Suzi Love Read Free

tremble. He was struggling to sort out this female paradox when she tightened her grip on his arm.
    “Don’t open the door. Please.”
    “I must or they’ll knock again and awaken my servants.”
    She clung like a limpet. “Please, I beg of you. Send them away. Don’t give me up.”
    “Them? Who’s after you? The watch?”
    “I’ve broken no laws. Do as I ask, please. For your own safety.”
    He frowned at her in the dull light, trying to see past the hat and the endless hair to the woman beneath, to understand what she thought. What she plotted.
    “Very well. But in return, you’ll reveal yourself and explain why you’re here. Agreed?”
    The ugly hat bobbed twice, before she disappeared back into the shadowy corner. He opened the door, knife grip tightened, to confront the two men who stood in the rain wearing sodden coats and sheltering under black umbrellas.
    The nearest of the two men stepped forward in a deliberate move to block his view of the other, raising Cayle’s shackles and rousing him from apathy after his tedious night. With a quick flick, he raised his knife, circled it inches from the chest of the first visitor. The man’s loud catch of breath was music to his ears and suited his disposition to unnerve others tonight, especially if these men threatened the woman.
    “Your Grace, I’m Lord Mitchell.”
    Cayle ignored the extended hand. The second man pushed forward, attempting to wedge his shoulder into the doorway beside Cayle. He shifted sideways, blocked the intruder, and again waved his knife. “I know you.” He pointed the blade near the man’s neck. “Lord Bennett. Arthur Bennett. It’s been some years since we met.”
    “Sherwyn.” The man gave a short nod, careful to keep his neck well above the knife’s reach. “Why are you opening your own door? And with a knife in your hand?”
    “Why are you pounding on my door at this hour?”
    “We’re after the woman who was seen coming into this square, sneaking into one of the houses. We think it was this house.” Bennett edged his shoulder into the small gap between Cayle’s upper body and the door supports, using weight to try to bully his way into the house. “Let me inside, Sherwyn, and I’ll remove her before she causes you any bother.”
    “Woman? What woman? Is she someone I know?” Cayle reached across and slouched against the opposite jamb, knife twirling.
    Bennett flinched, moved his umbrella into an offensive position. “Just a whore. Her name’s not important.” He flinched when the knife met him on eye level. “Damn you, Sherwyn. You’ll cut me.”
    He chuckled. “No, no, no, Bennett. Not that I’m loathe to pierce your loathsome hide, mind you, but the maids get upset when I spill blood across the Italian tiles.”
    “Now see here, Sherwyn. You’ve no right to mock me. We’ve not even been in contact since you left England. Haven’t spoken since that night.” Bennett’s sneering look made Cayle itch to lean closer with the blade. He’d avoided this cowardly sneak at school, and detested the namby-pamby man as an adult. Bennett leaned in and smirked. “You caused quite a scandal by seducing Lady Sybila on Hetherington’s desk.”
    Cayle clenched his teeth, bit down on his habitual retort. No point defending himself against that charge now, not after his father died believing the lies. Hopefully, his younger brothers now knew the truth, and their opinion mattered, and no one else’s.
    Lord Mitchell used his elbow to forcibly shift Bennett aside. Pity. A few red drops to scrub off white tiles didn’t compare to the satisfaction of pricking Bennett’s self-opinionated bubble. Mitchell’s mouth turned up at the edges. A peace-making smile?
    More the grin of a rabid dog. “Please, excuse Lord Bennett. Overeager to locate our lost friend. We were to be entertained by a … female acquaintance tonight.”
    “I take it you mean a light skirt.”
    Mitchell’s laugh was forced, grating. “Well, yes. A