Page 7 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

Wilkes smiled as well, which made Derrek feel as though the sun had come out. “You do not have to go to all this trouble for me. What I heard was probably nothing, a fancy only. I…I was eavesdropping where I should not have been. They chased after me, but they did not pursue me outside of the palace. This may all be for naught”

“It seems to me as though you should second-guess yourself less,” Derrek said as they walked on.

The journey didn’t take nearly as long as Derrek wanted it to. Once Wilkes began talking, he had a lot to say. The man knew everyone who was everyone in London, which was why it seemed odd that he did not know who Conroy’s accomplice was, even though he was certain it was a nobleman.

It was more than the thrill of attempting to unravel a regicide plot, though. Wilkes was simply easy to be around. In some ways, he reminded Derrek of Joseph, but that might have had more to do with the fact that Joseph had been and always was on his mind.

By the time they rounded the corner of Jermyn Street, Derrek was already thinking of ways he could spend much more time in Wilkes’s presence. Perhaps horizontally, though thinking so made him feel like the cad he was.

“I cannot clearly say whether a regency would be a good idea for the young princess or not,” Wilkes said as they completed the turn and strode on, far more comfortable than he’d been at the start of their journey. “I know very little about the princess, only that she is?—”

Derrek saw the carriage coming just in the nick of time. Its driver was swathed in a muffler and his face hidden from view. The way he whipped the horses and encouraged them to speed toward Wilkes was more than enough for Derrek to know they weren’t dealing with a runaway carriage and out of control horses.

“Get back!” he shouted, scooping Wilkes around his middle and yanking him out of the way of the near disaster.

The carriage passed so close that he felt the wind of it against his cheek. If he had not been as aware of their surroundings, he might not have been able to get Wilkes out of the way in time. The man would have been trampled to death.

“I believe you,” Derrek panted against Wilkes’s ear as he held him steady by the side of the road as everyone around them looked on and exclaimed about the poor driving and how dangerous the streets had become of late. “I believe that you overheard a plot to kill the king.”

He’d overheard one plot, and now there seemed to be another to kill Wilkes before he could reveal what he’d heard.

Three

For a few, terrifying moments, Jeremy could not draw air into his lungs. The sound of the carriage ripping past him and the scent of horse sweat lingered in his senses even after Talboys yanked him out of the way.

He had nearly died, nearly been run over by a speeding carriage, likely on purpose, and Det. Talboys had saved him.

Det. Derrek Talboys of the Metropolitan Police Department. Jeremy had been both surprised and relieved to find the man at The Chameleon Club when he’d sought refuge there. Instinct had told him that he would find help at the home of The Brotherhood, but he never could have imagined that the exact man he needed would be right there, or that he would be so eager to help.

Derrek Talboys. Jeremy breathed in the man’s scent, the spice of shaving soap nearly faded, the wool of the greatcoat he wore, and the alluring scent of skin under it all. He sagged as the moment of danger passed, leaving him wobbly and uncertain. But Talboys still had an arm around him, and instead of sinking to the street, he fell against the man’s broad chest, tempted to lay his head on Talboys’s shoulder.

“There, there,” Talboys said in a stiff attempt to comfort him. Stiff not out of any awkwardness or inability to care, but because they were on a busy, public street and the gesture was sure to draw attention. “Let’s get you inside. A cup of tea will set you to right.”

Jeremy sucked in a fortifying breath and forced himself to stand on his own power, though he would have rather remained in Talboys’s arms a little longer.

“I am terribly sorry,” he said tugging at his jacket and brushing off his arms, all while avoiding Talboys’s direct gaze. “I do not know what has come over me.”

Talboys huffed and adjusted Jeremy’s bag in his grip. “You were nearly run down by a carriage,” he said. “That is what has come over you.”

Jeremy’s knees went weak again at the thought. Someone was trying to kill him.

No, not someone. Sir John Conroy and his accomplice. They knew who he was and where he resided, so they’d sent a carriage right away to do the job. The carriage had failed, but they would inevitably try again.

“This is my shop,” Jeremy said, his voice weak and wavery as the two of them crossed the street and entered the shop.

Artie sat at the small table in the corner of the room, sewing the hem of a crisp, white shirt while watching the door. He sat up straight and greeted Jeremy’s return with a smile.

That smile dropped quickly.

“Has something happened, sir?” he asked, concern in his young face.

“No, no,” Jeremy lied. “Everything is quite well. No need to worry yourself.”

Artie glanced doubtfully past him to Talboys.

Jeremy cleared his throat and said, “This is Det. Talboys of the Metropolitan Police Department.”

Artie’s face filled with panic. “I…I didn’t do nothing. I don’t know anything.”

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