Page 2 of One Night of Temptation
She took a deep breath to relax her nerves and crossed the street. Walking swiftly, she found the entrance to tiny Ivy Street, where Maisie would be waiting to take her to an inn.
Ivy Street was narrow and dark, even in the late afternoon. Ungodly smells wafted from all around her. Penelope lifted her hand to her nose and was glad that her glove smelled faintly of lavender. Where was Maisie?
It was a small intersection, and there could be no mistaking that Maisie wasn’t there. Perhaps she’d been held up. Penelope took another deep breath and immediately regretted it. She pressed her fingertips to her nostrils.
“Ye’re a pretty bird.”
The comment was followed by a deep chuckle from somewhere behind Penelope. She swung around and saw two young men, though older than her twenty-one years, walking toward her.
“This must be ’er,” the one with the lower voice said. He was tall and long-limbed, with an angular face and choppy dark hair.
“Oh, I think so,” the other man whispered. He was actually nice-looking, with sandy-colored hair waving over his collar and dark eyes that seemed to glow from beneath the brim of his hat. The smile curling his lips wasn’t nice, however; it was sinister. “Come, little bird.”
Too late, Penelope noticed the bag in the taller man’s hand—just seconds before it came over her head and plunged her into darkness.
“Ye scream, and we’ll have to hurt ye,” the handsome one said near her ear.
The threat was unnecessary, for fear had paralyzed her vocal cords. It was like every nightmare she’d ever had where she cried out for help but made no sound.
Her last thought as they grabbed her arms and began to move her was that she hoped Maisie hadn’t suffered the same calamity.
Hugh Tarleton made his way along Dyott Street. To most, it was the heart of one of the roughest neighborhoods in London, the rookery of St. Giles. To Hugh, however, it was familiar, and those who lived here treated him with respect and, for the most part, kindness. They were his parishioners—the people he cared most about in the world save his siblings.
His siblings, though, did not need him the way these people needed him.
Clouds were starting to move in. He looked up as if the sky could tell him whether it would rain. Not that it mattered. He was on his way home for the evening.
Something struck Hugh on the arm, causing him to stop and glance down. A shuttlecock lay on the cobblestone next to his foot. Bending, he picked up the cork and noted that the feathers were already matted.
A boy holding a racquet walked toward him with a sheepish cast to his head. “Sorry, Mr. Tarleton.”
“It’s quite all right, Ned.” He handed the shuttlecock to the lad of ten. “Looks like you’ve been enjoying the game. I’ll get a replacement for you soon.”
Ned’s dark eyes lit. “Yes, sir! We can’t thank ye enough for giving it to us.”
“It’s my pleasure. You took the bread to your mother earlier?”
“Straightaway,” Ned said with a responsible nod. “She said to thank ye.”
She’d been sick the past fortnight and was finally on the mend. Hugh hoped her job as a seamstress would still be available to her when she returned in a day or two, but if it wasn’t, he’d speak with her employer.
Hugh clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “That’s a good lad.”
Ned grinned, then tore across the street to where his younger brother stood, no doubt to share the news of the new shuttlecock. Hugh would have one of his staff make a few. It couldn’t be difficult. He waved at the two boys then continued along his way.
A flash of pale yellow fabric in the narrow darkness of Ivy Street drew his attention. Two men held the arms of a woman whose head was covered with a sack. Alarm crashed over Hugh, and he sprinted toward them.
“Stop!” he called as he increased his speed. He caught up to them before they reached Carrier Street. Extending his arm, Hugh clasped one of the men by the elbow and tugged him backward.
The miscreant was forced to let go of the woman, and his hat toppled to the ground as he fought to maintain his balance. “What the bloody hell?” His gaze connected with Hugh’s, and recognition sparked between them.
“Joseph, what are you about?” Hugh demanded of the too-handsome ruffian who turned most ladies’ heads in St. Giles.
“None of yer affair, Tarleton.” Joseph bent and retrieved his hat, slapping it back on his sandy-haired head.
“Everything in St. Giles is my affair.” Hugh glared first at Joseph and then at Edwin—one of Joseph’s underlings—who still held the mystery woman. “Unhand her.”
Edwin looked to Joseph, who swore beneath his breath but ultimately nodded. Joseph pinned an angry stare on Hugh. “Don’t meddle in things ye don’t understand, Tarleton.”
