My Favorite Thief Read Free Page B

Shadow had been killed.
    â€œThomas!” screamed a woman suddenly. “Oh, dear God—Thomas!”
    Confused, Harrison raised his gaze to the front doorway.
    The fashionably attired guest lay sprawled upon the stairs, his arms and legs spread out upon the polished stone steps. At first it looked as if he had merely slipped and fallen. But something was leaking across the pale surface of the step beneath him and weeping onto the next in a grotesque river of crimson.
    â€œSaint Columba—ye’ve killed him, ye filthy swine!” blazed Oliver, appalled.
    Harrison stared in bewilderment at the limp, bleeding form of the man on the stairs, his hand still gripping Lady Chadwick’s hairbrush.
    â€œGet in the carriage!” urged Charlotte. “Now!”
    â€œI’m nae takin’ him anywhere,” Oliver raged, “the bastartin’ devil! He can bloody well hang—”
    â€œHe didn’t do it!” Charlotte was trying desperately to get Harrison to move. “He couldn’t have, Oliver—he doesn’t have a pistol!”
    Oliver scowled, confused. “He doesna?”
    â€œPlease, you can’t stay here!” Charlotte pulled hard on Harrison’s arm, trying to get him into the carriage.
    The night was filled with screams now. Men and women were running away, disappearing down laneways and into neighboring mansions, wildly trying to escape the murdering Dark Shadow. There was nothing he could do for the poor bastard bleeding on Lord Chadwick’s steps, Harrison realized bleakly. Surrendering to Miss Kent’s pleas, he helped her into the carriage. Then he hauled himself up and banged the door shut as the vehicle flew forward.
    Pain was everywhere now—blinding in ferocity. Its talons had sunk deep into his brain and eyes and ears, while the fire streaking through his shoulder was radiating to the tips of his fingers. His coat sleeve was sodden with blood, and his mouth was nauseatingly dry. He was alive, and so was the strange young woman who had interrupted his disastrous escapade.
    Everything else was lost.

Chapter Two

    I KNOW YE’RE THERE, A NNIE, SO YE NEEDN’T BE SNEAK -in’ up the back stairs like a ghost, hopin’ I willna notice.” Eunice banged her rolling pin against a crumbly ball of dough, throwing her considerable weight against the recalcitrant mound as she flattened it into submission.
    â€œI didn’t want to disturb ye.” Annie adjusted the damp, thin hood of her cloak and stared guiltily down at her boots. “I didn’t think anyone would still be in the kitchen.”
    â€œMiss Charlotte hasn’t returned from her dinner at Lord and Lady Chadwick’s, so we’re makin’ oatcakes while we wait for her, Oliver, and Flynn to come in,” Doreen explained, slapping several rounds of dough onto a hot griddle. “Why don’t ye come have one with a nice cup of tea?”
    Annie shook her head. “I’m dead tired.” She hunched further into the depths of her cape. “I’ll just be off to bed.”
    Doreen narrowed her eyes. Her aging vision had weakened in the past few years, but she was still canny enough to recognize when someone was trying to hide something from her.
    â€œWhy don’t ye let me take yer cloak and hang it up for ye by the stove?” she offered kindly. “ ’Tis wet from the rain that’s started—nae point in draggin’ it all the way up to yer room.”
    â€œNo.” Annie’s pale hand clutched the garment closed at her throat. “I’d rather keep it with me—I’m cold.”
    Doreen dropped the last oat circle onto the griddle and sighed. “All right, lass, keep it with ye. But if ye’ve a problem, ye needn’t be afraid to tell me and Eunice, or Miss Charlotte, if ye’d prefer. That’s what we’re here for—to help ye.”
    Eunice looked up from her dough, baffled.