Free Wicked Intentions 1 by Elizabeth Hoyt Page B

fallen fully now, the streets emptying as the hunters came out, and she was glad she’d brought the pistol, tucked into a bag hanging beneath her skirts. Half an hour later, they turned into Hangman’s Alley, a gathering place for footpads, thieves, and pickpockets. She wondered if Lord Caire knew just how dangerous this area was. When she looked at him sideways, she noticed that he walked with a predator’s grace, his ebony stick held in one fist like a club.
    He caught her glance. “What a lovely neighborhood.”
    “Humph.” But despite her dismissive tone, Temperance was relieved that he looked so formidable. “There ’tis.”
    She pointed to a worn sign depicting a shoe. Mother Heart’s-Ease had said that Martha Swan lived over a cobbler’s shop. The building was dark, the alley before it deserted. Temperance pulled her cloak closer about herself, feeling surreptitiously for the pistol under her skirts. They should have stopped for a lantern.
    Lord Caire stepped forward and knocked against the door with his stick. It echoed hollowly, but no movement came from within.
    “If she’s a pickpocket or a prostitute, she may be out,” Temperance said.
    “No doubt,” Lord Caire replied, “but having come so far, I suggest we at least look.”
    She frowned, about to protest, but over his shoulder, she saw a movement in the shadows. Her breath caught on a scream as three figures scuttled from an alley, moving fast.
    Moving with obvious deadly intent.
    She would’ve called a warning to Lord Caire, but there was no need. His eyes sharpened on her face. “Run!”
    And then he was whirling, putting her behind him near the building as he faced the attackers. They spread as they came at him, the outer two men going to either side of Lord Caire, the center man raising a knife. Lord Caire hit the center man’s wrist with his stick, deflecting the first blow. He withdrew a short sword from his stick, and then they were on him in a flurry of rapid blows and kicks, three against one.
    It was only a matter of time until Lord Caire went down, even armed.
    She had her pistol. Temperance hauled up her skirts, fumbling for the sack. She withdrew the pistol, letting her skirts drop.
    She looked up in time to see Lord Caire grunt and half turn as if he’d been hit. One of the men staggered away, but the remaining closed in. She brought the pistol up, but the combatants were too close together. If she fired, she might hit Lord Caire.
    And if she didn’t, the assailants might kill him.
    As she watched, one of the men feinted with a dagger on one side of Lord Caire while another raised a knife on his other side. She couldn’t wait any longer. They were going to kill him.
    Temperance fired.

Chapter Four

Once a year, it was King Lockedheart’s custom to give a speech to his people. But because he was a man more used to wielding a sword than a pen, the king made a habit of practicing his speech. Thus one morning, King Lockedheart paced the balcony of his magnificent palace, declaiming his speech to the open air and the caged blue bird.
“My people,” the king declared, “I am proud to be your leader, and I know that you are proud to live under my rule. Indeed, I know that I am beloved of you, my people.”
But, sadly, here King Lockedheart was interrupted—by a giggle….
—from King Lockedheart
    The pistol shot came from behind him. A wild fury filled Lazarus’s chest at the sound. They couldn’t, they hadn’t the right to hurt the little martyr. She was his plaything.
    He lunged in vicious anger at the attacker to his right, driving his sword deep into the other’s gut. He saw the man’seyes widen in shocked surprise, and at the same time Lazarus sensed the rush from his left. He whirled, leaving his sword behind, and slammed the other half of his stick against his attacker’s wrist. The man howled, cradling his injured wrist as the knife spun out of his hand. Unarmed, the attacker realized his vulnerability. He swore