To Tempt the Devil (A Novel of Lord Hawkesbury's Players) (9 page)

But Gripp nodded and said, “If Mistress Blakewell’s play is as clean as you claim, I will not stand in its way. Sir Robert would have my head if I did.”

Lizzy rocked on her heels and gaped at Gripp. “Thank you, Mr. Gripp, I appreciate you listening to me.”

Rafe followed her out of the office, leaving Gripp behind. “The Crown should employ you in a diplomatic role,” he said as they walked beneath the gate’s arch. “England might become the most powerful nation in the world if you were let loose on our enemies.”

She bit her lip, suppressing what he assumed was a smile, but it didn’t suppress the light in her eyes. They danced with happiness.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he said.

“What?”

“Stop yourself smiling or laughing.”

Her eyes shadowed. “Oh.”

Bollocks. He’d said something wrong. Again. It seemed he couldn’t say the right thing around Lizzy. She must think him a thug compared to the actors, and beside Hughe he certainly must seem dull. It had been obvious that she’d liked Hughe, but then women usually did. It had never bothered Rafe before, however.

Perhaps it was because her shyness had only lasted a few minutes in Hughe’s company, whereas Rafe had been with her for hours and she’d hardly spoken a word to him directly.

He paused at the gatehouse and scanned the vicinity. Dozens of people walked past, going about their business. Only one was the same height and size as Barker, but the cloaked and hooded figure disappeared around a corner before he could be certain. Rafe kept close to Lizzy and checked and rechecked their surroundings. He spotted the man again when they
reached Newgate. He kept to the shadows, walked with the crowd, and used all the same techniques to look inconspicuous as Rafe would.

Definitely Barker.

Time to flush him out.

Rafe told Lizzy to go ahead without him. He couldn’t pretend that her obvious relief didn’t deflate him somewhat. It seemed she didn’t want his company nearly as much as he wanted hers.

“Thank you for accompanying me,” she said.

“No need to thank me. You did all the hard work yourself.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps your presence was sufficient to convince him I was right.”

Great. Wonderful. So he was useful when it came to frightening people, just not interesting enough to have a conversation with.

He watched her until she was through Newgate’s arch, then he wandered into a nearby alley and waited. And waited. Barker didn’t join him.

Strange. Barker never slunk away from a confrontation. He liked to state his case and fight. The fact he didn’t only confirmed what Hughe had said—Barker would find a way to hurt Rafe using those he cared about. Thank God Lizzy was gone. Even so, Rafe would follow her, keeping his distance until she reached the tiring house safely.

But the question remained: Had Barker followed them all the way out to the priory without Rafe noticing? Possible, since he’d been distracted by the way Lizzy responded to Hughe’s flirting. Rafe should have told him she was almost engaged to wed James, only he hadn’t thought about it at the time.

He seemed to be losing his wits. Ever since Lizzy’s mouth had beckoned him for a kiss over her kitchen table, he couldn’t
think clearly. There’d been a smokiness in those big doe eyes, and for a brief moment he almost believed she desired him more than she feared him. But that was—

Bloody hell. She was doing it again and she wasn’t even there.

He was a terrible brother.

“Walter Gripp isn’t going to hold up any more of our plays!” Lizzy announced upon entering the tiring house.

Edward looked up from the prompt book. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I just went to see him and told him Sir Robert Blakewell would be most unhappy to have Min’s plays banned, and he agreed to allow hers through. I don’t believe he’ll allow Jonson’s, however.”

“Lizzy!” Antony hugged her. “You’re a marvel.”

“God’s blood!” Freddie whooped. “
You
got him to back down?”

“I did.” She grinned. She could hardly believe it herself.
She’d
convinced Gripp to back down. Not Edward, Henry, or one of the players, not even Rafe, but
her
.

“In that case,” Henry said, crouching down to rummage through a trunk, “we all have new lines to learn.” He pulled out a stack of pages tied together with ribbon. The other players crowded around him, but not before Antony gave her another hug and Edward kissed her forehead. Even Freddie congratulated her on her achievement. Lizzy couldn’t wait to tell Roger. He’d be so pleased. Perhaps he would give her a bonus this month.

She sat down at the table, picked up the toga that needed mending, and tuned out the players’ voices as they went through their lines. It was easy to do, distracted as she was.
And she wasn’t only distracted by her achievement. Her wits had been addled ever since supper the day before. Ever since Rafe had almost kissed her. Indeed, she was so distracted, she stabbed herself twice with the needle and sewed the toga to her own skirt.

“You are a disaster today,” Antony said, pulling up a stool and sitting beside her.

“I am?”

