would carry more weight than that of a courtesan who writes for a gossip rag.’
He saw the colour stinging her creamy cheeks. Saw her fighting to find words of resistance and failing.
He was almost disappointed. Almost felt his heart softening for the defiant little widow. But he clamped down hard on any errant feeling like pity. His face as stone, he went to open the door and pointed the way. ‘As I was saying, you’ve clearly been missed. There are three people outside, looking for you. Including—’ his eyes narrowed ‘—your daughter.’
Chapter Eight
Katy was outside, clinging to Biddy. As soon as she saw Rosalie, she reached out to her. ‘Mama? I want Mama …’
‘Oh, darling …’ Rosalie hurried to hold her tight in her arms. Alec Stewart was looking at them both, sharply, knowingly. Naturally, Rosalie thought with scorn, that devil of a man had assumed Katy was hers. Well, let him. She realised Matt was there, too, looking rather warily at Captain Stewart and his crew.
‘Biddy. Matt,’ she said quickly. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Miss Helen sent me after you, miss, and told me to bring Matt, too. She was really cross when she realised you’d not taken him, like you’d said.’ Biddy glanced wide-eyed at the formidable figure of Alec Stewart, who had gone to say something to one of his men. ‘She told me,’ went on Biddy, ‘to say you must come home, because you ought not to be on these streets alone! I brought little Katy, too, ‘cos she was missing you bad, weren’t you, chick?’
Katy, in Rosalie’s arms, seemed quite happy now, and in fact had wriggled round to stare at Alec, who was strolling back towards them. She was clearly intrigued by the gleaming gold curb-chain of his pocket watch and her little fingers reached out to it.
‘Katy, don’t!’ Rosalie backed away with her quickly. She feared that he would use this as an opportunity to castigate her still further. Accuse her of rearing a future child-thief, perhaps.
But Alec had forestalled her. He pulled out his gold watch so Katy could see it. ‘This is all it is, sweetheart,’ he told the infant softly. ‘Something to remind me that I’m a busy man and I should have been somewhere else half an hour ago at least.’
‘Tick-tock.’ Katy looked up at him with her wide, dark-lashed green eyes. ‘Tick-tock man.’ She reached out to touch it, then gurgled in merriment.
Rosalie saw Alec’s mouth curl into a brief but devastating smile as he patted Katy’s chubby fist and put his watch away. Her heart jumped. So handsome. So beguiling. So false. As if to prove her point, he turned to Rosalie and the smile was quite gone. ‘It appears to me that your duties lie elsewhere, Mrs Rowland. I warn you—and I assure you I mean it—that there’ll be no writing about me or Two Crows Castle. My men will escort you and your companions as far as the hackney stand on Bishopsgate.’
Matt O’Brien was still watching him almost with awe; much use he was in protecting her from Captain Stewart, Rosalie thought in despair. Her chin lifted an inch. ‘We will make our own way, thank you!’
‘You won’t,’ he broke in icily. ‘I want you well clear of this place.’ He swung round and raised his voice. ‘Sergeant McGrath!’ The villainous-looking Scotsman with red hair came up. ‘Find Mrs Rowland and her companions a hackney cab, will you? And make damned sure they get into it.’ Without a further glance at her, he turned and strode off while McGrath led the way along Crispin Street, with Matt O’Brien at his side, eagerly asking questions.
‘I hear your Captain fought like the very devil against the French at Waterloo,’ Matt was saying to McGrath.
You traitor, Matt. Rosalie, holding Katy tight, walked furiously behind, with Biddy chattering away beside her. And she herself was a fool. Today, as Ro Rowland, roving reporter, she’d blundered straight into that man’s stronghold. Twice now she had let him kiss her. She’d twice melted in his strong arms, and, even worse, had wanted more. She shivered at the memory of that powerful body, moulded hard against hers; dear Lord, she had not even tried to resist him!
Her cheeks burned at the recollection of her astonishing stupidity. If Alec Stewart truly was Linette’s seducer—how on earth was she going to tackle him now?
McGrath beckoned a hackney, spoke to the driver, then strolled off. Biddy’s brother said he’d walk, since his next job of work was close by in Fenchurch Street. So just Biddy, Rosalie and Katy got into the cab.
‘Where to, miss?’ asked the cab driver.
‘Clerkenwell. St John’s Church,’ she answered distractedly, fumbling for her purse.
‘No need for that,’ said the cabbie. ‘Your fare’s bin paid.’
‘No! I won’t allow it!’ she exploded with renewed fury. Captain Stewart must have given the necessary coins to McGrath. How dare he …?
‘Suit yerself,’ shrugged the cabbie. ‘Pay me twice over if you wants to throw your money away.’
Rosalie slumped inside the carriage. Biddy was excited by the novelty of the trip and pointed the sights out to Katy through the window. ‘There’s St Paul’s, Katy, see? And there’s the Smithfield market …’
But Rosalie could see nothing except Alec Stewart’s hard, mocking face. She remembered his mouth and how it had branded her with the kind of kiss she hadn’t even known existed.
* * *
Katy had become fretful by the time they reached Clerkenwell. As they climbed out, the clock of the nearby church was chiming one, and Katy, in Rosalie’s arms, was crooning softly to herself, ‘Tick-tock man. Tick-tock man.’
Thus Rosalie would always remember the exact time that she realised what her enemy was capable of. Would always remember, as she held little Katy tight, the moment when Biddy cried out, ‘Lord have mercy, what on earth’s happened here?’
Rosalie swung round to thrust Katy into Biddy’s arms. ‘Look after her,’ she breathed. She was already hurrying towards the house.
The door was wide open. Helen was standing on the steps surrounded by neighbours and little Toby was clinging tearfully to her.
‘Helen.’ Rosalie pushed her way through. ‘Helen, what’s happened?’
‘Oh, Rosalie … Come and see.’
A horrible sick feeling tore at Rosalie’s gut as she followed her friend inside. In the front room the little square-built printing press, Helen’s pride and joy, had been viciously attacked with what could only have been a strong hammer or a pick-axe. Leaden type and pieces of wooden frame were scattered all over the floor.
‘Someone broke in while I was out. They picked the lock. Then—my printing press …’ Helen’s voice broke. ‘Look at this.’
She handed Rosalie a note scrawled in ink. Gossip-raking bitch.
Rosalie felt quite faint. ‘Did no one see anything?’
Helen
