious error,’ Adam said. ‘I have no idea what you mean.’

      ‘Wrong answer.’ A blow struck the side of his head, sending him staggering towards the dark edges of his mind. ‘A rich nabob like you. You brought the treasure from India. You thought yourself beyond the curse. It has taken us a long time, but the goddess will be satisfied once we have tasted your blood.’

      Adam put his hands on his knees and attempted to breathe. Ghosts did not possess cudgels and curses were for the weak-minded. These men were flesh and blood, but who? And why now? When had the tattoo been revived?

      Another blow rained down on his back and shoulders—heavier, harder. He stumbled and fell, lay still, then waited. A tiny portion of his mind told him to offer up a prayer for help, but any higher being that existed had forsaken him after India. He knew that.

      ‘Here, you’ll kill him. They never said nothing about killing. That’s murder, like!’ Hawkins squawked.

      ‘It’s a dirty business. You knew that.’

      ‘It is not here,’ a voice called out

      ‘Search the carriage again!’

      ‘What about him?’

      ‘Him?’ A contemptuous kick landed on Adam’s back. ‘He will be dead before sunlight. Did you see him stagger as he came out? They did their work at the inn.’

      ‘You will get what you deserve,’ Adam muttered under his breath, but he kept his body still and his face in the mud, waiting.

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