Page 45 of A Dangerous Lord (Regency Spies & Secrets 3)

Corbyn leaned back in his chair. “If you run into any problems, please let me know at once.”

After Sanders had excused himself, Corbyn opened a file on his desk and started reviewing the contents. He finished with that task and moved on to the next one. It wasn’t until he noticed the room was filled with bright light that he realized the time of day. He had been working nonstop for hours.

A knock came at the door.

“Enter,” he ordered.

The door opened and Harvey stepped into the room with a perplexed look on his face.

“Whatever is the matter?” he asked.

Harvey stepped closer to the desk and extended a folded piece of paper towards him. “This just arrived for you.”

“It did?” he asked, accepting the paper.

“A street urchin delivered it and informed me that it was for Corbyn.”

Lifting his brow, Corbyn repeated, “A street urchin?”

“Yes, he even used a bird call.”

Corbyn unfolded the piece of paper and read:

You used her for information, then you left her for dead.

No!

Not Miss Polly!

He jumped up from his chair. “We have been compromised,” he announced, putting his full authority into his voice. “I’m enacting the Greenwich Protocol.”

“Yes, Boss,” Harvey said.

“You will see to it,” he asserted as he came around the desk. “I need to go see a friend.”

“Now?” Harvey asked, staring at him in disbelief.

“Yes, now!” His tone brooked no argument, so none came.

Corbyn ran out of his office and didn’t stop running until he found a hackney that was operating in this section of Town. He quickly gave the driver directions and jumped into the coach. He drummed his fingers along his leg as he anxiously stared out the window. He didn’t want to believe Miss Polly could be dead. How would this person have even discovered her whereabouts? He had always been careful to never reveal her identity to anyone, not even to his most trusted friends.

The hackney stopped in front of the brothel, and Corbyn could immediately tell something was wrong. Women were standing in front of the building, and they all looked distressed. Furthermore, Donnelly was nowhere to be seen. That was odd since he always guarded the entrance to the building.

Corbyn hopped out of the hackney and handed the driver a few coins before he approached the building.

One of the girls recognized him and quickly walked over to him. “Bryan!” she exclaimed. “Have you heard?”

“No,” he replied. “What is it?”

“Miss Polly…” she sobbed.

He placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned in. “Miss Polly what?” he prodded.

“Miss Polly was killed,” she said with tears in her eyes.

“When?” he demanded.

The girl blinked at the harshness of his tone. “Sometime this morning,” she revealed.

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