Roundhead would see to that.
In the meantime, there were thirty miles of hard road between here and Sylvana Hall. Not much of a night, as wedding nights went. And God only knew what they would face in the morning.
Guy handed Roundhead the papers and told him specifically where to put them. “Tommy, it’s essential you get these in place before daybreak. Then go to Smarky. Tell him to go and have Bodkins pack for me. He’s then to deliver my things to Edgefield along with whatever information he can gather about a bloke called Brinks. Suggest that he begin that enquiry at St. Mary’s of Bethlem.”
“Bedlam?” Roundhead queried with a laugh. “Aye, guv. Whatever you say.” His grimy hand shot out and Guy filled it with a small wad of bills.
“Also, I’d like an accounting of a Mr. Clive Bradshaw. Have Smarky collect that or farm out the task as he sees fit, but I need it soon.”
“Aye, I’ll tell ’im. Safe journey, guv,” the man muttered, and vanished into the darkness between the justice’s home and the house adjacent to it.
Guy lifted Lily to the mare’s saddle and mounted the gelding to ride beside her. They crossed the Thames once again by way of Westminster Bridge, wound down York Row, silent in the early morning hours save for the clop of hooves.
The horses advanced at a brisk walk along Lower Minette Street, a narrow byway hardly worthy of a name, in order to reach the main road more quickly. They were still not in what Guy considered a safe area of the city, but at least he could breathe a bit more easily than he had done with Lily accompanying him through the crime-fouled streets of Hades.
From the corner of her eye Lily watched two shadows detach themselves from doorways she and Guy had just passed. They were being followed.
“Easy,” Guy whispered. “Ride just ahead of me. Don’t look back.” She had hardly heard his words. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Her muscles had tensed, alerting the mare who began to dance sidewise, her head jerking the reins to the left.
Suddenly as that, two men dashed out of the darkness. One grabbed her mare’s bit with one hand, attempting to drag Lily from the saddle by her leg with the other. She screamed and the mare reared, breaking the brigand’s hold. Lily grasped the mare’s mane and held on.
The fellow struggled up from the cobblestones where he’d fallen, cursing foully as he flew at her. A huge shadow enveloped him from behind and Lily heard a distinct snap.
With a cry of terror, she dug her heels into the mare’s flanks, but with reins tangled, only succeeded in guiding her into a tight circle.
“Hold fast!” Guy ordered. “And ride!”
She loosened her grip and let the frightened mare have her way.
Lily glanced over her shoulder. Like a circus trick rider, Guy bounced once and swung onto the gelding that was already nearing a gallop. Behind them, two dark heaps lay unmoving on the cobbles, barely discernible in the blue-gray glow of the moon.
“Face ahead and turn right,” Guy shouted as he caught up to her.
They cut sharply down another side street that led into a small park with overhanging trees. There Guy drew up and she did the same.
“Are you hurt?” he asked politely.
“Who were those men?” she gasped, trying hard to steady her jerky breathing as she ran one hand through hair dampened with the sweat of fear.
“Old acquaintances out to settle a score, I expect. Not to worry.”
“Not to worry?” she snapped, piercing him with a look of anger. “They meant to…accost us!”
“And so they did,” he replied, reaching forward with one large hand to gentle the gelding with a pat, his voice as matter-of-fact as if he commented upon the fair weather. “But that’s the end of that.”
“You…you killed them?”
He sighed audibly and sat straighter, looking back the way they had come. “Yes, well, it’s time we rode on if you are not too shaken.”
Shaken? Two men lay dead in the street! She knew without asking he had broken her attacker’s neck with his bare hands. Had likely done that to the other man, as well. He had not even drawn that pistol he wore in his belt or warned them off.
Lily shivered, unable to speak of it. Instead she meekly followed as Guy took the lead and guided them to what appeared to be a main thoroughfare.
“This is Lambeth Street,” he informed her idly, as if they were merely out seeing the sights of London. He set a calm pace, seeming in no rush to get where they were going or to avoid anyone coming after them as a result of the dead robbers.
Whom had she married? Lily wondered.
She had to admit she might not have lived to wonder about it at all if he had not reacted to the attack so forcefully. Even now those two might be following, still bent upon mayhem if he had let them go with a warning. Another violent shiver racked her.
“Cold?” he asked, obviously having noticed.
Lily shook her head.
“Everything will sort itself out,” he told her gently. “You’ll see.”
Everything might have a bit too much help in the sorting, Lily thought with a mirthless laugh that sounded like a groan. For now, all she could do was hope she never need see this frightening side of the Devil Duquesne again.
Only now did she realize that his reputation was based in reality. The rumors were true.
For all his wit and good humor, the man apparently could kill without compunction, without any remorse whatsoever. Had he already gone as mad as his father, the earl?
And to think her marriage to Duquesne was a fact now, only to be undone by the death of one of the parties involved. Chills ran up her spine as she glanced at him.
The devil wore a smile.
Chapter Four
L ambeth Street forked onto St. George, which, in turn, connected to Kent Road. Once they reached it, Lily recognized landmarks. Meadowlands stretched to their left beyond the humble dwellings and mean business establishments strung along the roadway. They kept a steady pace.
“We’ll pause for a rest when we reach the crossing at the Darent and then again at Wrotham,” Guy told her.
He was dividing the journey into thirds, Lily noted. Ten miles at a stretch would not exhaust the horses if they paced them properly. Lily knew she would be more than ready to dismount for a while when the time came, unused as she was to riding astride and without the cushion of her petticoats.
Her worries about her new husband’s sanity had dimmed somewhat on further introspection. She supposed she should be glad he had the experience to deal with such threats instead of bemoaning the fact that he was capable.
Hadn’t she deliberately hit Brinks on his head more than once to save herself? Would she not have killed him—given the means and strength—if he had rallied
