Page 95 of Tempting the Earl

Frustrated that they’d been too distracted by their conversation to note the man’s approach, Colin pushed his chair back and prepared to stand.

The tall, cloaked man, whose hood perfectly shadowed his face, held up a hand encased in a black leather glove. “A moment, fine gentlemen,” he said in hushed cockney. “I know who ye’ve come to meet and he’s anxious to make yer acquaintance. But not here.”

“This is where we were advised to meet him,” Colin noted firmly.

The man shrugged. “Plans change.”

Leaving the public location was not a great idea. The dark and narrow streets surrounding the tavern were well known for being a haven for thieves and murderers.

“How do we know you can be trusted?” Roderick asked.

Ignoring the question, the man gave a careless wave of his hand. “This way.”

The three brothers glanced to each other before rising to their feet. Roderick left a few coins on the table to cover the ales they wouldn’t be drinking as Colin led the way through the tavern after the cloaked man.

It felt all wrong, but what choice did they have? As Roderick had noted, this was the most they’d gotten on Owen beyond whispered rumors and false direction that always inevitably led to nothing. There had been times over the last couple years when they’d feared Max Owen no longer lived. But then Nightshade would unearth some new mysterious clue suggesting the existence of a man who could be their brother.

This meeting might just as well lead to nothing, too, but they had to play it out to the end.

Roderick and Beynon had unsurprisingly insisted on coming with him to St. Giles. He’d learned some time ago that protesting their insistent involvement was a waste of breath. They were in this together, and he needed them on his side when he was forced to deny Caillie’s impassioned pleas to come along, as well.

The cloaked man led them through a back door of the tavern to a narrow, dank alley filled with refuse and waste. Without waiting for them, the stranger turned and continued toward what appeared to be a dead end. There was no one else about.

“What’s this?” Roderick demanded sharply as the tavern door closed behind them. “Where’s Cromwell?”

The cloaked figure stopped several paces ahead of them and turned just as Colin heard the distinct sound of a bar being thrown across the tavern door from the inside.

Apparently, they weren’t going to be allowed back in.

The figure swept the edges of the cloak back over his shoulders and set his gloved hands on narrow hips. “There ain’t no Cromwell. Ye’re here to meet me.”

“And who are you?” Colin asked.

The man laughed. “I already answered one of yer questions. Now ye answer mine.”

Beynon tensed beside him, but Colin gave him a quick warning glance before he calmly stepped forward. “All right,” he said evenly. “Ask away.”

The hooded man’s manner changed in an instant, as if a dark wind suddenly blew away the nonchalant veneer.

His stance became threatening and an air of danger emanated from him. When he spoke again, his voice was thick with menace and the suggestion of violence. “Wot the fuck does the mighty Earl of Wright want with that knave, Max Owen?”

Roderick took a step forward but didn’t speak and Beynon slowly curled his hands into fists. Colin, however, showed nothing of his internal disquiet as he replied, “That is a personal matter between us and the young man.”

“Personal?” the man scoffed. “Wot’d he do? Tup yer wife? Sister? No, yer mother? Is that it?”

Silence followed the crude words as Colin struggled to determine the proper way to respond. Whoever he was, the man before them did appear to know their brother. If he said the wrong thing now, this vital lead could be destroyed. But he couldn’t trust a man who still hadn’t shown his face with the truth of why he was looking for Owen.

“Tell me why you want him or I disappear. And I promise, ye’ll never get this close to Owen again.”

“Damn this bloody game,” Beynon muttered angrily. “He doesn’t know anything.”

“Wait,” Roderick interjected.

Colin turned to see his brother staring intently at the stranger. Roderick’s eyes were narrowed as he breathed deeply through his nose. Then, with quiet conviction, he said, “Tell him.”

“You can’t,” Beynon protested in a low growl.

But Colin saw the look on Roderick’s face. And he trusted it—trusted his brother’s unfailing intuition.

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