Dauntless (Gentlemen of the Order 1)

“No.” Cole released a painful moan as he attempted to stand. Dust clung to the shoulders of his black coat. The lead ball must have hit the plaster somewhere above their heads. “It’s just my damn leg.”

The old war wound plagued him during the winter months and those times when he exerted himself.

“You risked your life to save ours, Mr Cole,” Eva said, somewhat in awe of the man. She came to her feet, though her limbs still trembled. “You might have died.”

One would expect to see a flash of relief in Cole’s eyes, but it was the opposite. He looked disappointed, disappointed the Lord had not claimed his soul and saved him from his torment. For a while now, Noah had feared that Cole’s acts of bravery stemmed from a desire to die.

Shouts from the ground floor reached their ears.

“That must be Bower. He must have caught the devil.”

They descended the stairs with care. Eva gripped the handrail as if she feared she might fall again. Cole hobbled slowly behind them, though he had taken to suppressing his groans.

Bower was alone in the alley leading to Tavistock Street.

“Where the hell is he?” Noah glared at Bower. “Tell me how in blazes he escaped!” Was there to be no end to the fiend’s tricks?

Bower caught his breath. “He’s on the street, sir. He came a cropper—”

Noah didn’t wait to hear the rest. He captured Eva’s hand and led her out onto Tavistock Street.

A thick trail of burgundy blood led from the wrought-iron gates, past the goldsmith shop and stopping at Hemming’s lifeless body sprawled on the pavement. People congregated a few feet away, pointing, staring, whispering amongst themselves, while two constables tried to edge them back.

Amid the chaos, Daventry hurried across the road with Sir Malcolm. The portly, grey-haired magistrate looked at Noah, his expression oddly grave. Noah could have sworn he noticed a hint of pity swimming in both men’s eyes. Strange.

“What happened to Hemming?” Noah said as three more constables came running from the direction of York Street. “He threatened to kill Miss Dunn before shooting at us on the stairs.”

Perhaps the fool had fallen awkwardly, though that still didn’t acc

ount for the excessive loss of blood.

“A man stepped up to Hemming at the gates just as we arrived,” Daventry said. His voice was calmer than expected, yet something was troubling him. “He slit Hemming’s throat before bolting. The publisher staggered some way before collapsing on the pavement.”

“So he’s dead?” Eva said as if afraid the man had nine lives.

“Undoubtedly.”

“I recognised the felon as one of Manning’s men,” Sir Malcolm said, pausing to shout instructions to the constables who seemed incapable of controlling the crowd. “After learning of your troubles, Miss Dunn, I suspect he mistook Mr Hemming for your brother. There’s only one way the man might have learnt of your brother’s location, but that’s an internal matter.”

He meant the only way the felon could have arrived so promptly was if someone at Bow Street had turned traitor.

“I see,” Eva said.

An awkward silence ensued.

“I thought you were busy dealing with Manning, Sir Malcolm?” Noah said when he could no longer stay his curiosity. Every bone in his body said something was wrong. Both men were acting strangely. “How did Daventry persuade you to come here and assist with our case?”

“I’m here on other business,” Sir Malcolm said, albeit reluctantly. “Is there somewhere we might speak privately?”

Privately?

What the devil did Sir Malcolm want with him?

“We can speak here.” Impatience burned. “I have nothing to hide from Cole or Miss Dunn.”

Sir Malcolm’s pained expression drew attention to his heavily wrinkled brow. “It’s about your uncle.”

“Hawkridge? What of him?”