1. Chapter One

Chapter one

T he 26th of September 1818

’Twas as if a creeping spider inched its way over Hugh Fletcher’s skin as the hair on the back of his neck sprang to attention. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility because all manner of vermin found their way into The Red Dog Tavern. However, the unpalatable two-legged beasts eliciting these particular prickles were more dangerous than a crawling arachnid. Their shifty gazes pegged them as criminals.

Since Hugh was a Bow Street Runner who’d landed himself in the local gaol a few times for fighting, he intimately knew the underbelly of London from both sides of the law, and the two blokes currently stalking him were scalawags of the worst sort. Daft too, if they had not picked up on Hugh’s desire to drink in peace. Having lost his weapon, possibly his job, and his lodgings earlier that afternoon, he was not in the mood for anyone’s shenanigans .

He would contemplate his future on the morrow. For now, there was nothing to be done about his rotten day, except to drink himself into a stupor. That, and maybe tup the chit currently sitting in the corner by herself.

He casually looked over his shoulder to glance at her. She did not appear to be a doxy, and she was pleasant enough looking. Luckily, a good hard fuck fixed the worst of moods. However, this day might be beyond repair, and he was too bloody done in to make any effort.

He huffed and gulped his ale.

His stalkers closed in, bookending him from either side. The bloody fools.

He huffed and gulped again.

More than likely, these men wanted to collect a gambling debt. But Hugh did not currently owe anyone money. Did he? Drumming his fingers on his tankard, he searched his memories.

Nay. Nothing that he could recall. Now that he considered it, he hadn’t made a wager in months. Make that over a year. Somehow, he’d become a bloody respectable bloke, as long as one did not consider his temper.

Hugh lifted the ale to his lips at the same time the men drew their pistols, aiming them at his head. If he ducked, the fools would shoot each other. He kept his gaze on his drink, “What in fuck’s sake do you two clodpolls want?”

“We just wanna talk,” said his stalker who was as tall as a giraffe.

Like hell.

Before Hugh could tell them to shove their pistols up their arses and bugger off, the front door banged against the wall. Hugh swiveled to see what had caused the collective gasp. Three chaps clad in black with matching gold LSC insignia on their capes glared at the patrons. Silence settled over the room as almost every gaze in the establishment focused on the intimidating newcomers.

“Friggin’ cow bollocks. What are they doin’ here?” his stalker with an absurdly curling mustache mumbled under his breath.

Apparently, the Criminals knew the Capes and were none too happy to see them.

“We are looking for a Hugh Fletcher,” one of the Capes called as he removed his tricorn hat with a dramatic flourish.

What an arsehole. No way was Hugh stepping forward. Not with five men he suspected wished him harm within fifteen feet of him. He set his tankard on the bar and rubbed his forehead. If this was not over a gambling debt, what could these men want?

As the three Capes spread out, the pair of Criminals tucked their weapons into their threadbare coats. Whistling, they backed away from Hugh. Despite feigning innocence, their visages still screamed villains!

Perhaps this had to do with a crime Hugh had investigated. Of course, only an imbecile would stick around to find out. He may be many questionable things—maybe even a fool—but he did not have a death wish. He needed a distraction. A tavern brawl should do the trick.

“Duck,” he mouthed to the woman in the corner as he pointed at the floor.

She blinked.

He grasped his drink. “Now!”

She dropped to the ground and crawled beneath her table.

While his five adversaries eyed him with increasing curiosity, Hugh searched for the biggest man in the establishment. Seeming oblivious to the awkward atmosphere that had overtaken the tavern, a beast of a man sat two tables away, peacefully drinking. Since he was supposed to be a lawman, a tinge of guilt tickled Hugh’s conscience.

Oh, well. Currently, he didn’t have any authority. Exhaling, Hugh flung his mug into the back of the innocent bystander’s head. Ale splattered everywhere.

The furious bystander, liquid dripping from his bald scalp, leaped from his chair. His eyes angry slits, he perused the room. “Who threw that?”

Hugh caught the patron’s gaze, shrugged, and pointed at the Criminal with the furry mustache. “Called you an arsewipe.”

The man who thought he’d been insulted growled and lunged, punching Mister Mustache square in the jaw. Taking offense to the attack, Mister Mustache headbutted his very large and extremely angry adversary. They both toppled backward, crashing to the floor with a resounding thud .

Hugh’s unwitting dupe sprang to his feet, his fists raised. Make that a Brobdingnag-sized man with fists the size of elephant feet.

“Hey, mate,” Hugh called to his fuming pawn. “Those men in the capes told him to throw the mug.”

Nostrils flaring, forehead forward, impersonating an angry bull, the man charged toward the closest Cape.

How perfect. Beyond brilliant . “Fight!” Hugh hollered.

Tankards, chairs, tables, and fists flew as war broke out.

Hugh would congratulate himself on his genius later. Right now, he needed to get the hell out of there. Snaking between patrons and avoiding a few fists, he dashed toward the back exit and threw the door wide.

He inhaled a breath of refuse-infused air. Blasted dirty city. Then he was off, sprinting through the back alleys of London, dodging crates, barrels, and rats as footsteps pounded behind him.

Hugh kept running until his lungs burned, and a pinch in his side made movement almost impossible. He ducked into the shadows of a massive tree. With his back against a thick trunk, he leaned forward, hands on his knees, and attempted to catch his breath. Meanwhile, he searched his surroundings, finding himself in unfamiliar terrain. On his honor, he had no idea why they’d chased him for so long, but he was no longer in the heart of the city.

Once his breathing steadied, he stood tall and left the cover provided by the tree. He hadn’t taken more than a few steps when something hit him from behind. Pain seared into his brain, and his world went black.