Free Whisper of Magic by Patricia Rice Page B

home in which to install a wife. He had a future to build before he
could even consider it. He touched the brim of his hat and set out into the
dusk.
    A good long ride back into the city should shake off his
need to see how Miss Rochester spent her evenings.
    ***
    Upon Erran’s return to London, rioters were marching past
Westminster, drunkenly smashing windows and stoning carriages. The new police
force had been set up only a year ago, with this kind of commotion in mind, but
they’d had a rough year and lacked experience. The mob flung stones and curses
in the direction of any blue uniform, cursing Robert Peel and rudely calling
them bobbies . Erran didn’t blame the
force for playing least-in-sight.
    Mobs weren’t uncommon, but the direction of the marchers
toward the park worried him. Erran urged his horse past the relative quiet of
St. James and down the side street.
    He could see lights in the upper story of the townhouse, so
the Rochesters were home. This back street had little activity except for
people avoiding the protestors approaching the square. Recalling how Duncan’s
enemies had hid their depredations behind rural rioters, Erran stopped at the
stable across the mews from their townhouse, boarded his horse, and entered the
tavern for ale and gossip. The inhabitants were boisterous and loud but didn’t
appear to be violent.
    Carrying his tankard to the lane between the tavern and the
house, Erran lurked in the doorway, studying pedestrians hurrying through the
unlit space. Oddly, lantern light glinted through the gates of the townhouse.
What were the Rochesters doing in the yard at this hour?
    And then he noted the darker shadow leaning against a
building farther down the alley, seemingly appraising the back gate. The noise
of the rioters came closer, and the shadow straightened in response, crouching
down to pick up objects at his feet. Damn .
This was no idle drunk. Erran tensed with anticipation.
    At some point, bullies would have to learn that Ives
protected their own.
    He had grown up in an all-male household that excelled at
all manner of creating havoc—it was either that, or regularly beat the stuffing
out of each other. He couldn’t punch an entire mob, but he knew how to
distract. And his legal training had taught him a great deal about how people
reacted to fear.
    Besides, thrashing a lackwit was
too easy and inspired only retaliation. He’d rather put fear in the lout and
any of his companions.
    Swinging his tankard erratically, Erran faked a drunken
stagger and proceeded toward the shadow. He pretended to stumble and sloshed
ale on the spy. “Oops, sorry ol’ chap, tryin’ to steer clear of the lion,” he said in a loud
sing-song.
    The smaller man shoved him away in disgust. “You’ve wits to
let. What lion?”
    Erran flashed a white smile and didn’t keep his voice down.
He had a suspicion the light in the back yard was there for a reason. He wanted
to give them warning. “The lion them furriners keep
in the yard. Ain’t you heard it? Sounds like it’d bite a man’s head off.”
    “I ain’t heard a thing.” But he inched away from the gate.
    “Sometimes, they don’t feed it,” Erran said knowledgeably,
louder than necessary. He didn’t need his impassioned Courtroom Voice to fool a
fool. “That’s when it growls. But I ain’t goin’ near.
Don’t never know if the gate is barred or if it can leap over if it likes my
smell.”
    As if on cue, a loud thump rattled the gate. Erran staggered
back, as if in fear. His companion took several more steps toward the end of
the mews. A low, almost realistic growl emanated from the yard. Erran had never
heard a lion and wouldn’t know what one would sound like, but he was pretty
certain the maggot in the alley hadn’t either.
    Another harder thump and louder growl followed.
    “It’s comin’ after us!” Erran
hollered, shoving the man between his shoulder blades. “Run!”
    The spy didn’t need more encouragement. He sprinted