He nodded and held up a bright marigold wig she’d forgotten to arrange. Antony was supposed to play a Roman empress that afternoon. She had so much to do before then.

“I’ll fix it after I finish this,” she said, unstitching the toga from her skirt.

Antony giggled. “Never mind, I can manage. You keep working on the toga. So, this strangeness of yours doesn’t have anything to do with that mysterious Rafe Fletcher, does it?”

“No! Of course not. Rafe is simply a neighbor, nothing more.”

“Not even the brother of the man you’re going to marry?”

“That too, of course.”

Dear James. She hadn’t thought much about him since his departure, something she must rectify now everything was returning to normal. What was he doing now? Wherever he was, she hoped he was warm and dry.

“So if it’s not the devilish Rafe, you must be deliriously happy that Gripp is no longer a threat to us.”

“He certainly isn’t a threat anymore,” said Roger Style, standing in the curtained exit leading out to the stage. “He’s dead.”

“What?” came a chorus of voices from the tiring house.

“Are you sure?” Edward asked.

“Best bloody news I’ve heard all year,” Freddie said.

“He can’t be,” Lizzy said. “I just saw him not long ago.”

Style came slowly inside. His gaze settled on her, cautious and…nervous?

Cold fingers of ice gripped her heart and squeezed. It beat once then stopped.

“How did he die?” asked Antony slowly, his gaze sliding back and forth between them.

“Murdered,” Roger said without taking his eyes off her.

“It wasn’t me,” she whispered. They all looked at her.

“The authorities don’t think so. They have a witness who says you did it.”

“A witness! That’s impossible.”

“You and that ruffian friend of yours. I hear they’re going to arrest you both.”

R
afe! She had to tell Rafe. Had to warn him.

Antony gasped. “You’ve got to get away!” He dragged her to her feet but she was already halfway up. “Now! Go!”

She threw her sewing on the table, scattering pins. Some fell onto the rushes.

“Leave them,” Henry said when she bent to pick them up. He shoved her toward the back door.

“My parents!”

“We’ll take care of them,” Edward said. “Now go!”

She ran.

“But who will get the props ready?” Roger wailed behind her. “We have a performance in less than three hours!”

“We’ll do it,” someone yelled at him.

She opened the door and barreled straight into Rafe. He held her and for one brief moment she leaned into those big, capable arms and nestled against his solid chest and felt safe. His heart beat ferociously against her cheek. They hadn’t arrested him.

Thank God
.

“You’re here,” she said between gasps.

“I wanted to check that my friend…What’s wrong?” he asked, searching her face. “Lizzy, what is it?”

“Gripp’s dead and they think we did it. They have a witness!”

He swore and glanced over his shoulder. “Then the constables will be here soon.”

“We can tell them we’re innocent,” she said, tears stinging her eyes. She blinked them back. Now was not the time for hysterics.

“They won’t believe us.”

He was right. With a witness claiming to have seen them, their case was hopeless. It wouldn’t matter if he was lying, there were many other witnesses at the Revels office who had indeed seen them speaking to Gripp that morning. No jury would think them innocent.

Rafe gripped her hand and pulled her down the steps to the street. She stumbled on the bottom one and he caught her around the waist. “I’m so sorry, Lizzy,” he said, “but we need to be fast.” He closed her hand in his and tugged her after him. “This way.”

They ran down a thin alley wedged between two crooked buildings. The deep shadows swallowed them as footsteps came closer. Rafe’s big arm flattened Lizzy against the wall and his body hid her from anyone passing. When the footsteps retreated, he took her hand again and ran. At the other end of the alley he paused, looked right and left, then turned right into another dark, narrow lane.

“Where will we go?” she asked, running alongside him. He had shortened his strides so she could keep up, something for which she was grateful.

He stopped abruptly near the alley’s exit and pulled her hard up against his body. She pressed herself into him, a solid wall of strength, and felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her cheek. He folded his arms around her, holding her there, and she reached around his waist and clung on. He kissed the top of her head and she lifted her face to look up at him. Heat smoldered in his half-closed eyes as they focused on her mouth.

Two men ran down the adjoining street and Rafe shifted, breaking contact. One of the pursuers pointed to the alley
where Lizzy and Rafe hid in the shadows. Rafe tapped her on the shoulder and pointed back the way they’d come.

They hadn’t gotten far when another two men blocked their exit. The original two advanced from behind.

Trapped.

“Stay here.” Rafe let go of her hand and she wrapped her arms around herself. He touched her cheek. “It’s all right. Don’t be afraid. There’s only four.”

Only
four!

