Chapter 3

Of all the people Killian expected to see traipsing along the filthy streets of Bethnal Green, Miss Simmons was among the last. Yet there was no mistaking her proper posture, the gleam of her copper hair in the fading light, or her quick and purposeful stride.

‘What the devil are you up to?' Killian murmured.

He kept a safe distance and stayed in the shadows. The anaemic sunlight was quickly admitting defeat to crowded brick buildings tumbling over each other in their quest to blot out the sky. Noxious sludge made a slow track down the centre of the dirt street. Three children sat on a stoop, huddled together and playing a game with five stones. Their clothes were stained and threadbare, and only the eldest boy had shoes. The smallest of them was a girl with wispy hair so blonde it looked silver in the waning light.

Killian knew he was throwing a thimble of water into the blazing fire of poverty, but he still fished in his pockets and gave each of the children a half-crown. The little girl broke into a gap-toothed grin, and his heart cracked. The older boy ran off, probably to alert his friends that a dozy toff was handing out money. Killian would be swarmed with urchins if he didn't get a move on. Besides, he couldn't dally if he intended to keep up with Miss Simmons's blistering pace.

He had a sneaking suspicion he knew precisely where the prim little woman was heading. Sarah Bright's parents lived in one of the many ramshackle buildings crowded along the narrow street. Killian would bet his favourite stallion Miss Simmons was on the same trail he followed. ‘Sneaky, infuriating woman. How did you get her family's address?' She was an enigma he couldn't decipher. And if there was one thing Killian couldn't resist, it was an unsolvable puzzle.

Wind whipped down the street, bringing the foul scent of rotten garbage and raw sewage. Soon the rain would pelt the ground in a summer storm, intensifying the noxious aromas and flooding the street with even more refuse.

Miss Simmons ducked down an alley, and Killian followed. The narrow passage opened into a cramped courtyard with several houses smashed together. Miss Simmons took stock of the doors, striding to the second stoop and knocking loudly. She turned around, almost spying Killian before he ducked behind a dilapidated, wooden structure. Based on the stench emanating from between the sagging planks, it must be the shared privy for everyone living in this small courtyard. Killian repressed a gag.

The state of London's poor was deplorable. Killian was determined to focus his attention on revamping the New Poor Laws once he passed the Soldiers Relief Bill.

With Miss Simmons beating him to Sarah Bright's family, Killian found himself at loose ends. He couldn't very well follow her in. Mayhap he should leave and come back on a different day, but Killian didn't feel comfortable abandoning Miss Simmons in this part of London. Bethnal Green wasn't quite as dangerous as Whitechapel or St Giles, but the western end was notoriously rough. With darkness fast approaching, best for a man to keep his pistol primed and his sword close at hand.

Killian spent twenty awkward minutes watching the sky for rain and avoiding the suspicious stares of a large variety of cats patrolling the area. A rather hefty tabby was growing bolder by the moment and had gone so far as to swipe at Killian's boot.

‘Oi, are you the cove who wus 'anding out 'alf-crowns?' A boy of eight or nine with more dirt on his body than clothing stood in front of Killian. He had the hardened stare of a man in the cherubic face of a child.

‘It seems doubtful.'

‘Wot you doin' standing by the privy? You barmy or summink?'

Killian frowned at the boy. ‘If I were a mad man, you would have to be rather brave or rather stupid to come and ask me for money. Which is it?'

‘Me mum and dad live 'ere. Me three younger sisters and baby brother. It's my job to protect 'em, innit? Can't have some loony nutter lurking round the shitter.'

‘So, it's brave then?'

The boy shrugged and scratched his arm. ‘Well, an' if you really were the cove givin' away 'alf-crowns, I'd be a right idiot not to ask for my share. Oi, cat, piss off.' The boy kicked a rock in the general direction of the tomcat, who hissed but sauntered away with his tail flicking behind him.

‘So, brave and smart, then?'

The boy assessed Killian with unblinking eyes too large for his small face. ‘Depends on you, don't it?'

Killian laughed despite himself. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a guinea. ‘You don't happen to know who lives in that house two doors down, on the left?'

The boy's eyes widened at the gold coin. He turned and glanced down the shadowed street, then looked back at Killian and squinted. ‘Wot's it to you?'

