the ransom is negotiated. Got to have someone who can read and write for that, don’t you?” He shook his head. “Not worth it, not at all. Too many risks and loose ends to make it worth the time.”
“So it would make sense that someone with a personal interest in the boy or in Lady Mercer was responsible,” Hil concluded logically. “She gave no indication that sheknew the kidnapper?”
Roger shook his head. “No, not in words. Like I said, it was just a feeling I had.”
“Anything else you can give me?” Wiley asked. “I know quite a few people who would take a job like that if they could hand the boy off when it was done. A snatch and grab, no trouble with feeding and caring for a mewling brat.” He nodded decisively. “Plenty who’d do that for the blunt.”
“He had facial hair.” Roger strained to remember what he’d seen before the man turned and ran away from him. “Heavy mustache”—he outlined what he meant—“and lighter beard. Dark, I think brown.”
“That it? All you’ve got?” Wiley asked. He walked over and poured himself a glass of Hil’s scotch. Hil made no protest.
Roger nodded. “That’s it. I was across the park when I saw him from the front. After that I was chasing him. He had no limp or other deformity that I could see. You think you can help find him?” He looked at both Hil and Wiley when he asked. Both of them had connections in the underworld, on different sides of the law.
Wiley made a face and wagged his head from side to side as if considering Roger’s question. “Probably.” He threw back his drink, and Roger winced at the abuse of fine scotch in such a fashion. “All right, then. Better than nothing. I’ll ask around.” He slammed the empty glass down on the table. “I’m off.” Without another word, he turned and marched out.
Roger was rather taken aback. “Well, that was abrupt.”
Hil shrugged. “He’s feeling the bars of the cage.” Hil spun his glass meditatively on the arm of his chair. “Part of him wants to return to the life he’s always known, andpart of him is beginning to see the advantages of rising above his upbringing and accepting the opportunity I’m offering. He’ll make the right decision. The fact that he’s returning to the streets to try to help you find the man who attacked the boy in the park says quite a bit, I think. And I will check with Mr. Vickery at Bow Street.”
“Why are you so determined to reform the boy?”
Hil just gave him that damned enigmatic grin of his. “I’m a saint. I collect only the best sinners, like fine antiquities.”
“Shall I move out of my room and just go and sit in one of your cupboards, then?” Roger joked.
Hil shook his head. “Hide you away? Oh, no. You are one of my prize acquisitions. A Devil that won’t be tempted.”
Chapter Nine
“Why are we here?” Roger asked again. He loathed Rotten Row, but Harry wanted the very first thing they did together as lovers to be riding through Hyde Park under the watchful eyes of the fashionable elite. Roger had a rather long list of things he’d rather do with Harry now that he was her lover, but most of them were forbidden by his own design. Not for the first time since making that decision, Roger had second, and third, and fourth thoughts about it. Not consummating this relationship with Harry was going to be the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life. Or not done. Surely this would either earn him a place in heaven, or drive him hellishly mad.
Riding his horse or driving a carriage at a sedate pace was anathema to him. He was an excellent rider and a better driver. If he had the means, he’d try for the Four-in-Hand Club. But God knows he couldn’t afford a barouche or matched bays, and that group of drivers was very particular about both, as well as requiring a uniform that, to be honest, he wasn’t that fond of. He thought he’d look ridiculous in a blue waistcoat with yellow stripes and rosettes on his breeches.
“So it would make sense that someone with a personal interest in the boy or in Lady Mercer was responsible,” Hil concluded logically. “She gave no indication that sheknew the kidnapper?”
Roger shook his head. “No, not in words. Like I said, it was just a feeling I had.”
“Anything else you can give me?” Wiley asked. “I know quite a few people who would take a job like that if they could hand the boy off when it was done. A snatch and grab, no trouble with feeding and caring for a mewling brat.” He nodded decisively. “Plenty who’d do that for the blunt.”
“He had facial hair.” Roger strained to remember what he’d seen before the man turned and ran away from him. “Heavy mustache”—he outlined what he meant—“and lighter beard. Dark, I think brown.”
“That it? All you’ve got?” Wiley asked. He walked over and poured himself a glass of Hil’s scotch. Hil made no protest.
Roger nodded. “That’s it. I was across the park when I saw him from the front. After that I was chasing him. He had no limp or other deformity that I could see. You think you can help find him?” He looked at both Hil and Wiley when he asked. Both of them had connections in the underworld, on different sides of the law.
Wiley made a face and wagged his head from side to side as if considering Roger’s question. “Probably.” He threw back his drink, and Roger winced at the abuse of fine scotch in such a fashion. “All right, then. Better than nothing. I’ll ask around.” He slammed the empty glass down on the table. “I’m off.” Without another word, he turned and marched out.
Roger was rather taken aback. “Well, that was abrupt.”
Hil shrugged. “He’s feeling the bars of the cage.” Hil spun his glass meditatively on the arm of his chair. “Part of him wants to return to the life he’s always known, andpart of him is beginning to see the advantages of rising above his upbringing and accepting the opportunity I’m offering. He’ll make the right decision. The fact that he’s returning to the streets to try to help you find the man who attacked the boy in the park says quite a bit, I think. And I will check with Mr. Vickery at Bow Street.”
“Why are you so determined to reform the boy?”
Hil just gave him that damned enigmatic grin of his. “I’m a saint. I collect only the best sinners, like fine antiquities.”
“Shall I move out of my room and just go and sit in one of your cupboards, then?” Roger joked.
Hil shook his head. “Hide you away? Oh, no. You are one of my prize acquisitions. A Devil that won’t be tempted.”
Chapter Nine
“Why are we here?” Roger asked again. He loathed Rotten Row, but Harry wanted the very first thing they did together as lovers to be riding through Hyde Park under the watchful eyes of the fashionable elite. Roger had a rather long list of things he’d rather do with Harry now that he was her lover, but most of them were forbidden by his own design. Not for the first time since making that decision, Roger had second, and third, and fourth thoughts about it. Not consummating this relationship with Harry was going to be the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life. Or not done. Surely this would either earn him a place in heaven, or drive him hellishly mad.
Riding his horse or driving a carriage at a sedate pace was anathema to him. He was an excellent rider and a better driver. If he had the means, he’d try for the Four-in-Hand Club. But God knows he couldn’t afford a barouche or matched bays, and that group of drivers was very particular about both, as well as requiring a uniform that, to be honest, he wasn’t that fond of. He thought he’d look ridiculous in a blue waistcoat with yellow stripes and rosettes on his breeches.
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