He stepped into the middle of the alley with his hands in the air. “Let her go,” he said. “She’s innocent. I’ll face the charges.”

“Rafe!” she cried.

“Our orders are to take both of you,” one of them said. “You’re outnumbered. Don’t put up a fight and it’ll all be over with no one getting hurt.”

He was right. They had no choice. Rafe nodded and she closed her eyes and sank to the ground. It was all over. They would have to face a court and argue their innocence somehow. But at least they were still alive and unharmed.

Hot tears slid down her cheeks. What would become of her parents? Who would look after them? And James? Poor James would return to London to find her in prison, or worse…hanged for a crime she didn’t commit. His brother too.

“A good choice,” one of the constables said. “Come with—
oomph
.”

Lizzy opened her eyes. One of the men clutched at his cheek and another charged at Rafe, fists swinging. Rafe ducked and the constable careened past, off balance. He landed facedown in the earth.

The other two constables drew out swords, the whine of the metal against the leather-covered scabbard loud in the alley. A scream caught in Lizzy’s throat. She should look away but couldn’t. There was too much happening and Rafe might need her.

He drew his rapier. “I don’t want to harm you,” he said to them. “You have a job to do, I understand that.”

“Then put down your weapon,” the biggest man said.

“Can’t do that unless you promise to let her go.”

“Our orders are—”

“I know what they are. I’m telling you to forget your orders and let her go. Tell your superiors she got away from you.” As he spoke he moved in a slow circle toward them, but instead of staying still, they circled too until they were near their other two injured companions. Rafe stopped. “Well?”

“Our orders are to get both of you.”

He shook his head. “Not employed for your brains, I see.”

The big man bared his teeth, or what few he had, and lumbered toward Rafe, the other constable right behind him. Rafe parried the first strike then the second. His blade diced and jabbed in a rapid dance, forcing his opponents back into the wall. It was nothing like the choreographed fight scenes on the stage. This scene was brutal and fierce, yet with an elegance all its own in the way Rafe wielded his weapon. He was clearly a master swordsman, the rapier an extension of his arm, as natural to him as his own fingers.

He felled first one then the other constable, not fatally, only to have the first two recover and join in. Hats got crushed underfoot and the bigger of the constables was breathing hard and sweating like a fountain. Rafe didn’t look in the least tired and his pace quickened.

“I’ll give you one more chance,” he said. “Take me, leave her, and I won’t hurt you.”

“Can’t do that,” said one and lunged.

Rafe stopped the man’s blade with his own and forced it down to the ground. It became a battle of strength, which Rafe appeared to be winning until a second constable then a third came at him.

Lizzy screamed. Rafe turned, dragging his opponent with him by the front of his jerkin. He shoved him back into the two advancing constables. All three tumbled to the ground in a move that would have had the groundlings roaring with laughter if it had been performed onstage.

In the fray, they’d almost forgotten the fourth man. Cradling one arm to his chest, he lurched to his feet behind Rafe and rushed with his sword.

“Look out!” Lizzy shouted.

Rafe turned and parried the blow. Nearby, the other constables stirred. Two of their swords had been sent skittering across the ground when they fell, and landed near her. She blinked at them. Could she? No, let Rafe take care of it. Violence was his life, not hers.

One of the men groaned, stirred. He eyed her then the swords. When she didn’t move, he inched closer. Closer. If he got to one, there would be no hope. Rafe couldn’t fight them all at once. The man reached out.

Lizzy snatched the swords up and sliced through the man’s shoulder then his companion’s as he too stirred. Their shouts of pain bounced off the walls and throbbed between her ears. Her gut heaved at the sight of the oozing blood, but she quickly recovered.

She’d done it. Mousy Lizzy Croft had fought off two men.

She felt quite wild with relief. And powerful. Is that how Rafe felt after fighting off attackers? Did a kind of thrill rush through him when he performed his mercenary’s duties?

“Witch!” cried one of the constables, backing up into Rafe. His wide, terrified eyes didn’t leave hers. “No mere wench could wield a sword like that.”

Rafe disposed of his opponent with a swift kick to the stomach then dealt with the young constable, who appeared more terrified of her than him.

“You need to meet more women,” Rafe told him and punched him in the nose. The man crumpled to the ground and didn’t get up.

None of the others advanced. They were all unarmed, breathing hard, and injured. Rafe grabbed Lizzy’s forearm because she still held the swords in her hands, and together they ran out of the alley.

They wended their way through Southwark’s streets and discarded the extra swords behind a stack of empty barrels near an inn. They ran on, not stopping until they reached the busy thoroughfare of Borough High Street. It was easy to blend into the passing traffic, but Rafe kept Lizzy tucked into his side. She didn’t want to be anywhere else.

