Hugh crossed to the windows and drew the curtains. “Guess that answers that question,” Riley muttered. “Is that Crewe?”Īlmost at the same time, the maid sobbed, “Oh no, the master!” The curtains were still drawn, the room shadowed, but even so the hanging shape in the center was unmistakable. He was at the door in half a dozen strides.
“Second door on the right, sir,” she said, pointing. “Where is your master’s bedroom?” Hugh demanded. He took the treads two at a time, his men at his back, and when he made the upper floor nearly ran down a maid standing in the hall.
Crewe’s bedroom would no doubt be on the floor above.
Ignoring the butler’s sputtered protestations, he made for the stairs. Inside was a small entryway and a hall that led straight back to a dark wooden staircase. Hugh didn’t wait for the end of the sentence. “I will inform him that you called, of course, and-” “Sir Crewe hasn’t yet risen, Your Grace,” the butler replied in conciliatory tones. “I wish to speak to your master at once.” The door opened almost immediately to reveal a frowning butler. Hugh leaped up the front steps of the white stone town house and knocked. The boy was still limping from his wounds, though he was trying hard to hide it. He shot a look at Talbot and then gave a pointed nod to Alf. Well, what was done was done, and besides, they were already standing outside Crewe’s town house. But the shock of finding out that Katherine’s death might not have been accidental, of finally having a trail to follow, had made him soft. Shouldn’t have let Alf wheedle his way into what very well might be a dangerous situation. HE SHOULDN’T HAVE brought the boy, Hugh thought as he descended from his carriage. “We’re here,” the duke said, and looked at her. They were in front of a town house, not half as nice as Kyle’s, but rich enough. The carriage jerked to a halt and Alf blinked, looking up. He and Lady Jordan might match on the outside-their clothes, their accent, their ranks-but there was something wild that lived inside both her and Kyle. He’d kissed her-her, not Lady Jordan-twice after their victories. He’d hunted with her in the dark woods of St Giles. No matter how high she might try to fly, she’d never reach him. What did she care if Kyle loved or didn’t love? He was like a star in the night sky above and she but a sparrow. Outside, London Town whirled by in constant, hurrying, yammering movement.Īlf sighed silently. Soldiers swaggered past in a group, one calling something to a pretty serving girl in a mobcap, who tossed her head at him. A beggar sat on a corner, his hand outstretched, his swollen and deformed feet in rags. A woman carrying oysters in a great basket on her head bawled her wares. She scowled and glanced out the window again. What was he thinking? Had he known his wife had had lovers? Had he cared? Alf glanced at Kyle out of the corner of her eye.
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