“Please. Don’t say anything more.” She collected her candle, and glanced back at him. “Did . . . did you determine Weasel’s whereabouts today?”
He nodded. “We did. We have made arrangements to meet with him tomorrow.”
“You . . . you will be careful?”
He stared at her, then gave her a heart-wrenching smile. “I will. I have much to live for. Painting lessons.” His humor fled, and his eyes roved over her features. “I promise, I will never let anyone take me away from you or you from me.”
She bit her lip, the familiar flush of pleasure burning her cheeks.
If a woman could not hear words of love, those were close.
It should be enough for most women, but Julia was not most women. She was older and wiser, and she craved what she was willing to give to him. Love.
Everything.
That is, unless she had to send him to America to keep him safe.
She shuddered at the thought, could only trust in him to keep his word and never, ever leave her.
Chapter Twenty-one
THE worst areas of London were located in the rookeries of St. Giles and Seven Dials, but it was wise to avoid venturing east into the territory along the docks that bypassed the Tower of London. It crossed into another slum area housing nothing but poverty and misery. As they walked in that direction, Daniel could only hope that Robbie hadn’t agreed to meet the elusive Weasel any farther east.
His senses alert, he forbade his thoughts to detour to far more pleasurable sights of Julia. Good lord, she was passionate. When he did not fear his neck being slashed and his body dumped into the Thames, he planned to relish the prior evening at his leisure, when he had time to savor her every touch, taste, and response.
He sidestepped another pile of refuse, nearly gagging on the rank stench of raw sewage from the Thames. His eyes sought out Brett, who strode ahead, and then behind him to Robbie, tight-lipped and grim faced. All three of them carried canes, which could be wielded as a weapon. Robbie had a revolver and had vowed to use it if they were waylaid again, not wasting time with fists when a bullet settled the matter more quickly.
The Devil’s Lair was an apt name for the pub, for only those destined for hell would willingly set foot in the dark, dank tavern. The stench of unwashed men, sweat, and stale gin assailed him. With the end of two wars, the new congregating place for returning veterans was the taverns. Too many drank their days away as the population in the city exploded with their return, the surplus of labor leading to a scarcity of jobs. This then led to the competition with workers outside of London, which Mabry had lamented.
Daniel surmised that it wouldn’t be too long before the empire found another conflict to rid itself of its surfeit of able-bodied men and ease the strain on the economy. Shaking his head at the sad state of affairs, he followed Robbie down the length of the tavern. His mammoth frame, like the prow of a ship, cleaved a path through the press of men. Daniel and Brett followed in his wake before the opening closed behind him.
Robbie must have arranged a designated meeting spot, for he ignored the seedy occupants and kept on a straight course to the rear of the bar.
They stopped before a brass-studded oak door, and Robbie gave it three hard taps. The door cracked open a mere slit.
“Ye be late. Will cost ye.”
“And you’re wasting my time and that will cost you,” Robbie snarled. “You have him?”
The door opened without further comment, and a rail-thin man ushered them in with a flick of his wrist and then disappeared.
The room was lit by a cheap rushlight and held a battered desk and two spindle-legged chairs. Daniel’s gaze immediately locked on the man behind the desk. Weasel.
His wiry frame was hunched over, a sullen expression pinching gaunt features. Straggly yellow hair drooped over his brow and into his eyes. Daniel followed the three-fingered hand that brushed the hairs aside. He swallowed at the sight of the scarred-over stubs.
Weasel’s eyes flared as they drank in his features, obviously recognizing the resemblance to his brother. Weasel slunk lower in his seat. “Don’t know why I’m here.” He jerked his head toward Robbie. “A bloke can’t be dragged ’gainst his bloody will. I’s got me rights,” he whined.
“You will be free to go momentarily,” Robbie sighed. “As I have promised you. You will also be compensated for your time, which you did agree to give.”
“I mighten ’ave, but I mighten ’ave changed me mind.” A cagey look entered his eyes, and he tipped his head to the side, as if sizing Daniel up. “Perhaps a bit more blunt mighten change it back.”
Wordlessly, Daniel extracted a sovereign from his jacket pocket and slapped it into Weasel’s hand. “I am not my brother, you will not be mistreated here. I just need to ask a few questions.” The thought did occur to him that if Weasel could be so easily bought, he was not to be trusted.