Free Improper Gentlemen by Mia Marlowe, Diane Whiteside, Maggie Robinson

wrong.”
    “Glad you came.”
    “Sorry we didn’t make it sooner.” Garland’s face flushed to a dull crimson. “Didn’t expect trouble, not with—”
    “The latrine being only two steps away from the poker parlor? And me taking such a ridiculously long time in there?” Charlotte came all the way around Justin to help protect Garland with an explanation for the attack.
    Justin nodded curtly. “Isham must have come through the back door, then waited in one of the bedrooms. We’ll do better next time.”
    “Damn right,” Garland agreed. His expression said he expected rough words from his employer later. “We’ll start by doubling the fire patrols. Johnson likes to watch things burn.”
    A muscle throbbed in Justin’s cheek but he agreed.
    Charlotte glanced up at him, then moved a little further away from the dead men littering the floor, victims of Johnson’s greed.
    Justin was fighting his best friend. God alone knew if he or anyone else would die.

Chapter 8
     
    T he conjurer bowed again, flourished his two very-much-alive rabbits, then left at a brisk trot. Guards sauntered onto the stage with pistols prominently displayed.
    Last night’s poetic sensation strolled out, still looking as if he hadn’t eaten in a year. This time, the crowd cheered and clapped instead of shooting holes in Justin’s new tin ceiling.
    “Have you changed your mind about the actor?” He glanced at Charlotte. “The opera singer and cancan dancers follow him.”
    He rotated the bill of fare every evening for variety in order to attract a fresh audience to fill the Palace’s non-stop hours. So far tonight, she’d enjoyed the trained dogs, a cornet soloist, and the conjurer.
    “And listen to the audience shout ‘Nevermore!’ again, every time he cues them with ‘Quoth the raven’?” She shook her head with an exaggerated shudder. “I thank you, no. I’d almost prefer to stare at more snowflakes.”
    Justin chuckled.
    Outside, the air was clean and soft under a full moon and the storm’s last snowfall. Here in his box at the Hair Trigger Palace, the air smelled of lavender and the faint, lingering wonder of her pleasure. The world beyond Wolf Laurel would reach them tomorrow and the stagecoach would arrive within a day or so afterward.
    What would he do when she was gone? Survive. He needed to send her out of the mining town to get her away from its mayor’s attacks.
    His hand wasn’t entirely steady when he pulled the drapes shut. Sitting down beside her felt too much like coming home.
    “Thank you for saving my life this afternoon.” She kissed her fingers and laid them against his cheek.
    “I’m sorry you were abducted. If I’d had any idea that would happen, I’d never have left.” He caught her hand and pulled her close.
    “Of course you had to go alone. You needed to speak to your friend.” She leaned confidingly against his chest, for all the world as if she still trusted him to look after her. “It was my fault those brutes had a chance to capture me. If I hadn’t spent so long primping, they wouldn’t have had time to arrange their ambush.”
    He hugged her lithe form a little nearer, thinking her precious as the first taste of spring. She murmured a little noise of agreement that lifted his soul.
    The couple in the box next door were chanting Edgar Allan Poe’s verses, together with the actor.
    Justin forgot about them and the rest of the audience with the ease of long practice, and to protect his sanity. He’d memorized “The Raven” in childhood, long before he’d learned how well its performance filled concert saloons.
    “You need to leave town soon,” he told his darling.
    “Can Johnson mount an attack again so quickly?”
    “It’s the only way to keep you safe.” His heart lurched away from the thought. After so many years of fighting to save the man’s life—and so much shared laughter—he couldn’t simply take Johnson out as an obstacle and plant him in Boot Hill. Doing so