Free The Highwayman (Rakes and Rogues of the Restoration Book 3) by Judith James Page A

hospitality, though. Some morning ale would not go amiss.”
    “Aye? Been about some thirsty work, have you?”
    “No more so than usual.”
    “You’re getting careless, I’d say, Jack. You slept through the messenger that just woke me. Someone stole the girl.”
    “Is that so? It seems your friend has a hard time keeping track of his women.”
    “Why don’t you join me in my office? It’s private there.”
    Perry’s office was tasteful and understated, with golden oak paneling and such refinements as a globe, books, and a pendulum clock. They seemed rather odd pretensions for a criminal overlord and whoremaster, but for some odd reason, Jack found it rather endearing. Someone had furnished ale, meat, and bread, and he reached for a loaf. He often forgot to eat and sleep when wrapped up in an adventure.
    He didn’t flinch when the rat-faced man drove a dagger between the splayed fingers of his left hand, but nodded and took it, using it to stab a tender piece of capon. “Thank you, Perry.”
    “Was it you took that girl, Jack?”
    “Why would I do such a thing?”
    “You’re known to get odd notions from time to time.”
    Jack shrugged. “I was paid to deliver her, and deliver her I did. But I’d have a care, were I in your shoes, Perry.”
    “Eh? Is that a threat?”
    “Just a friendly warning. What do you know about this fellow, really?”
    “I know he’s a Sir, Jack. A fellow might expect a man such as yourself to recognize such things.”
    “Pah! He’s no better than you or me, man. Like recognizes like. We’re as much gentleman as he is. A minor knight perhaps, a baronet at best—but a commoner for all that, and she a lady. There was something wrong about it, I tell you.” Jack tapped his nose and gave the other man a knowing look.
    “He owns a manor house, Jack. He gave me three thousand pounds.”
    “You own a manor house, Perry. But it doesn’t make you a fine lord now, does it? We both know you’re as crooked as sin. Your cove might be flush in the pocket at the moment, but some men drop that at the gaming tables in an evening, easy. Why I’ve done so a time or two myself. And when they can find naught but their fingers in their pockets, what do they do? They rob, or they cheat, or if they can pass as a gentleman, steal themselves an heiress or an inheritance, don’t they? Think about it. Cousin , she called him.”
    “What’s all that to me?” Perry huffed.
    Jack leaned his elbows on the table, beckoning him closer. “What if there were an inheritance, and the girl turns up dead?” His voice was low, almost a whisper. “A countess in her own right she was. Rich and titled. Did you know that? Not the sort that disappears without someone asking questions. You held her here a few days, didn’t you? He arranged for you to abduct her. Doubtless, he arranged for witnesses too. Who better to blame if some ill befalls her, than you?” Jack reached across the table and patted Perry’s cheek. “Or me ....I would take it very personal if it were me.” The menace in his voice was unmistakable.
    Perry blanched. “Jack, I swear I—”
    Jack held a finger to his lips in a gesture for silence. “So now we best undo any damage that might have been done, eh? Sadly, given our respective professions, a judge might be inclined to take his word over yours or mine. Unless....” He paused, drumming the table with his fingers.
    “Unless what?”
    “Unless others knew him for the nasty sort he really was. I can arrange for that, my dear, in exchange for a nice wheel of your excellent cheese, the three thousand pounds he paid you, and—”
    Perry, whiskers quivering, too outraged to speak, banged the table and squeaked repeatedly as he turned an alarming shade of red.
    Jack held up a warning hand. When he spoke, there was a hard edge to his voice. “I have never killed an innocent, Perry. You endangered my good name. Through avarice or stupidity, I neither know nor care. No man profits from