Page 145 of Their Master

“Where are we going?” she asked when they reached the foyer and he yanked open the door, his head whipping back and forth.

When he didn’t see what he wanted, he growled and slammed the door shut, pressing his face to the sidelight.

“May I please put on a cloak if we are—”

He spun on her and slapped her hard enough across the face to drive her back against the console table, sending a vase crashing to the marble floor.

“Shut up!” he snarled and then whipped back around and stared out the window. “Finally!” he muttered and turned back to her, grabbing her arm in a biting grip. “You try anything stupid and I’ll shoot you in the stomach.” He demonstrated by pointing the barrel at her stomach. “It won’t killyou, but it will put paid to your precious baby. Understand?”

She nodded vigorously. “I won’t do anything.”

He flung open the door and pulled her toward a private carriage waiting in front of the house.

Somebody inside opened the door and Charles shoved her toward it so hard she stumbled. A gloved hand closed on her arm and pulled her into the coach, which took off before Charles was even fully inside.

“You imbecile! I told you not to make a scene!” a voice snapped in the near darkness of the carriage.

“I couldn’t help it,” Charles shot back. “One of the servants attacked me.”

“He did not!” Moira said, and then yelped when Charles’s fist clipped her shoulder.

“Enough!” the other man roared and Moira was vaguely aware of a scuffle underway, and then two loud slaps.

“Thathurt!” Charles cried out.

“Shut up, you degenerate,” the newcomer hissed, his voice pulsing with loathing. He was just a shadow to Moira, who could only see the outline of a top hat in the near darkness.

“I apologize if you’ve been manhandled, Miss Bardot.”

It took her a second to realize he’d used her real name. “Who are you? What do you want with me?”

A low chuckle filled the small space. “I am a friend of your father’s. Or perhaps I should say Iwashis friend, because I suspect he is no longer with us, although I’ve read nothing of his demise in any newspapers, I’m guessing that Nicolaides has disposed of him.”

“Who?” she asked. “I don’t know who you are talking about. Are you sure you have the right person?”

There was a pause, and then more laughter. “Oh, very good—almost convincing. But you know who I’m talking about. I spoke with your dear mother only a few weeks ago. Marie is not pleased with you, by the way.”

“Smith won’t be pleased withheronce he learns you’ve been talking to her.”

“What do you know about—”

A loud slap cut off the rest of whatever Charles was going to say.

“Please excuse Charles, Miss Barton. It has been some time since his last pipe, so he is even more uncivil than usual.”

Moira knew people who used opium and was aware they could become quite erratic if they were deprived of the substance. It also explained Charles’s sickly pallor and short temper.

“I want to talk to you about Nicolaides.”

“I have not seen him in months. Not since my parents came to London—or didn’t Marie tell you that.”

“Your mother knew very little about what happened after she left, but Charles has helped fill the gaps.”

“Whoareyou?”

“That hardly matters.”

“I can’t help you get into Smith’s house, if that is what you want.”

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