‘There's a family there. They had a daughter named Sarah Bright.'

The boy's mouth tightened, and his slight shoulders hitched up. Suspicion narrowed his gaze. ‘Why you askin' 'bout Sarah?'

‘You knew her?'

The boy glanced at the guinea in Killian's hand. He bit his lip, then frowned. ‘I'm not telling you anyfink unless you tell me why you want to know.'

‘Brave, smart, and honourable. You will make a fine gentleman one day.'

The boy's cheeks reddened in the last light of day. ‘I ain't no gentleman. I'm no coward neither.'

‘You certainly aren't.' Killian held the gold coin in his open palm. ‘This is for your loyalty to Sarah Bright.'

The boy snatched the coin quicker than a striking adder. He bit the metal and used a broken thumbnail to scratch at the surface before nodding his head in approval.

‘I'm trying to find the man who killed her.' Killian hunkered down to the boy's level. ‘I could use the help of a brave, smart lad like yourself. If you think of anything that might help me, you can leave word at the Crown and Bull. Do you know where that is?'

‘Course I do. That's where all the toffs in London go to drink their beer, innit? They wouldn't let me in there.'

‘They will if you give them my name. Lieutenant General Killian, Duke of Covington.'

‘'Caw. You're a duke and a Lieutenant General? You ever kill someone?'

‘Only when I had to.' He wished he could have added that he'd never killed any innocents. But he fought in a war. Innocents died on both sides. They always had and always would. ‘There might be more guineas in it for you if your information helps me find my man.'

The boy carefully closed his fingers over the coin. ‘Wot will you do when you find 'em?'

‘I'll make sure he's charged for his crimes and faces judgment.'

The boy glanced behind him again, then broke into a cheeky grin, displaying a prominent gap in his front teeth. ‘I think I'll help that lady instead.' Killian followed the boy's gaze in the deepening shadows of early evening as Miss Simmons emerged from the doorway. ‘She says she'll kill 'em. 'Ooever he is, he deserves to die, don't he? For murdering my sister.'

Hannah missed her dagger profoundly. Thankfully, she had a pistol strapped to her thigh, a replacement dagger on the other side, another blade in her left pocket, and several throwing knives secured to various parts of her body. One did not come to Bethnal Green of an evening without appropriate accessories.

Still, it wouldn't pay to dally. Sarah Bright's parents had given Hannah much to ponder, and she needed to speak with Philippa. This could alter the course of their inquiry.

Sarah had been a shining success story in the Bright family's impoverished lives. She was fifteen when she got her job at Lord Bradford's and seventeen when the dockworker found her body in a casket in the shipping yard. Scratch marks on the inside of the coffin indicated Sarah was alive when the monster put her inside.

Sarah's parents didn't expect justice for their daughter. But her brother, a boy of nine, with ancient eyes and the gap-toothed smile of a cherub, made Hannah promise to exact vengeance on Sarah's killer right before he scurried out the front door.

‘And how the bloody hell am I going to do that?' Hannah questioned aloud as she pulled her cloak tight against the damp cold.

Early evening had quickly shifted into full darkness. Hannah would have to walk twenty minutes west towards St Paul's Cathedral before she had any hope of finding a hackney cab. Quickening her pace, she shifted her gaze from the street to the shadowed alleys. The hair raised on the back of her neck. She was being followed.

She had spotted the gentleman when exiting the courtyard of Sarah Bright's house. He matched her pace as she clipped past another alleyway in her leather boots. Hannah rolled her shoulders back and reached into the clever slit sewn into her skirts. She could easily reach the pistol holstered against her thigh. It was primed and ready.

Five men emerged from the shadows in front of her, complicating an already less than ideal situation.

‘Drat.' Six men in total. She would have to fight fast and dirty. The chances of her dress being irrevocably soiled were high. She liked this dress. It was a pity.

‘What's a quality piece of muff like you doing down 'ere?' The leader established himself by taking a point position. His four friends spanned out behind him.

Hannah would eliminate him first. Hopefully, the others would be discouraged from further mischief if their leader went down hard.

‘Minding my own business, sir. I would encourage you gentlemen to do the same.'

