Chapter 4

Hell and damnation, Annie was built for sin and Boyd was beyond tempted.

The sight of her round, full ass in those breeches...

His cock swelled in his own, his gaze travelling up her thick, full mane of hair. He'd like to run his hands through that hair, feel it slide over his skin.

He willed himself to think of something else as he turned back to his room, rummaging through a few of his drawers, as he attempted to tamp down his reaction. After a minute of searching, he found a brush he thought might suffice.

Then he stomped back toward her room, willing himself to gain proper control. This was a woman who'd been abused, mistreated. She did not need to be the subject of his lust, only his care.

He looked down at his hand, realizing his grip on the brush handle was tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

Forcing himself to relax before he broke the damned thing, he drew in a deep breath of air before he entered her room.

The gulp did little to help. No longer standing, Annie now sat on the bench of the vanity, the curve of her hips and ass filling out the bench in the most gorgeous way.

His teeth snapped together, his eyes squeezing shut.

Several slower inhales and he opened his eyes again to find Annie leaning to one side, her hair trailing down as she ran her fingers through the locks.

"Did you find one?"

"Aye."

She turned to him, a sweet smile at her lips. "Thank you. And I'm sorry to be so much trouble."

"No trouble." He pushed out through his locked jaw, stomping toward her. "Keep it. I don't need it."

He set the brush down with a hard slap on the table, then he spun away again before he completely ogled her. Where the hell was his self-control?

He clenched a fist at his side. "I received word from Armstrong. Gris and Fulton Smith will be arriving shortly."

"That was fast," she whispered, one of her hands leaving her hair to grip his fingers. "What do you think they're going to do with me?"

Boyd's jaw relaxed then, the fear in her voice reminding him of what all of this was really about. And it wasn't his own lustful thoughts.

He dropped down on his haunches, keeping her hand in his.

Their eyes were level in this position, her large green eyes filled to the brim with worry. "Most likely, they'll send ye to Upton in Cumberland." He laced their fingers together. "As a duke he has the power and means to keep ye very safe."

She gave a tentative nod, nipping at her lip. "All right." He could see the fear dancing in her expressive eyes, the way her shoulders drooped down again.

He placed his other hand over hers, her fingers so pale and small in both of his. "And Annie…"

"Yes," she whispered back, leaning closer to him.

"I thought I might travel with ye, take that break I need…" She was off the stool and diving into his arms in a moment, hers wrapping about his neck.

The smell of lavender soap and thistle filled his nose as he held her tight, his large arms around her slender back.

He sat down on the floor, pulling her deeper into his lap. He didn't wish to make her any promises he couldn't keep.

The Smiths were some of the toughest men he knew and Makem had been giving them fits. But their last villain, Gyla, had done the same and it had been Boyd who had finally ended that conflict.

Armstrong had been right to bring Annie to him. "Annie," he whispered close to her ear. "Know that I will do everything I can to keep ye safe."

She pulled her head off his shoulder, her eyes colliding with his, her mouth so close that he'd hardly have to move at all to take her lips with his.

"I know you will," she whispered back and then she pushed off his lap, rising. She swiped her hands down her outer thighs and then crossed to the bed, pulling back the pillows.

Boyd lifted off the ground as well, just as she pulled two small ledgers from the spot under the pillow. He walked toward, her hand extending toward him. "Here," she said. "Take these."

"What are they?"

"My insurance," she answered.

He took them in hand, opening the first to see neat columns of numbers. "Nice handwriting."

"Thank you," she returned with a smile. "My ability to keep nice books is certainly the reason I'm still alive."

He stilled, his stomach churning, as he made two realizations. The handwriting was hers and the information was Makem's. "What's in this?"

"The names and locations of clubs, profit margins, client lists, bribes. You name the criminal activity, it's in these books."

Boyd shifted, a worry niggling in the back of his gut. "Will Makem notice these books are gone?"

Annie's eyes went wide. "I'm certain he would." And then she clapped her hand to her mouth. "I only brought them to use as collateral for the Smiths. I needed something of value in case they didn't wish to protect me…"

She hadn't thought through the fact that her uncle would be frantic to get them back.

He ran a hand through his hair, a rumble releasing from his chest. How much danger was Annie in because of this?

* * *

Annie felt the shift in Boyd as his back straightened, his features growing harder, sterner. Fear slid down her back.

Had he changed his mind about helping her now that he'd realized the breadth of trouble she was in?

"Boyd?" she whispered, taking a half step closer. "What…" She didn't even know what to ask. What are you thinking? What should I do?

He held both books tight in one hand, the other hooked around her waist, drawing her close. "We're leaving."

"What?" she gasped, laying her hands on his chest. "But the brothers…"

He shook his head. "Our best asset is the fact that no one knows ye're here. Any one of the Smiths could be followed by yer uncle's men. The longer we dally here in London, the more chance ye'll be discovered. We're leaving today."

Annie could see a plan forming behind Boyd's dark eyes. She held onto his shoulders. "But if we go without the Smiths no one will be able to help us."

His body softened then, creating a cradle for her own. "Ye let me worry about that. I've got a plan. Now hurry and eat yer breakfast. We're leaving in the next quarter hour and ye'll need yer strength."

She gasped in a breath, even as he let her go. Then he tucked the two ledgers into the pocket of his coat, disappearing from the room once again.

"Mrs. Fitz," he called from just outside her door.

"Yes?"

"When our visitors arrive in an hour, I want ye to tell them that I am not at home, I've already left for the club."

"All right," Mrs. Fitz answered, sounding very uncertain.

"This is most important of all. Don't let them in the house. Deliver the message on the front stoop and then close the door."

