Trusting Lady Hemmingway (The King's League)

Prologue

“Did you really think you could escape?”

The voice was low and filled with all manner of evil but still, he did not turn around. Giving no sign of fear, or even of awareness that he had heard the voice of the man speaking, he remained calm and steady, walking along the cobbled street with short, quick steps.

“The danger is all around you. Can you see it?”

The voice held a teasing note now, a dark sweetness that sent a shiver down his spine, but still he said nothing. The path was gloomy, with barely a flicker of light making its way down from the lanterns. He kept his steps hurried and his gaze determined. He did not look to the left or to the right but rather straight ahead, knowing that sanctuary would soon be his.

“I know what you did.”

Those words forced his feet to stop. He could barely take another step; such was the trembling in his limbs. Turning his head slowly, he looked directly into the darkness, seeing nothing but weaving shadows and feeling his heart begin to beat furiously as a tremor ran through him yet again.

“You’re not going to be able to escape from this one.”

So this was to be his end, was it? He had thought that the words being thrown at him were words simply from the dark cruelty of London’s vagabonds, had believed that he was being threatened in the hope that he would willingly turn and hand over whatever coin he had on his person, but now he realized that there was much more to this than he had ever anticipated.

“What are you talking about?”

His voice was not as strong as he wanted it to be, his courage failing in the face of the grim horror that now swirled around him.

A harsh cackle lifted the hairs on his neck.

“You know very well what I mean!” the voice said, mocking him all the more. “Do not think you can pretend that you know nothing of what I speak.” The speech had become more refined now, making him frown as he wondered just who was speaking. It was clearly not a thief nor a drunkard seeking to steal whatever coin they could from him. This was someone who knew him, who knew more than he wanted. The secret he had been carrying was no longer a secret, it seemed—but he was not about to give anything away. Attempting to sound scornful, he let out a laugh of his own.

“And you expect me to believe your words without question?” he asked, mockingly. “You know nothing.”

Something small, something hard, hit him directly across the face. He blinked for a moment, stunned, only to feel his stomach sinking to the floor.

“Pick it up.”

Why he obeyed without question, he did not know, but he found himself bending forward, scrabbling at his feet for the one thing he knew would reveal the truth to him. His fingers found it, the cool, smooth metal of the locket burning his skin as he picked it up. His heart twisted furiously, his eyes closing tightly as a wave of nausea washed over him.

“What do you want?”

His question was not a statement of acknowledgement, nor an expression of guilt. He did not say that this fellow, whoever he was, was correct in his judgments, nor did he say that he was wrong. Even though he knew now that the locket he held was proof that this man knew what he spoke of, part of him wanted to pretend that there was no truth in the matter at all. All he asked was what was required of him, what would be needed, knowing that there was no wisdom in admitting aloud to what he had done.

The laugh that followed sent another thrill down his spine but he stood tall and steadfast, half expecting a pistol shot to sound, then feeling the warm sensation of blood spreading out across his chest.

“You are much too willing,” came the voice, with a small shrug. “Much too willing indeed.”

He cleared his throat, setting his jaw and thrusting aside all manner of fear. He would not give in to it now. “I asked you what it is that you want,” he stated, his tone low and his hands now curling tightly into fists. “Answer me; else I shall be on my way.”

Another low chuckle but he did not respond to it. Lifting his chin, he stared angrily into the darkness, wishing that his tormentor would reveal himself.

“You will obey.”

The three words were hissed towards him but he did not move. Choosing not to speak, he waited for more to be said, for more to be explained, even though questions began to pour through his mind.

“You will be told what to do,” the voice said, still echoing towards him from the darkness of the dank London street, “and you will do it without question. Else all will know of your shame. All will know of what you have tried to hide.”

Licking his hips, he took a small step back. “And how long will such an expectation be held over me?” he asked, realizing that in asking such a thing he was already revealing his guilt. “How long must I do as you ask?”

There came no answer. The darkness seemed to grow even thicker as he asked the question again, the sound of his voice disappearing into the gloom. No answer came, no explanation was given. Instead, there was nothing but silence, the quietness sealing his fate.

It was clear now what he had to do. He had to obey. What it was he would have to do or say, he could not even begin to predict, especially when he did not know who the man was that had spoken to him. His mind began to race as he turned on his heel unsteadily, his hand holding the locket tightly. Was it someone he knew? One of h

is friends, mayhap? A member of her family? Although why she would have told anyone what had occurred, why she would have shared her pain and suffering with another, he did not know, particularly when it would ruin her reputation and her future. He had done his level best to tie up the matter completely, to ensure that none would be aware of what had occurred, and as such, he had believed himself to be entirely successful.