Wicked Widow Read Free Page B

knew what you were about tonight when you sent the message into
[_his club. You wanted his assistance and now, for better or worse, you have got it. _]
    On the positive side, in terms of his physical appearance, Hunt bore no resemblance at all to her dead husband. For some reason she found that fact oddly reassuring. With his blue eyes, pale hair, and romantically handsome features, Renwick had mocked the golden-haired angels in the paintings of the great artists.
    Hunt, on the other hand, could have posed for the devil himself.
    It was not just his near-black hair, green eyes, and stark, ascetic face that gave the impression of dark, unplumbed depths. It was the cold, knowing expression in his gaze that sent icy little frissons along her nerves. This was a man who had explored the outer reaches of hell. Unlike Renwick, who charmed everyone who came near him with a sorcerer’s ease, Hunt looked every bit as dangerous as he no doubt was.
    As she watched, he disappeared into the waves of shadow that lapped at the island of bright lights that was the Dream Pavilions.
    Latimer climbed down from the box. He appeared at the window, his broad face creased with anxiety.
    “I don’t like this, ma’am,” he said. “Should have gone to Bow Street to find a runner instead.”
    “You may be right, but it is too late to try that approach now. I have committed us to this path. I can only hope—” She broke off as Hunt materialized behind Latimer. “Oh, there you are, sir. We were beginning to worry.”
    “This is Short John.” Artemas indicated a thin, wiry, unkempt lad of no more than ten or eleven years.
    “He will accompany us.”
    Madeline frowned at Short John. “It’s quite late. Shouldn’t you be in bed, young man?”
    Short John’s head came up in an unmistakable gesture of deeply offended pride. He spit quite expertly on the pavement. “I’m not in that line o’ work, ma’am. I’m in a respectable trade, I am.”
    Madeline stared at him. “I beg your pardon? What do you sell?”
    “Information,” Short John said cheerfully. “I’m one of Zachary’s Eyes and Ears.”
    “Who is Zachary?”
    “Zachary works for me,” Artemas said, cutting short what would obviously have proved to be an involved explanation. “Short John, allow me to present Mrs. Deveridge.”
    Short John grinned, jerked off his cap, and gave Madeline a surprisingly graceful bow. “At yer service, ma’am.”
    Madeline inclined her head in response. “It is a pleasure, Short John. I hope you can help us.”

    “I’ll do me best, ma’am.”
    “Enough, we cannot waste any more time.” Artemas glanced at Latimer as he reached for the handle of the carriage door. “Hurry, man. Short John here will guide you. We are going to a tavern in Blister Lane.
    The Yellow-Eyed Dog. Do you know it?”
    “Not the tavern, sir, but I know Blister Lane.” Larimer’s face darkened. “Is that where the villains took my Nellie?”
    “So Short John tells me. He will ride with you on the box.” Artemas opened the door and glided into the carriage. “Let us be off.”
    Latimer bounded back onto his seat. Short John scrambled up behind him. The carriage was in motion before Artemas got the door closed.
    “Your man is certainly anxious to find Nellie,” he observed as he took his seat.
    “Latimer and Nellie are sweethearts,” Madeline explained. “They intend to wed soon.” She tried to read his face. “How did you learn that Nellie had been taken to this tavern?”
    “Short John saw the entire event.”
    She stared at him, astonished. “Why on earth didn’t he report the crime?”
    “As he told you, he’s a man of business. He can’t afford to give away his stock-in-trade. He was waiting for Zachary to make his usual rounds to collect information, which would, in turn, have been turned over to me in the morning. But I showed up tonight instead, so the boy sold his wares to me. He knows that I can be trusted to give Zachary his usual