Someone to Watch Over Me (Bow Street Runners #1)(69)

There was a rank masculine smell in the air, a mixture of sweat, tobacco, and rain-dampened wool and broadcloth. Shrinking into a corner, Victoria yanked her hood down low over her face and waited with her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She prayed silently that Keyes would pass the betting shop and continue searching for her elsewhere. However, she feared the hope was futile. This area of London was well known to Keyes, as all the Runners were routinely assigned to comb through the rookeries in search of criminals. This was what the Runners excelled at--hunting and catching their prey.

"Well, now." A gentleman's cultured voice interrupted her thoughts, and a pair of black Hessian boots approached her. "It seems a pretty little bird has found a dry place to perch during the storm."

The betting was temporarily interrupted as Victoria's presence became noticed. Biting her lower lip, she steeled herself not to flinch as the man pulled away her concealing hood. She heard his breath catch, and a meaty hand reached for a damp lock of her glowing red hair. "A lovely bit of goods," he said thickly, and laughed while his gaze roved over her. "What business are you about, little bird? Searching for an evening's companion? You've found your man, then. I've got a nice big coin in my pocket for you."

"That's not all 'e's got in 'is pocket, I'll wager," someone said, and a rumble of masculine laughter ensued.

Miserably aware that she was becoming the focus of all attention, Victoria stared steadily into the man's face. He had the appearance of a gentleman, perhaps even a member of the lower nobility, his round face clean-shaven, his stocky form clad in coffee-brown breeches, a high-collared broadcloth coat, and a fancifully tied cravat.

"Someone was bothering me in the marketplace," she said in a low voice. "I though to avoid him by hiding here for a few minutes." He clucked his tongue in false sympathy and slid an arm around her back in an insultingly familiar manner. "Poor dove. I'll give you all the protection you desire." He reached for the bodice of her premise and began to pluck at the fastenings, ignoring her outraged gasp. "No need to protest--I just want to have a look at the goods."

Now the full attention of the room was on them. Even the bookmaker had taken pause to watch the goings-on, joining in the shouts of encouragement as the men clamored to see what was concealed beneath the premise.

"I came here to avoid being molested by one man," Victoria said, pushing his hands away and retreating farther into the corner. "I'm not looking for another."

The oaf merely grinned at the comment, clearly thinking she was playing a game with him. "I'm offering you a night with a randy stallion, and a generous reward for your services," he said. "What more could any woman want?"

"I'll giveyou a reward if you help me to Bow Street," she countered. "Surely you've heard of Mr. Grant Morgan, the Runner. I know he would consider it a personal favor if you would take me there safely."

Some of the lust seemed to fade from his expression, and he looked at her with new interest. "Yes, I've heard of Morgan. What connection do you have with him?"

A tendril of relief broke through her agitation. Grant's name had definitely captured his attention. If this man could somehow be persuaded to take her to Bow Street, she would be safe from Keyes. In her eagerness to convince him to help her, she caught at his sleeve and held it tightly. Before she could say a word, however, someone entered the betting shop.

After one glimpse of the man's gray hat, Victoria gave a muffled exclamation of fright. "It's him," she said shakily.

"The man who was bothering you?" her selfstyled protector asked.

Victoria nodded, her throat closing as she stared at Keyes. He was breathing rapidly from exertion, his face set and furious. As soon as he saw her, his eyes gleamed with mean-spirited triumph.

"I'm a Bow Street Runner in pursuit of a suspect," he said in a cold, clear voice. "Give the woman to me."

The announcement of a Runner on the premises caused a hubbub of consternation throughout the small crowd. The bookmaker came out from behind the counter and began an angry rant. "I'm running a straight business, I am! What will it take to keep you pigs out o' my lister?" It was well known that bookmakers and Runners despised each other, as the authorities were often wont to sift through the betting shops in search of criminals. Runners considered the bookies to be one small step above actual criminals, and usually treated them as such.

"I'm about the Crown's business," Keyes said sharply, coming toward Victoria. "I'll thank you to hand over the wench, as she is wanted for questioning."

"He's lying," Victoria cried, throwing herself at the gentleman beside her; grabbing at whatever meager protection she could find. "I've done nothing wrong!" "What crime is she accused of?" the man asked, one arm closing around Victoria.

"I haven't time to enumerate the offenses," Keyes replied. "Now, release the woman and go about your business."

"Do as 'e says," the bookmaker commanded tersely. "Let 'im 'ave the goods and take 'is leave. 'Tis bad for business to 'ave a Runner about the place."

The man sighed and gently began to urge Victoria forward. "Well, you have a wish to go to Bow Street, dove. It seems you have your escort."