They passed the Tabard Inn’s arched entrance and stopped at the door of a tiny two-story house with a distinct lean to the left. If it wasn’t for the leather worker’s shop propping it up, it would probably fall down. The walls were a patchwork of wooden beams and the occasional brick with the spaces in between filled by daub. He removed a loose brick near the bottom and removed a key from the cavity. He unlocked the door and hustled Lizzy into a large but mostly empty room then closed the door behind him.

She sagged against the wall and gulped in air, relief and fear making her legs weak and her body tremble. And there was still that strange thrilling sensation too. She had wielded a sword to save herself. How many women could claim to have done that?

“Wait here,” he said and disappeared up the stairs. The boards creaked overhead and dust drifted down onto her bare head. She’d lost her cap some time ago and her hair tumbled around her shoulders in a tangled mess.

She’d almost caught her breath by the time he returned, and her blood had ceased pumping through her veins. Where
before she’d felt light and alive, now her limbs weighed her down.

They were being hunted for murder. The authorities thought she and Rafe had killed Gripp. There was no escaping.

“We’re alone,” he said.

Alone. With Rafe. And she couldn’t go home.

She sank to the floor, put her head on her knees, and burst into tears.

Rafe wanted to do something. He should hold her or say something reassuring or perhaps tell a joke. He did none of those things. They probably wouldn’t be welcome and he could only think of crude jokes anyway. Being holed up in one of Hughe’s properties after a fight brought them all to mind again.

He drew in a long, measured breath because his heart was still racing even though his body had stopped. It ached too, ached like the devil. That was new. It might have something to do with the scared, miserable woman sitting on the dusty floor. Her fear was palpable. He could feel it like an echo deep within him. Worse than that, there was nothing he could do to comfort her. She wouldn’t welcome his efforts—she’d made that clear in their short reacquaintance.

So he sat next to her, close but not touching, and rested the back of his head against the wall. Hopefully it would be enough.

Her sobbing eased immediately and after a few more moments she stopped crying altogether.

“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her cheeks. “I’m all right now.”

“There’s no need to apologize.”

She peered at him from behind a curtain of wavy hair the color of sun-bleached straw. There was so much of it. Why
hadn’t he noticed it before? “I don’t ordinarily crumble like that, no matter what you might think,” she said.

“I don’t think anything.” Except that she was pretty even when she’d been crying.

She gave him a wobbly smile. It was the most real one she’d given him yet. “Thank you, Rafe. For everything. If you hadn’t been there those constables would have arrested me.”

“And me. I was trying to save my own neck too.”

“I was on my way to warn you.”

He stared at her. “You were?” So she did give him more than a passing thought. Well. Of course she would. She was the kindest soul he’d ever met. She wouldn’t think twice about putting her life in danger to save another’s, even if it was the life of someone she hardly knew and didn’t particularly like. “Thank you, Lizzy.”

Her smile dimmed and she looked down at her shoes. It was difficult to tell if her face was red from embarrassment or crying. It would seem her brief moment of trusting him, of not being afraid, was over.

“What happens now?” she asked.

“Now we stay here until either the real murderer is found, or until we come up with a better plan.”

“That’s it?” She bit her lip as if she hadn’t meant for the retort to slip out.

He laughed and God, it felt good. He needed to laugh. The day hadn’t been a bad one compared to how they usually went when he was working for Hughe, but it felt far more draining. He was relieved to get Lizzy far away from those constables. Innocents like her shouldn’t be embroiled in filthy business like murder. Whoever was behind it would feel the sharp end of Rafe’s blade through his gut when he found him.

“I haven’t had time to think of anything else yet,” he said. “Maybe after I eat.” He got to his feet and held out his hand.

She hesitated then took it. Her fingers were so small in his, so fine and delicate despite the callus on the middle one from using a needle for so many years.

“Is there food?” she asked, withdrawing her hand. She made her way through the hall to the kitchen. It was small, smaller than the one at his house, and contained only one stool, a table, and a few cooking utensils hanging from hooks. A tinderbox beside the fireplace at least had flint stones and dry tinder. They checked the adjoining storeroom but it was empty except for a grain sack with its contents oozing from a hole.

“Rats,” he said.

She screwed up her nose and retreated to the kitchen. He left her lighting the fire and went to inspect the outbuildings. They looked like they hadn’t been used in years. The door to what had once been a brewery came off in his hand. He propped it back up and picked some logs off a log pile then rejoined Lizzy in the kitchen. He placed one of the logs on top of the lit kindling in the fireplace. It popped and hissed then caught.