Eleanor shifted her feet. “If all is well, I should return home.”
Franklin gave an odd hum. “I would have expected to see Mr Gibbs. Does he know you’ve ventured out alone?”
Eleanor chuckled. “Oh, the poor man has barely slept these last few days. He had a second helping of stew and nodded off in the chair.”
“And you did not think to wake him?” Suspicion coated Franklin’s words. “I doubt he would approve of you sneaking about in the dark.”
Theo feared she would stumble, but she spoke with confidence. “He’ll be furious. I should return before he wakes. Don’t mention my midnight adventure if you speak to him.”
Unable to fight his attraction to her, Franklin stepped forward. “I’ll escort you home. The fog has settled. There’s no telling who’s lurking about out there. This street isn’t safe for a woman living alone.”
The knots in Theo’s stomach tightened. If Franklin laid a hand on her, he would gut him like a fish.
Franklin did lay a hand on her. More than one. He clasped Eleanor’s upper arms and rubbed gently. Theo would have charged at the devil were it not for Aaron tugging his coat.
“I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt, Eleanor.” Despite the intimate use of her given name, the remark carried a veiled threat. Franklin must have sensed her fear. “You’re afraid of me.”
“Afraid? No, I’m not,” she said in a playful tone.
“You flinched when I touched you.”
“Because you’re not usually so familiar.”
“You’re lying. You looked over my shoulder as if you’d seen someone inside the shop. How long were you lingering outside?”
Wrotham didn’t give her time to answer. He suspected she had come to spy and called to Franklin. “Bring her here. Don’t let her feminine wiles sway you. We cannot afford a mistake.”
Franklin froze and muttered, “I’ve hurt one woman. I’ll not hurt another.” He bowed his head. “Run, Eleanor. Go, before it’s too late.” When Eleanor failed to move, Franklin said, “I am escorting Miss Darrow home. We will continue this conversation when I return.”
Wrotham appeared in the darkness, a few feet behind Franklin. “If you leave, I’ll expect your full co-operation. You’ll fulfil one more order.” A mocking chuckle escaped him. “Women are your weakness, not mine.”
Wrotham sounded like a seasoned criminal, not a dandy whose valet dressed him each morning. Unlike London’s most dangerous rogues, his lackey wasn’t afraid of him. They had reached a stalemate.
Theo’s heart pounded in his chest.
One snap decision, and Franklin could break Eleanor’s neck. Indeed, he stared at her as if in a trance, unsure what to do.
“You’ll dangle from the scaffold if you fail to deal with her,” Wrotham’s bitter voice echoed from the darkness. “End it now. I’ll take care of things. I shall be the one to tell my cousin his betrothed has met her maker.”
Eleanor gasped when Franklin firmed his grip. He snarled at her like a blood-thirsty beast, anger bloating his cheeks. “You should have stayed at home, Miss Darrow.”
Unable to wait or risk losing her, Theo stepped out from behind the tall cupboard and met Franklin’s gaze. “Release her,” he muttered.
Recognition dawned in Franklin’s eyes, but he did not raise his hands and surrender. “I’ll not let that bastard escape unpunished.” Fury built inside him, his shoulders rising, his chest expanding. A growl escaped him as he turned on his heel and charged at Wrotham.
Chaos erupted.
Daventry burst in through the front door.
Theo raced to Eleanor and pulled her into his arms.
Aaron charged to Daventry’s side while Franklin punched Wrotham to the floor and smacked his head repeatedly on the wooden boards.
Another fight ensued when Aaron dragged Franklin away. One punch from Aaron’s fist left the silversmith unconscious.
For lengthy seconds, no one moved, only breathed.
“Cole, fetch a doctor for Lord Wrotham,” Daventry said to his agent. “Hurry. And fetch Harper from The Morning Post. He lives at 7 Fleet Street, a minute’s walk from here. I’ll not have Wrotham worm his way out of this.”
“I’ll fetch Harper,” Aramis said.
While Theo consoled Eleanor, Aaron checked Wrotham’s pulse. Blood circled his head in a crimson halo. His lip was cut, his eye bruised.
“Make sure Harper knows he happened to be walking by.” Daventry crouched, opened the leather valise and examined the metal plates. “There are five here, all for different banks. One for the Bristol Bank, another for Attwood and Spooner.”
“How much did you hear?” Theo asked.
“Enough to make a statement saying Wrotham was blackmailing the silversmith to commit bank fraud. Franklin will hang, of course. He was hardly an innocent party.”
“Mr Franklin hurt his sister,” Eleanor said, wrapping her arms around Theo’s waist. “I believe he hit her with a blunt object. She will need a doctor, too. I doubt her brother sent for one.”
When the doctor arrived, Daventry’s agent went to find a constable and summon the Home Secretary. The journalist from The Morning Post arrived, half-dressed and breathless. He looked over the scene, spoke to Daventry and left.
It was six in the morning when they left the premises. Franklin was arrested, and his sister taken to the infirmary. Wrotham was stretchered to the doctor’s home, though it was doubtful he would make a recovery. They’d all given their statements and were warned by the Home Secretary to keep this sorry business to themselves.
Theo faced Eleanor, draping his coat around her shoulders. “If you’ve no objection, I shall remain here with you.” He stroked her cheek, marvelling at the softness of her skin. “I suspect we’ll both sleep past noon.”
He could spend his life with her in bed.
