To Distraction (Bastion Club 5)

Deverell managed to make out the words through the giant’s heavy Scots accent. He nodded, then reached for Phoebe; closing his hands about her shoulders, he physically lifted her and set her on her feet. “Get the maid, and get into the carriage.”

His tone brooked no argument, no dissension; when she hesitated, looking down at the giant, Deverell gritted his teeth and tersely added, “Now!”

Even she heard the warning. With a wary glance at him, she went.

Deverell shifted to the giant’s side; as the man struggled to his feet, Deverell grasped one huge arm, ducked, and, pulling the arm over his shoulder, hauled the man upright.

He was unsteady on his feet; clamping one arm across the man’s back, Deverell guided him up the alley. Glancing ahead, he saw Phoebe shaking out the cloak she’d disentangled from the rapier, then she swung it about the maid’s shoulders and solicitously urged her on.

“Thank ye.” The giant staggered forward as fast as he could; he’d accepted Deverell and his help without hesitation. “Someone musta heard that rooster. I’m thinking we need out of here right quick, afore they gather their courage and come looking.”

“I’m glad to hear one of your little band has some sense.” Ahead, Phoebe and the maid reached the mouth of the alley and turned toward the carriage.

“Aye, well. It’s the first time anything’s gone wrong.” As they lurched toward the alley mouth, the giant added, “I keep telling her it ain’t safe, specially fer the likes of her, but will she listen?”

Deeming the question rhetorical, Deverell made no answer. He was, however, determined that when he spoke to her, Phoebe would definitely listen—and learn.

Fifteen minutes later, he looked out of the carriage window as the huge trees of Hyde Park slipped past.

They’d escaped the alley and Hay Hill without anyone seeing them. Reaching the alley mouth, he’d seen Phoebe hovering before the open carriage door, watching. She’d caught his eye, and even over the distance she’d sensed his displeasure. Turning, she’d quickly clambered into the carriage.

He’d bundled the giant in, then followed, creating a crisis. With both him and the giant inside, space was tight; he’d ended sitting alongside Phoebe, with the still shivering maid opposite and the giant, whom he’d recognized as Phoebe’s groom, wedged into the corner opposite Phoebe.

She was worried about the giant. In light of that, he’d held his tongue, biding his time. He would much rather have been across from Phoebe, able to see her face; as it was, in between quick, concerned glances at the giant, she kept it studiously averted.

Regardless of what she thought, what he could imagine she might fondly wish, she wasn’t going to be able to fob him off, not after this evening’s work.

And once he’d learned the whole of her secret, again no matter what she might fondly wish, she would not—not ever again—embark on any similarly dangerous enterprise such as he’d stumbled on—and rescued her from—tonight.

Just the thought of what might have happened had he not followed her…

Jaw setting, he kept his gaze on the park and continued to keep his thoughts to himself. For the moment.

The maid’s hysteria had abated somewhat by the time the carriage turned off the cobbled street, maneuvering to enter, then rolling down a narrow lane running along the back of a long row of shops. Eventually, the horses slowed and the carriage was brought to a rocking halt.

Deverell glanced out at the rear of the narrow building behind which they’d stopped. “The Athena Agency, I presume?”

He looked at Phoebe, met her startled gaze.

When she said nothing, he reached for the carriage door, swung it open, and stepped down into the lane.

The driver was scambling down, concern on his round face. He, too, was a large man; Deverell had seen him before—in the lane by Cranbrook Manor wood.

Dropping to the ground, the driver eyed Deverell as he straightened. “Here, Fergus? You all right?”

“Aye,” came from within the carriage. “We’d best get this lot inside—just make sure you tie m’horses up good and tight.”

Deverell said nothing. Reaching into the carriage, he took Phoebe’s hand and assisted her down, then did the same for the maid, who looked uncertain and faintly shocked by his courtesy.

Phoebe looked on, a frown in her eyes. She’d halted a few feet away, making no move to go inside. He knew without thinking that she was debating whether or not it lay within her power to dismiss him, to somehow send him away.

The driver went to the carriage door, leaning in to assist the giant. Leaving him to it, Deverell moved to Phoebe’s side; gripping her arm above the elbow, he quietly murmured, “Don’t bother even thinking it.”

He didn’t meet the sharp look she threw him. Lifting his head, he called, “Grainger?”

There was a rustle behind some barrels nearby, then Grainger stepped into view. “Yes, guv?”

“Keep an eye on the horses. We won’t be long.”