the spirit, old fellow,’ the first cried gleefully. ‘Hand the vixen over and we’ll finish our business with her.’
‘And what might that be?’ Jack asked in a pleasant but cool voice. ‘I believe you are a little the worse for wear, sir. Pray let me recommend you to the comfort of your bed.’
‘Damn you, sir! What business is it of yours what I choose to do? Pray stand aside and let us at the—’
‘I asked you to take yourselves off nicely.’ Jack’s voice carried a hint of steel. ‘Now I’m telling you. Get off where you belong before I teach you some manners.’
‘Think you’ll have the bitch for yourself, do you?’ the man snarled. ‘I’ll show you!’ He threw a wild swing at Jack and found himself on the receiving end of a heavy punch. It floored him and he lay moaning on the ground. ‘She’s a whore and a thief,’ he muttered.
‘Come on, Patterson.’ His friend, in slightly steadier condition, bent down to help him rise. ‘You don’t know she’s a thief, even if we did see her climb out of that window.’
Patterson muttered something vile, but accepted his friend’s help. He glared at Jack, holding his friend’s arm as they reeled away.
‘Good riddance to her,’ he muttered and then laughed and pointed a finger. ‘Look at her go. She’s got away from us all.’
Glancing over his shoulder, Jack saw the diminutive figure disappearing round the corner. He was conscious of regret for he would have liked to discover whether the young person was a youth or the girl in disguise that the drunken gentlemen seemed to imagine. He had not even had a chance to discover if she—or he—was harmed, but at least he had prevented further harm.
He stood his ground, watching as the two men lurched off down the street in the opposite direction to the one the fugitive was heading. Only when he was certain that the young escapee must be out of sight did he resume his journey. He was vaguely aware that the knuckles of his right hand were bruised, but he dismissed that as a worthwhile consequence of his interference in what might have been a very unfortunate outcome for the young person.
Jack found that his mood had changed. He was amused by what he’d seen of the fugitive’s behaviour, catching the merest glimpse of an elfin face in the streetlights. If the inebriated men were to be believed, the young person was a thief and a whore—but the clothes the fugitive had been wearing were good quality, the property of a young gentleman of perhaps thirteen or so. That did not bring the words thief or whore to Jack’s mind, but something more innocent like a very young gentleman escaping from his home for a lark. Unless it had been a girl in borrowed clothing, which was an intriguing idea.
Jack arrived outside the small but exclusive house he had purchased for his mistress’s use. The windows were in darkness, as he might have supposed, had he given a thought to the hour. He considered climbing over the gate and going round to the back of the house; he could throw stones at the window and get Lucy to come down and let him in without waking the servants.
Suddenly, he realised that the desire to see his mistress had left him. He laughed ruefully and turned away just as a light came on in the hall upstairs. Hesitating, Jack was still wondering whether to call on Lucy just for a drink and a chat when the door opened and a gentleman came out.
He recognised the man as Lord Harding—a man he particularly disliked as a hardened gambler, and, if Jack were right, a particularly nasty cheat. He was the kind of man who fastened on young men just out on the town, introducing them to sleazy gambling hells and all kinds of dissolute activities.
There could be only one reason why he would be leaving Lucy’s house at this hour of night and the realisation turned Jack’s stomach. Any desire he’d had to see his mistress was banished. He would finish the affair tomorrow by sending a farewell gift and a letter that would leave her in no doubt of his disgust at her behaviour. He had no desire to follow Harding in her bed!
Had it been almost any other gentleman, Jack would have taken the discovery with a laugh, for he’d guessed she was not the sort to be faithful for long—but Harding was a man he really disliked.
Jack walked the length of the street before hailing a cab to take him home. He had a bad taste in his mouth and was angry that he’d allowed himself to be duped so long. Well, he would make sure that when he next took a lover she was at least honest enough to entertain only one protector at a time. Why was it that so many women thought it necessary to lie to get their own way? If there was one thing Jack could not stand, it was a liar or a cheat.
Having arrived in the pleasant square where he lived, he was just paying the cab driver his fare when he looked across the pleasant gardens to his left and saw a diminutive figure clamber over a wrought-iron railing and disappear down the steps leading to the servants’ quarters.
Jack hesitated, because although he was friendly with Lord Bathurst, the owner of the house, he knew that it had recently been let to a family, with whom he was not yet acquainted. He did not feel able to knock on the door at this hour in the morning and tell them they might have an intruder—especially as he could not be sure the youth he’d seen earlier and the figure climbing the gate were one and the same.
Indeed, he was not sure of anything. However, he could not allow a neighbour to be robbed—if the girl was a thief, if she was even a girl...
Cursing, Jack sprinted across the square himself and tried the gate, which was locked, as he might have known. He climbed the railing easily, feeling guilty though his intention was quite innocent. Peering down the narrow stone steps, he was just in time to see the flicker of a candle as a door opened and his quarry disappeared inside.
It shut before he could reach it, but not before he’d seen a taller young man come and look about, as if to make sure that no one was there.
Jack stood uncertainly. The taller youth was also wearing the clothes of a gentleman. Whoever he was, Jack did not think that he was in collusion with his quarry to rob an unsuspecting family. No, his first impression was probably correct and the diminutive youth was just kicking up a lark, aided and abetted, it seemed, by an older brother.
Laughing softly to himself, Jack climbed back over the railing and stood on the pavement, glancing about before re-crossing the square and knocking on his own front door. His man answered almost immediately and Jack nodded as he was admitted.
‘A good evening, sir?’
‘Yes, I think so,’ Jack said. ‘Go to bed now, Cummings. I’ll see to myself this evening.’
‘I’ll just lock up, my lord,’ his valet answered with quiet dignity. ‘Mr Jenkins has only just retired. I took it upon myself to sit up this evening—and I should be failing in my duty if I didn’t attend you, sir.’
‘I do not imagine the world will end if I remove my own boots for once, Cummings.’
Jack sauntered past him and up the stairs, lost in thoughts that were mildly intriguing. Just who was the young imp who had got himself into trouble that evening?
Well, he had been remiss in making the acquaintance of his new neighbours, so he would give himself the pleasure of remedying that later in the day.
‘Charlie!’
