Rose stared at the passing houses and wished she had the courage to. She had no idea who Barnaby was or what he wanted with her, but she had no intention of being kidnapped by anyone, and that was what this felt like.
“Who on earth are you, Barnaby?” she demanded. She had never seen anybody drive so recklessly, or so precisely at such breakneck speeds before and be so completely unconcerned by it. They had been shot at numerous times and he hadn’t even blinked. Throughout all the evening’s tumultuous events she had been a dithering wreck whereas he had remained as cool and calm as everything was just an everyday occurrence. Why was this not unusual to him?
“I am the man you do not want to annoy right now,” Barnaby ground out as he steered the carriage around another tight curve.
He swore fluidly when they were suddenly face-to-face to a large curricle.
“Watch out!” Rose screamed.
She hung on to the seat beneath her for dear life, and closed her eyes to prevent having to witness the horrifying crash she knew was about to happen. When nothing happened, she opened one eye a crack and then the other. To her relief, all she saw was empty road ahead.
“Please slow down. Oh, please slow down,” she began to chant over and over as she looked over her shoulder. The carnage they had left behind made her wince.
“Sorry,” Barnaby called to the furious carriage driver who was now waving an angry fist at them in the middle next to the mangled wreck of his carriage.
Rose turned accusing eyes on the man beside her. “Sorry? That’s all you can say to that man? Look at what you have done.”
Barnaby sighed but refused to defend himself.
“I suppose I am to be grateful that he doesn’t catch up with us either,” she muttered. “At this rate, if that Chadwick person doesn’t kill us we are going to end up behind bars for ruining half of the town.” Rose crossed herself, hoping Barnaby would take the hint. When he didn’t she sighed loudly. “I demand you stop the carriage this instant and let me down,” she commanded.
Barnaby glared back. “I can, if you absolutely insist on it, but if I do, you have to face the gunmen on your own. They want you dead because you witnessed their boss kill two of the underworld’s most stupid criminals.”
“Underworld?” Rose spat, deliberately ignoring everything else he said. “What on earth is the underworld?” She glanced down at the ground as though expecting it to be there and swallowed when she began to feel sick.
When she began to topple forward, Barnaby slammed his arm across her chest, propelling her backward against the seat.
“I told you not to look down,” Barnaby snapped. “It will make you fall off. What do you want to do, kill yourself and save Chadwick the job?”
She remained blessedly silent for a few minutes but, rather than take any solace in the brief respite, Barnaby sensed her staring piously at him. The heat of her gaze bore holes in the side of his head so badly that, for the first time since he was a child, he actually wanted to squirm, and he hadn’t done anything wrong. Well, except for steal a carriage, nearly mow down a couple of pedestrians, and knock a man off his curricle. He knew she was still waiting for him to do what she wanted and slow down. Moreover she was waiting for him to tell her all about the underworld and wasn’t prepared to quit staring at him until he did.
He waited until they had traversed several more streets. Once he was confident that they had outrun Chadwick’s men for now, he slowed the carriage down to a less furious pace and reluctantly met her gaze.
“The underworld is a slang term for the criminal element of our society. They are known as the underworld because they run their criminal operations covertly. They live by an entirely different class system to most of us.” He eyed her dress before he threw her a rueful look which didn’t seem to have any effect on her whatsoever. “But I wouldn’t expect you to know about any of that.”
Rose turned to face forward. She wasn’t sure if she should take that as an insult or not, and frowned at the road ahead while she considered what, or who, she was now mixed up with.
“Is that man, the killer, the underworld?”
“From the underworld,” Barnaby corrected. “Yes. He works for a man in London called Terrence Sayers. He is brutal, but also incredibly cunning. Sayers likes to adopt disguises.”
“As what?” Her question was instinctive. It was obvious that Barnaby was going to say ‘as someone else’, and she waited for the put down. The answer she did get surprised her.
“At the moment, he is posing as a Russian Count,” Barnaby replied wryly before he issued her with a stern look. “But you are not to tell anyone that.”
“Who would I tell?” She replied with a shrug. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why is he posing as a Russian Count?” She had to admit that this particular adventure was all a little thrilling, even if it did threaten her sanity.
“Because he thinks nobody would suspect a Count could do something as underhand as steal extremely expensive items from notable members of London’s aristocracy.”
“He has?” Rose swallowed nervously.
“Yes. By posing as someone wealthy, nobody would suspect him as needing the money or the goods,” Barnaby continued.
“A perfect ruse,” Rose murmured. She jumped a little when she realised Barnaby had heard her.