Lord of Darkness (Maiden Lane #5)(64)

He could sense someone following him and his heart sang with gladness. Suddenly the rage from earlier tonight was back, as fresh and raw as ever.

How dare she?

He’d given up his home, his solitude, his peace of mind, and his goddamned body for her, and this was how she repaid him? By imagining he was another man while he had his cock in her? He’d been suspicious the first time but dismissed the notion. But tonight, there’d been something—the way she’d held herself, the refusal to meet his eyes, the very fact that she wouldn’t let him make love to her properly, damn it—that had roused all of his doubts. And then it had hit him: He wasn’t the man she was f*cking at all. He didn’t know if she dreamed of Fraser-Burnsby or d’Arque or some man he’d never met, but it hardly mattered.

He wasn’t going to be used as a blasted proxy.

They came from around the corner up ahead, riding two abreast, and he was so distracted that he didn’t realize they were even there until they were almost on him.

Godric didn’t know who was more surprised: him or the dragoons.

The man on the right recovered first, drawing his saber and kicking his horse into a charge. He couldn’t outrun a galloping horse and the alley was narrow. Godric flattened himself against the grimy bricks at his back. The first dragoon charged past, the horse nearly brushing Godric’s tunic, but the second, slower dragoon was smarter. The soldier kneed his horse until the great beast was hemming him in, threatening to either crush him against the bricks or, more likely, run him through with the sharp point of a saber. There was no room to dodge around the sweating, snorting horse. He looked up and saw the sagging wooden balcony, tacked on the building he was pressed against like an afterthought. It might not hold his weight, but he had no choice now.

Godric stretched his arms overhead and jumped, grasping one of the supporting rails of the balcony. He curled his legs up, his left shoulder aching as he felt the stitches pop from the wound. His legs were suddenly near the horse’s head and the animal was startled at his movement. The dragoon pulled hard on the reins, trying to control the beast, and the horse reared.

Godric swung and dropped in back of the horse, rolling away as he hit the hard cobblestones and rising with his long sword out and up.

But the first dragoon had wheeled his horse around by now, trapping Godric between the two mounted men. The only thing he could be glad of was that the dragoons seemed to be by themselves, a mounted patrol of two.

“Surrender!” the second dragoon shouted, his hand reaching for the pistol holstered in his saddle.

Damn it! Godric leaped for the man, catching his arm before he could lay hand on the pistol, and yanked hard. The dragoon half fell over the side of the saddle. His horse shied violently at the shift in weight, and the man tumbled to the ground.

Godric turned to the first dragoon in time to parry a sword thrust aimed at his head. He was at a disadvantage on the ground, but he was in no mood to retreat. He swung at the mounted man, missed, and only just in time saw the flicker of the other man’s eyes.

Or perhaps it wasn’t quite in time.

The blow from behind knocked him to his knees. His head spun dizzily, but his mood was foul. Godric twisted and embraced his attacker’s legs, toppling the dragoon. He swarmed up the other man’s supine form, straddling him, and—

God f*cking damn!

The dragoon really shouldn’t have kneed him in the bollocks.

Godric sucked in a pained breath, reared over the soldier, and slammed his fist into the man’s face. Over and over again. The smack of bare flesh on flesh savagely satisfying in the dark alley. Behind him, the other dragoon was shouting something and the horse’s hooves were clattering dangerously close to where they were sprawled, but Godric just didn’t give a damn.

Only the sound of more horses nearing made Godric stop. He stared at the man beneath him. The dragoon’s eyes were swollen and his lips split and bleeding, but he was alive and still struggling.

Thank God.

He was up and running in less than a second, the horses close behind him. A barrel at the corner of a house gave him a leg up and then he was climbing the side of the house, toes and fingertips straining for holds before he reached the rooftop.

A shout came from below, but he didn’t take the time to look back, simply fleeing over the roof, loose tiles sliding and crashing to the street below. He ran, the blood pumping in his chest, and didn’t stop until he was nearly a half-mile away.

Only then, as he leaned panting against a chimney, did he realize he was still being followed.

Godric drew his short sword, watching as the slim shape cautiously made the ridge of the roof and nimbly began climbing down. He waited until the lad came abreast of him. Godric grabbed him by the collar, arching his head back, laying the short sword on the bared neck.

“Why are you following me?”

Quick, intelligent eyes flashed to his, but the boy made no move to free himself. “Digger Jack said as ’ow you’d be wantin’ information ’bout the lassie snatchers.”

“And?”

The wide mouth curved without mirth. “I’m one o’ ’em.”

TWENTY MINUTES LATER Godric watched as the boy stuffed his face with tea and lavishly buttered bread. He’d revised his estimation of the former lassie snatcher’s age downward. When he’d first seen the boy, Godric had thought him a young man, but that was because he had the height of a grown man. Now, sitting in the kitchens of the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children, he saw the boy’s soft cheeks, the slim neck, and gentle lines of his jaw. He couldn’t be older than fifteen at the most.