snapped Connor. He immediately regretted the show of sarcasm on seeing the look of confusion on the hulking Highlander’s face. Normally he did not stoop to venting his spleen on subordinates. “If you wish to spout off gruesome details, you might at least try to discover something that might help us in tracking down the scurvy weasels who attacked the wagon.”
“Aye, sir.” The man rubbed at his flattened nose. “Rufus is on his way to the Badger’s burrow. Some of his lads who lift tickers from the gents in Covent Garden come home about that time. One of them might have seen something.”
“Perhaps.” The earl made a face. “But their memory usually requires a certain amount of jiggling before the picture becomes clear. At the moment I lack a sufficent amount of coins to do the trick.
“Don’t you fret about that, sir. The Wolf’s Lair ain’t been stripped of all its treasures.” The other man’s grin revealed a number of ominous gaps where the teeth had gone missing. “The girls are offering a free poke to anyone what can supply information leading to the capture of them bastards.”
“Bloody hell, that will certainly stimulate a steady stream of hyperbole.”
“Er, is that good?”
“I would not bet on it.” A conversation with one of his ex-pugilists usually provided a note of comic relief, but at present Connor was in no laughing mood. “Why don’t you toddle around to The Great Gabriel and see if any of his Avenging Angels might have the grace to come clean with what they know.”
“Aye, sir.”
As soon as McTavish had stomped off, Connor forced his attention back to the various sets of notebooks and ledgers arranged on the desk. From the roll of the ivories to the tumblings of the lasses, he was going over every record of the last six months with a fine-tooth comb, looking for any clue as to who might have a grudge.
So far, the search had turned up nothing, save for a few elementary mistakes in addition and subtraction.
He skipped over any equation involving simple division, needing no reminder of fractions. The concept of “half” was not a particularly edifying one at the moment.
“Damn Gryff,” he muttered aloud. If the curse were multiplied by the number of times he had said it each hour…
“M’lord, and exalted scion of County Kerry.” O’Toole added a knock for good measure.
“Don’t bother me,” growled Connor. “Not unless the bloody place is on fire.”
“Things are likely to get a bit hot around here, but not on account of coals or conflagration.”
“Stubble the Hibernian histrionics, if you don’t mind, and get to the point.”
Folding his hands behind his back, the Irishman heaved a lugubrious sigh. “There is a visitor to see you, milord.”
“Send him away.”
“I’m afraid that is beyond my power.”
“Is that so? Well, be advised that it is not beyond my power to boot your emerald arse from here to Dublin if you don’t.” The earl swatted at one of the pages. “Given the present precarious state of the Lair’s finances, we may all be seeking new employment opportunities, whether it be here or abroad.”
“I was not being impertinent, sir.” O’Toole gave an aggrieved sniff. “Merely truthful. Seeing as the ‘he’ is a—”
“She,” finished Alexa. Unknotting the strings of her bonnet, she dropped it in the outstretched hands of the Irishman, who for once appeared bereft of speech. A moment later it was joined by a heavy pelisse of charcoal gray napped wool. “Now, if you don’t mind, the earl and I have business to discuss in private.”
Taking his cue with a good deal more speed than he usually showed, O’Toole backed out of the room and drew the door shut.
Connor watched as she crossed the carpet in several measured strides, kicking up an enticing little swirl of shimmering indigo silk and frothy cream lace. Dragging his gaze away from the sight, he drew in a sharp breath, only to find himself distracted by the
“Aye, sir.” The man rubbed at his flattened nose. “Rufus is on his way to the Badger’s burrow. Some of his lads who lift tickers from the gents in Covent Garden come home about that time. One of them might have seen something.”
“Perhaps.” The earl made a face. “But their memory usually requires a certain amount of jiggling before the picture becomes clear. At the moment I lack a sufficent amount of coins to do the trick.
“Don’t you fret about that, sir. The Wolf’s Lair ain’t been stripped of all its treasures.” The other man’s grin revealed a number of ominous gaps where the teeth had gone missing. “The girls are offering a free poke to anyone what can supply information leading to the capture of them bastards.”
“Bloody hell, that will certainly stimulate a steady stream of hyperbole.”
“Er, is that good?”
“I would not bet on it.” A conversation with one of his ex-pugilists usually provided a note of comic relief, but at present Connor was in no laughing mood. “Why don’t you toddle around to The Great Gabriel and see if any of his Avenging Angels might have the grace to come clean with what they know.”
“Aye, sir.”
As soon as McTavish had stomped off, Connor forced his attention back to the various sets of notebooks and ledgers arranged on the desk. From the roll of the ivories to the tumblings of the lasses, he was going over every record of the last six months with a fine-tooth comb, looking for any clue as to who might have a grudge.
So far, the search had turned up nothing, save for a few elementary mistakes in addition and subtraction.
He skipped over any equation involving simple division, needing no reminder of fractions. The concept of “half” was not a particularly edifying one at the moment.
“Damn Gryff,” he muttered aloud. If the curse were multiplied by the number of times he had said it each hour…
“M’lord, and exalted scion of County Kerry.” O’Toole added a knock for good measure.
“Don’t bother me,” growled Connor. “Not unless the bloody place is on fire.”
“Things are likely to get a bit hot around here, but not on account of coals or conflagration.”
“Stubble the Hibernian histrionics, if you don’t mind, and get to the point.”
Folding his hands behind his back, the Irishman heaved a lugubrious sigh. “There is a visitor to see you, milord.”
“Send him away.”
“I’m afraid that is beyond my power.”
“Is that so? Well, be advised that it is not beyond my power to boot your emerald arse from here to Dublin if you don’t.” The earl swatted at one of the pages. “Given the present precarious state of the Lair’s finances, we may all be seeking new employment opportunities, whether it be here or abroad.”
“I was not being impertinent, sir.” O’Toole gave an aggrieved sniff. “Merely truthful. Seeing as the ‘he’ is a—”
“She,” finished Alexa. Unknotting the strings of her bonnet, she dropped it in the outstretched hands of the Irishman, who for once appeared bereft of speech. A moment later it was joined by a heavy pelisse of charcoal gray napped wool. “Now, if you don’t mind, the earl and I have business to discuss in private.”
Taking his cue with a good deal more speed than he usually showed, O’Toole backed out of the room and drew the door shut.
Connor watched as she crossed the carpet in several measured strides, kicking up an enticing little swirl of shimmering indigo silk and frothy cream lace. Dragging his gaze away from the sight, he drew in a sharp breath, only to find himself distracted by the
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