A Spy's Devotion (The Regency Spies of London #1)(74)

He tipped his hat and quoted her a price. Fortunately, she always carried a few coins sewn into the hem of her skirt, to keep it from flying up immodestly in any gust of wind. It should be enough.

The young driver handed her in.

“If you please, sir, I am in a hurry.”

“I’ll do my best, miss.”

Soon they were off, riding down the street at a fast pace.

Julia ripped the hem out of her dress and removed enough coins to pay the driver. And then she had several minutes to think while they rode through the evening streets. The sun had not yet gone down. Surely it could not be very late. Mr. Langdon must have gone somewhere else first, because it would not yet be half past seven when she arrived at the place where her uncle’s evil friend was assigned to wait and shoot Nicholas Langdon.

But what if she were too late? No, no, she could not think like that. She would make it. She would get there in time. She must.

An image of Nicholas Langdon lying in the street, a bullet through his chest, rose vividly in her mind. A pain, as if she had been shot herself, streaked through her.

Ruthlessly, she shoved the image away. He would not be shot. He would not.

The carriage arrived at Bishopsgate Street in less time than usual. Julia watched out of the window until they were near the place where the pockmarked man was supposed to wait.

She could not let him see her, she suddenly realized. He knew what she looked like.

Julia rapped on the side of the carriage to get the driver to stop. “Let me out here.”

He stopped the horses. Julia opened the door herself and sprang out. She gave him the money and then noticed him staring at the iron cross in her hand. He must think she was daft. Truly, she wasn’t sure why she was still clutching the thing. But she hurried away down the street.

She had come away without even her bonnet, without a shawl or anything of the sort. Without anything to hide her face, the man across the street would see her.

She slipped into the nearest door, a shabby little shop that sold candles and other household odds and ends. Through the shop window she could see the place where the pockmarked man would be waiting. No doubt he was hidden in the shadows of the alley, waiting for Nicholas Langdon to walk by. Would he have his coachman let him out at the end of Bishopsgate Street, as he always did, and walk the rest of the way? Or would he have him drive closer tonight?

She needed to be able to see when he arrived. She slipped out the door and back onto the street, shielding her face with her hand. She stepped into another shop, quite close to the corner of the street where the Children’s Aid Mission was located. Standing at the large front window, she would surely see Nicholas Langdon as he walked this way, before he reached the corner.

She looked back and forth, examining every face that came near. She also searched the opposite corner, looking for the pockmarked man. Was he waiting in the shadows of the alley, between those two buildings? It seemed the most logical place.

She continued to search down the street for Nicholas Langdon. But what if he came from the other direction this time? Every nerve in her body seemed to be just beneath the surface, stretching, ready to leap out and stop Nicholas Langdon.

“Miss, may I help you with something? I need to close the shop.”

The baker—she suddenly noticed this was a bakery—stood at her elbow.

“Oh. No, thank you. I was just . . . No, thank you.” Julia stepped out the door—and saw Nicholas Langdon coming. From the opposite way. He was nearly to the corner. A man across the street was stepping out of the alley and raising a gun.

“Nicholas!” Julia screamed his name and ran as fast as she could, just as a loud report sounded from across the street.

She felt herself slam into Nicholas Langdon’s chest. A second loud blast came from the same place. Julia dropped her cross. It fell to the street with a metallic thud.

Her knees weren’t holding her up, but Mr. Langdon’s arms kept her upright against his chest.

Nicholas Langdon was pulling her into the smaller street, toward the mission.

“You must hurry and get away. They are trying to kill you.” She forced her knees not to buckle. “Go, quickly. The shooter will find you.”

“Be calm. Some men tackled him and took his gun away.” He held her at arm’s length and looked her up and down. “Oh no.” His face held a look of horror as he stared at her midsection.

“What is it?” But she suddenly knew. A sharp pain stabbed her side. Another pain was pulsing through her hand. Blood stained her white dress.

“You’ve been shot.” Nicholas Langdon scooped her up in his arms, holding her tight against him. He started at a fast walk toward the Children’s Aid Mission building.

“Don’t take me to the mission. That is the first place they will look.”

“Where, then?”

“To the Bartholdys’. Do you remember where it is?”

“You need a doctor.” He suddenly groaned.

“What is it? Are you hurt?”

“No! Julia, you’ve been shot! Oh God, please don’t let her die.”

“I won’t—” She gasped at the pain in her side. “I won’t die. It is nothing, I am sure.” She glanced down but could not see her wound, as her injured side was pressed against his stomach.

He was striding very fast, almost running, as though she weighed no more than a child.