‘Oi lads, she's got a mouth on 'er, this one. I like my ladies with a bit of fight in 'em. Makes the whole thing more fun.' The leader's hand snaked down to his crotch where he rubbed himself. One of the men behind him laughed, a high-pitched giggle that skated cold fingers down Hannah's spine.

‘You won't like the way I fight, sir.' Hannah wrapped her fingers around her weapon. She cocked the pistol in its leather holster and gauged the distance between herself and the leader.

He grinned at her, his stained and broken teeth barely visible in the moonlight.

‘Leave summink for us.' The bruiser behind him shouted to a chorus of male laughter.

The leader took a step closer.

‘I think it best you turn around and leave, sir. This is the only warning I'll give you.' Hannah narrowed her gaze. Fear wanted to run riot, but she clamped down on the useless emotion, focusing instead on things she could control. Her breathing. Her finger resting on the trigger. Her body position. She slid her leg back, widening her stance and increasing her balance.

The man spat into the street. ‘That's rich, that is. A little piece of fluff like you warning us? Hah!'

‘Have it your way.' Hannah pulled the pistol from her skirt and fired it, aiming low. The loud report echoed in the night. A puff of smoke erupted, filling her nose with the acrid scent of gunpowder.

The man spasmed and shrieked before collapsing in a bloody heap. The bruiser directly behind him swore loudly.

‘Really, gentlemen. There's no need for such language.' Hannah quickly tucked her gun away in her skirts and retrieved her dagger from her pocket.

It was a shame there was no easy place for a woman to hide a sword. Using a short blade required drawing the enemy in for close combat. These men smelled foul from a distance. She doubted their scent would improve with proximity.

Hannah flicked her gaze to the fallen man before eyeing the remaining four in front of her. ‘Your fearless leader seems to have taken a turn for the worse. Might I invite you to dissipate, or do you need further encouragement?' She wielded the dagger and flashed her teeth in a vicious smile.

‘Caw blimey, she killed 'im.' The bruiser edged forward and nudged his leader with a scuffed boot.

The leader, who was now bleeding into the street, groaned.

Hannah cocked her head to get a better look. Her bullet had found its mark, right between his legs. ‘Doubtful. I hit nothing vital. As long as he doesn't bleed out, and there's no infection, he'll likely recover. Shall we bid each other good night?' Hannah kept her voice calm.

‘I rather think you gentlemen should take her advice.' The gravelled voice behind her sent shivers of recognition through Hannah's system.

The Duke of Covington.

‘Blast and bother,' she muttered.

What on earth was he doing in Bethnal Green? And why was he following her? Had she known it was him, she would have handled the five idiots in front of her differently. She certainly wouldn't have displayed her skills so boldly. This was exactly what she wanted to avoid. A ripple of irritation washed over her. What was it about him that had her constantly making mistakes?

She should let the Lieutenant General take the lead. Fall back and be the damsel in distress. But everything in her recoiled at the thought. Hopefully, he would stay out of her way. Knowing men, it wasn't likely. Hannah exhaled loudly.

The murky light afforded by the moon illuminated the remaining men. Bruiser One and Bruiser Two had the broad shoulders and lean build of actual fighters. Fat Man was more mass than muscle, and Skinny Man was thin enough to make Hannah wince.

Bruiser One strode forward. ‘I reckon we can take this piece of skirt and her poncy friend, eh boys?'

Hannah registered the singular sound of metal scraping free from leather. Lord Killian had drawn his sword. Awfully kind of him, even if his chivalry was unnecessary.

‘Stay back, Miss Simmons. I will protect you.'

Hannah stifled a laugh. She didn't take orders from anyone. Except Philippa, of course. And the Queen.

With a grunt of command from the new leader, the would-be assailants surged forward. Hannah sighed. Men could be so predictably stupid.

Instead of retreating as she should have done, Hannah attacked. Bruiser One had no time to react. She rushed forward, swiping low with her blade, slashing across his thigh, severing muscle and tendon. She spun and sliced again where his arm met his body. He bellowed like a wounded bull and landed hard on the dirty cobbles, his leg and arm rendered useless.

She glanced at the duke, but instead of fighting, he was staring at her, his mouth parted, eyes wide.

‘Where did you learn to fight like that?' His rough voice made her shiver. Something inside of her unfurled like a flower in sunlight.

