But the shock of finding out that Katherine’s death might not have been accidental, of finally having a trail to follow, had made him soft. Shouldn’t have let Alf wheedle his way into what very well might be a dangerous situation. HE SHOULDN’T HAVE brought the boy, Hugh thought as he descended from his carriage. “We’re here,” the duke said, and looked at her. They were in front of a town house, not half as nice as Kyle’s, but rich enough. The carriage jerked to a halt and Alf blinked, looking up. He and Lady Jordan might match on the outside-their clothes, their accent, their ranks-but there was something wild that lived inside both her and Kyle. He’d kissed her-her, not Lady Jordan-twice after their victories. He’d hunted with her in the dark woods of St Giles. No matter how high she might try to fly, she’d never reach him. What did she care if Kyle loved or didn’t love? He was like a star in the night sky above and she but a sparrow. Outside, London Town whirled by in constant, hurrying, yammering movement.Īlf sighed silently. Soldiers swaggered past in a group, one calling something to a pretty serving girl in a mobcap, who tossed her head at him. A beggar sat on a corner, his hand outstretched, his swollen and deformed feet in rags. A woman carrying oysters in a great basket on her head bawled her wares. She scowled and glanced out the window again. What was he thinking? Had he known his wife had had lovers? Had he cared? Alf glanced at Kyle out of the corner of her eye.
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