Annie didn't understand the directive. Why did Mrs. Fitz have to turn the Smiths away? Why couldn't Mrs. Fitz deliver a message to them?

But she didn't ask as she turned back to her tray, taking several large swallows of her tea, and eating a large bite of the salted pork.

"Once they've left, wait an hour, and go home. Don't come back until ye receive word from me."

"Don't come back?" Mrs. Fitz cried. "But my work. My pay."

Annie heard the jingle of coins and her own worries jangled with them. She was turning lives upside down by being here.

"This will cover the next several weeks. Don't worry, Mrs. Fitz, I'll send more depending how long I'm gone."

Send more? Then several weeks? Guilt stabbed at Annie. What had she done?

"Have Mr. Wiggins pull up the carriage just as he does every day."

"Where is he taking you?" Mrs. Fitz asked.

"Work, of course."

Her hand dropped but Boyd appeared again. With long confident strides, he moved toward her, plucking a piece of the toast from the tray, and eating half of the slice in a single bite.

"Work?" she whispered, her brow furrowed.

He didn't say a word as he gestured for her to take another bite. She did as she was commanded, not asking anymore questions.

In a whirlwind, Boyd moved from his room to hers, as he stuffed several items into a small satchel, including the brush. Then, taking her hand in his, he led her down to the kitchen and into the larder where he added more salted pork and loaf of bread to the bag.

"Ready?"

She gave a nod, having no idea what she agreed to, but she did know that she trusted him.

Deep in her gut, she knew that if she were going to make it out from her uncle's grasp, Boyd was the man to help her.

The sound of the carriage sounded outside the kitchen, the vehicle pulling within a foot of the kitchen door.

In a quick motion, Boyd opened the back door and lifted her into the carriage. Following, he snapped the door shut, banging on the front wall with his hand.

She watched as he paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping across the alley and beyond.

Annie still didn't ask questions as Boyd looked out each window and then repeated his watch a second and then a third time. On and on he watched as they moved through the streets of London.

"I don't think we're being followed."

"Does that mean we can see the brothers?"

"No." He shook his head. "I don't want to risk that yer uncle is watching them."

"But if he was watching them, doesn't that mean he's watching you too?"

"We'll find out," Boyd answered. "But in the meantime, the less contact we have with others, the better. We're just going to disappear."

"But how will the Smiths know where to find you? What happens to your club? Your job?"

He gave her a wink, holding out his hand. "We're on an adventure, Annie. I've been hoping for one and here it is."

"That makes one of us." But his words did ease her guilt. "I'm sorry I've brought you into this mess."

He pulled her close then, his arms going about her. "Don't be. And try not to worry. I've got a decent plan if all goes well."

That was about as much assurance as she could ask for. Leaving her uncle had always been a risk.

At least now there was hope. She snuggled down into his embrace. Her hopes and wishes multiplied with each passing hour and Boyd Lockton was at the center of them all. They just had to make it through this alive.

* * *

Rory Makem sat behind his desk, the remnants of his books, ledgers, and papers now scattered on the floor.

"That little fucking bitch," he snarled, curling his hands into fists. The guard who had been foolish enough to let her escape was going to pay dearly.

Because much as he hated it admit it, Annie was an asset he'd struggle to do without. She'd kept his books with an efficiency that had allowed him to anticipate several problems. She'd discovered missing money, which had turned out to be a guard skimming from the top. She'd noted vendors who weren't paying properly.

And she'd calmed the girls. The idea that he had a niece made the whores more trusting. At least at first.

He could admit that he likely shouldn't have considered selling her. He always did go for the quick coin at expense of the long game.

But his mistake didn't give her the right to run off and then steal from her own flesh and blood.

And she hadn't taken just anything, she'd taken the exact ledgers that would send him to the tower for the rest of his life.

Which was why he needed to find her. Immediately.

Carl Winters sauntered into his office, knowing that he was expected. Winters was his favorite hired muscle. Ruthless, brutal, and efficient, the man always got the job done.

"What did you find?"

Carl sat, a sliver of wood dangling from his lip as he lounged back in his chair. "She isn't with any of the London brothers. That brothel owner of Fair Street, Armstrong, did pay Griswold Smith a visit this morning. Then they left Smith's house together."

"Where'd they go?"

"A house on Cheapside."

"Whose house?"

Carl used his tongue to twirl the stick. "Lockton's."

Makem's lips curled. Lockton ran a nearby gaming hell named Purgatory. He was so efficient with his doormen that Makem couldn't even get his men in. Not that he'd tried that hard. He knew Lockton was the man who'd taken down Gyla.

Gyla had evaded criminals and the law alike for twenty years and it was Lockton who'd finally killed the man. His gut churned with unease to think that Annie was under the Scot's protection. "You think my niece is there?"

"I don't know." Carl shrugged. "Lockton wasn't home, Smith got turned away at the door."

"Not home?" Makem sat back in his own chair. "They are clearly stirring up for something, but maybe Lockton's not involved?" He could only hope.

"Doesn't seem like it."

"What's the next play?"

Winters shifted in his chair. "If they've got her, it's Fulton who'll move her."

Makem nodded. "The smuggler."

"I've already got a man on his ship, and I'll have another one of our ships follow when he goes north. In the meantime, I've stationed men at each of the Smith homes and another to follow Armstrong. If she went to them, we'll find her."

"Good." She was smart enough to either have gone to the law or the Smiths. And as no constables had broken down his door… "And just to be clear, the most important thing to recover are those books. My niece can be brought back to me, or you can dispose of her if necessary."

Winters gave a quick nod, rising. That's what Makem appreciated about the man. No whining about killing women, no moral attack.

Just cold, if not somewhat cruel, efficiency.