Dear God, am I preening in front of him? Stop it this instant!

But she couldn't help herself. Hannah shrugged. ‘Oh, you know. Here and there.' She listened to the footsteps of Bruiser Two as he circled to her left but kept her gaze on Lord Killian. ‘Behind you.'

The duke spun around and used the hilt of his sword as a cudgel, crashing it against Fat Man's temple. Fat Man fell onto the wet street with a massive slap of flesh against stone.

Hannah turned her attention to Bruiser Two. With a flick of her wrist, her throwing knife rested in her palm. She flung it before he could lunge forward. It lodged neatly in his left eye. Bruiser Two screamed in horror. He fell to the dirty cobblestones, clawing at the metal.

Skinny Man looked at his fallen comrade then back to her.

‘Bloody 'ell.' He took a halting step backward.

‘I did warn you.' Hannah held the dagger in front of her and smiled again, brushing a stray curl from her eyes with her free hand.

The idiot lowered his head and charged like a bull. Hannah held still until he was almost upon her. Lord Killian shouted a warning just as she crouched low. Skinny Man's knees crashed into her shoulder. She pushed up. Using his momentum and her strength, she toppled the bastard over. He landed flat on his back with an explosion of air. Hannah leapt on him, her dagger to his throat.

‘Why do men never listen?' she asked, pressing the blade against his neck hard enough to draw blood. Skinny Man's eyes widened, and a tear tracked down his filthy face.

‘Please, don't,' he wheezed.

Hannah glanced over her shoulder. Surely the duke would be repulsed by such a brutal display of violence from a woman. Lord Killian stood frozen, his sword at the ready. But it wasn't revulsion flashing in his eyes. And that shouldn't fill her with pride. She returned her gaze to the wretched man beneath her. ‘The next time a woman issues a warning… pay attention.' She stood and stepped away. ‘Leave. Now.'

Skinny Man scrambled to his feet, his hand pressing against the shallow wound on his throat.

Before he could run away, Hannah called out to him. ‘Wait!'

Skinny Man turned, his face twisted with fear and shame.

She reached into her purse and pulled out a coin. ‘Take this, and get some food in your belly, for goodness' sake.'

Lord Killian and Skinny Man gave her twin stares of astonishment. Hannah shook her head in exasperation and strode over to the man, pressing the coin in his dirty hand. He flinched away from her but pocketed the shilling before scuttling into the dark night.

‘What the bloody hell just happened?' Lord Killian looked at the four wounded men strewn about the street, moaning in various tones of distress.

‘Weren't you paying attention?' Hannah raised an eyebrow. ‘I defeated four idiots. You managed to take down one. If we're counting.' She wiped her blade over her ruined skirts. ‘We should probably follow the example of that gentleman and leave post haste.' Hannah tucked her dagger back into her pocket. ‘Damnation. These stains will never come out.' She sighed and shook her head before taking her own advice and quickly walking westward. The sound of boots striking pavement informed her Lord Killian was following close behind.

He caught up to her and gripped her arm, turning her to face him. ‘Who the devil are you?'

Hannah was caught off guard by his scent. Bergamot, leather, and soap with the faintest hint of mint.

He leaned closer. She could see the stubble on his cheek. Would it be rough against her fingers? Shocking thought. She pushed it away and ignored the flush of heat.

‘I'm Hannah Simmons, Your Grace, or did you forget? Surely not, as I distinctly recall you saying you never forget anything.' Hannah tried shaking free of his grip, but it only tightened. ‘I'm in a bit of a rush, sir. It's not safe for a lady to be on these streets after dark, or so I've been told.' Her bravado had been yet another mistake. Why in the blazes did she feel a need to show off in front of this man?

Lord Killian leaned even closer, the warmth of his body seeping through her layers of clothing. His gaze caught on the scar along her left cheek before lowering to her lips.

‘As a gentleman, I'm duty-bound to accompany you safely home, Miss Simmons.' He stepped back and gallantly offered his arm.

Hannah froze. When presented with numerous scoundrels intent on bodily harm, she knew exactly how to react. But a gentleman offering her his arm? She was confounded.

‘I don't think so, sir. I am far safer on my own.' With that, she swirled and walked briskly away, not looking behind her to see if he followed.