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.Raucous laughter boomed from somewhere in the distance, indicating a lively part of town on the other side of the buildings.But the voices were far enough away that she and her father would most likely be unaided when they were mugged here and left for dead.Her father walked briskly toward the back door of a large building and rapped on the wood with his cane.He whispered something briefly to a head that poked around the edge.The door opened, and her father gestured sharply for her to move.Upon entering, she could see a short corridor and a heavy door.From the voices and light emerging from the crack beneath the oak, it was likely the floor of a gaming hell.Lovely.Her father snapped his fingers, and she followed numbly up a set of stairs, away from the voices.Stepping from the landing, she noticed that Downing and Trant were standing halfway down the hall to her right.Charlotte allowed a grim little smile to form behind her veil when her father made a cutting motion toward her.She stopped, while her father walked toward the men to discuss her fate, as if she were a goat in a stall.She stared straight ahead at the corridor in front of her instead.She didn’t know what she’d expected.Peeling paint or dents and holes from cracked elbows and skulls.But it was a plain hallway, nothing extraordinary.Lamps hung every few paces—more light than she’d expected.She wondered if this was a gaming establishment or a gaming hell.Morbid humor, unfortunately, didn’t seem to help her nerves.She swallowed and tried to focus elsewhere.From her vantage point, she could see in both directions.A door opened down the empty hallway near an extinguished lamp that dulled the light in that one small area.A woman emerged, tears streaking her cheeks as she stepped into the light.A well-made man followed her, his shadowed back to Charlotte as he closed the door with one hand.Something about him put Charlotte on edge.Tall, though not overly so, he looked strong enough to handle himself in a fight yet not tire easily the way a heavier man might.He reminded her of the man from the ribbon shop.Standing as if he owned the place.Well dressed.Hair that seemed to reflect the golden light of the hall for a brief moment when he parted from the shadow.He made a violent motion with his hand, and the woman flinched.Charlotte did as well.She could see livid marks crisscrossing the woman’s face as her cheek touched the lamplight—as if someone had taken a shallow blade to her skin a few nights before.Prostitutes could often be found near Covent Garden, and she had seen quite a few, even when her father tried to hurry her through the gates.The woman’s face looked cleaner than most, as if she had recently taken a bath, but her hair was wild, as if she had forgotten how to use a comb.The man held out something, and the woman paused, then snatched it from his hand.She looked at her closed fist, nodded at something he said, then turned and ran down the hall and through a door at the end.The man was likely the woman’s handler.She had heard of them.He had probably beaten her too, cut her up.The stories that people liked to tell at parties often grew quite lurid in the details of what happened on the London streets.And here she was in the midst of the carnage, sold to a man who played in the game.The man turned fully into the light, and her thoughts stopped churning.Her entire body stopped.And she could still feel the ripped fabric of the dress where her pin and her jerking had irreparably torn it, a dress currently buried in the dark recesses of her armoire.“You.”There was a distant expression on his beautiful face for a moment before he caught sight of her.The shadow immediately cleared, and the edges of his mouth curved, lifting the edge of the thin scar along his cheek, as if he knew exactly who she was behind her dark veil.As if the sound of her voice had been imprinted upon him.“Me.”He looked even more angelic than he had before, only the scar showing him of the earthly plane.Blond hair curled at the edges of his face, iced eyes were warmed by the lamps, and the lights caused a halo of gold to appear about his crown.He was garbed once more in impeccably tailored clothes.But this time, there were no visible speckles of blood on his sleeves.Only the metaphorical kind.Her mouth moved without thought.“Shouldn’t you be in prison?”“Should I?” He lifted a brow, walking toward her.A lazy gait that she shouldn’t have seen as prowling, stalking her, but the jump of her heart wasn’t listening.“I told the patrolman.He ran off to arrest you.” What was she doing? Telling him that she had sent the watch after him? Even with her father only two dozen paces away, she still had the distinct impression that this man could take them all down before she so much as made a peep.Murder her father, Trant, and Downing with one hand as he pressed her against the wall with the other.“Patrolman? Ah, you mean Robert?”She opened her mouth, but nothing emerged.She took a step back toward the others, not taking her eyes from him.“An old family friend, Robert.It pays to have friends in many places.” The edge of his mouth curled, and he continued toward her in that same lazy, stalking gait.“So you just, what, beat Mr.Hunsden? Nearly kill a man? And get naught but a friendly visit from the watch?”“Don’t feel sorry for Noakes.” There was something dark in his eyes.“Don’t waste a thought for him.” The darkness lingered for a long moment before it cleared.“As for Hunsden, he is as well as he was when last you saw him.Perhaps requiring a new pair of trousers, but otherwise, physically untouched.”She took another step back as he advanced, hating the need to retreat but not feeling stupid enough to indulge in holding her ground [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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