Notorious Pleasures (Maiden Lane #2)(106)

He sank to his knees, there in her room on the carpet that was worn in spots, and said the first thing that popped into his mind. “Please marry me, Lavinia.”


“YOU LOOK LIKE you’ve died, been buried for three days, and then been dug up,” Deedle greeted Griffin cordially that evening in St. Giles. Deedle tilted his head and took a closer look. “And been to ’ell in the meantime, too.”

“Thank you, I have,” Griffin growled as he filled a nosebag for Rambler.

He’d not sufficiently trusted any of the men at the still to put them in charge, so he’d been forced to press Deedle into service. His valet stood, armed like a buccaneer, two pistols in his belt and a sword as well. Griffin looked up at the sky. The day was fleeing fast as night cast long shadows in St. Giles.

Deedle pushed his tongue through the hole in the front of his teeth. “What’s ’appened to you, m’lord?”

Griffin shook his head, then stopped as it throbbed in warning. “Nothing to worry yourself over.”

Deedle snorted. “If you say so.”

“Take it or leave it, I don’t give a damn.” Griffin strode into the dim interior of the still warehouse. He hadn’t the patience to argue semantics with Deedle this evening.

“Then I’ll leave it,” Deedle said, skipping to keep up with him.

“What’s happened since I was here last?” Griffin asked.

Deedle sighed. “We’ve lost two more men overnight. That brings us to five, not including we two.”

“You doubled their pay again?”

Deedle nodded. “Just like you said to. Didn’t keep those two fellows from doin’ a runner.”

“I don’t suppose it matters much anymore anyway,” Griffin said. He watched dispassionately as his remaining men filled oaken barrels with gin. “The whole thing’ll be over after tonight.”

Deedle came around to face him. “Then it’s tonight?”

“Yes.” Griffin gazed at the big copper kettles, the barrels of waiting gin, the fires, and the huge warehouse itself. Everything he and Nick had worked so hard to build. “Yes, tonight.”

“Jesus,” Deedle breathed. “Are you sure? We’ve less than a dozen men and not all the supplies you wanted. M’lord, it’ll be near suicide.”

Griffin stared back at Deedle, his gaze level, his head pounding, his mouth tasting of blood and bile. He’d lost Hero, would lose his mother to London, never had a chance of reconciling with Thomas in the first place, and Nick, his dear friend, was dead and buried. The bloody still was the last thing he had left in London.

“Tonight or never. I’m not waiting any longer. I want this over with.” He turned and picked up one of the wicked-looking swords his men used and then glared back at Deedle. “Are you with me or not?”

Deedle swallowed and gripped his pistol. “Aye, m’lord, I am.”





Chapter Eighteen





Tears filled Queen Ravenhair’s eyes at the simplicity and beauty of the tiny mirror’s message.

She held the bird in the hollow of her palms. “What shall I do?” she whispered into the downy feathers. “Who shall I take as husband?”

She let the bird go and he flew away. But instead of disappearing for the night as usual, it was back again within minutes. It alighted and opened its beak to sing.

Let the heart of the heart decide….

—from Queen Ravenhair



“ ’E’s cornered,” Freddy said with satisfaction that evening. “Reading won’t be getting out of this one alive, I’m thinking. ’E’s lost Nick Barnes and most of ’is men have deserted ’im.”

Charlie nodded, listening with one ear to the click of the dice in his fingers and with the other for any sound overhead. “Our informant has told Wakefield where Reading’s still is?”

“Told ’im and is leading ’im to Reading’s still as we speak,” Freddy said. So great was his glee that he almost looked Charlie full in the face.

Almost, but not quite.

Charlie spilled the dice to the table. Two aces. Deuce. For a moment he stared, mesmerized by the ill omen. Deuce could foretell death, but whose—his enemy’s or his own… or perhaps the woman who lay above?

“We’ll draw him out,” Charlie whispered, still mesmerized by the unlucky dice throw. “Draw him out, kill him, and fire the still.”


THE SKY WAS turning gray as Hero climbed from her carriage at the edge of St. Giles.

“I don’t like this, my lady,” George the footman said. He hoisted a lantern and fingered one of the pistols she’d given him.