Page 83 of Defending the Duke (The St. Clairs 4)

Anthony offered the driver his hand. The man took it. “We’ll get them back, Your Grace,” Strong said. “You can count on it.”

As they boarded the carriage, he noticed it was plain black, no ducal coat of arms on its doors. They rode without speaking until the vehicle slowed and they disembarked.

“Someone will come when we’re ready for you, Strong,” Everton said.

The driver nodded and the five men moved down the block, turning left. Farmon’s saloon and brothel stood a block away. They stopped and discussed the best places for them to observe when a lone man approached. Conversation ceased.

As he drew near, he said, “Waxby sent me.”

They all relaxed as the Runner joined them.

“Waxby had me to watch the place in case Farmon moved Her Grace and Lady Hannah. I haven’t seen any sign of them. By my count, there’s still a handful—no more than three—customers still in the place. They should be leaving shortly. I’ll show you where you can stand watch.”

“After that, you’re dismissed,” Anthony said. “This is a family affair.”

The Runner grinned. “Waxby said you’d say that. I want to ask if I can stay, though. I only know Farmon by reputation but I would love to be part of seeing him put down.”

“We would appreciate your help—but don’t stop us,” he warned. “What must be done will be done.”

“I understand,” the Runner said. “Follow me.”

They took places in the shadows, watching the last of the paying clients exit the building. Ten minutes later, just before four o’clock, four men came out the front door. Anthony assumed one was Braxton, Farmon’s top lieutenant. It shocked him when he recognized Johnson. Had the barkeep betrayed them?

The man he believed to be Braxton did all the talking. Two men peeled away, one of them Johnson. The pair returned a few minutes later with three horses. Everyone but Johnson mounted and rode off. Johnson stood watching them go. After the men turned the corner and were out of sight, he looked furtively into the dark and motioned.

“I’ll go,” Everton volunteered.

Though fearful of a trap, Anthony said, “I will, too.”

They crossed the street and he asked Johnson, “Why are you still here? Waxby told you to stay out of sight.”

“Farmon told me to stay,” the barkeep replied. “You don’t question an order from Farmon. He said I’d be helping Braxton tonight but Braxton’s never taken to me. He said I wasn’t needed and told me to go home.”

Anthony took a deep breath, relieved that Johnson hadn’t betrayed them.

“I did overhear Farmon tell Sims he’d need to help move the two women once Braxton left. I saw Sims readying a coach when I went to saddle the horses just now. He’ll probably pull into the alley behind the saloon.”

“Leave now,” Everton said. “Farmon thinks you’re gone anyway. The door is unlocked?”

The barkeep nodded.

“Wait,” Anthony said. “Are there any men besides Farmon and Sims inside?”

“No,” Johnson said. “The whores have all gone to their rooms. The last client left a quarter of an hour ago. The others left with Braxton. You’ll only have Farmon and Sims to deal with.” He paused. “They’ll both be armed. Be careful.”

“Go,” Everton urged and the young barkeep hurried down the street.

Anthony waved his hand and Merrick, Mayfield, Hudson, and the Runner all hurried to them. Quickly, he recounted what Johnson had said.

Merrick said, “Half of us should go around to the back. The others go through the front door.” He moved away and Hudson and the Runner followed.

Anthony took the lead, entering the darkened saloon.

*

Laurel rose fromthe bed, unable to sleep. She and Hannah had dozed off and on throughout the day since they’d had nothing to do. She massaged her sore wrists, grateful that Braxton had finally cut the restraints. He had showed up with two bowls of cold, congealed stew this afternoon, the first food they’d had in over a day. Instinct told her begging wouldn’t work so she’d calmly requested that he remove the cords, telling him they weren’t a threat and had nowhere to go, especially since she’d seen the hulking brute standing guard outside their door when Braxton had entered. He’d set the bowls on the floor and removed a knife from his boot, slicing through the ropes and pocketing it before leaving.

Hannah had turned her nose up at the food until Laurel began to eat it, using her fingers since no utensil had been brought. If she’d had a spoon, she certainly would have turned it into a weapon. Finally, hunger got the best of her friend and Hannah had followed Laurel’s lead, though she gagged several times as she swallowed. Laurel knew she would need strength for whatever lay ahead and so wasn’t picky, even licking her bowl clean.

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