The Devil's Thief (33 page)

Roger grinned and climbed from his bed. “I’m just gaining
all sorts of admirers these days.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” Wiley complained. “Ain’t you gents ever
heard of nightclothes? I thought you were all afraid to show as much as a
finger.”

Roger looked down. “Well, I’ve got more than a finger here.”
He looked back up with a grin. “And I’m not afraid to show it.”

Wiley gave a derogatory, “Ha,” in response.

“Enough,” Hil told them sharply. “Roger, I mean it. Get
dressed and meet us downstairs. We will leave in five minutes whether or not
you are with us.” He turned and dragged Wiley from the room. “How did you get
here?” Hil asked him as they descended the stairs.

“How do you think?” Wiley asked in exasperation. They had
reached the bottom of the stairs and Wiley raised a leg to shake his booted
foot. “I used these. They’re called feet.”

Hil laughed as he tugged on the bell cord to summon his
butler. “Very amusing. We shall take my carriage to Sharp’s.”

Pulling off his hat, Wiley jerked out of Hil’s grasp. He
crossed his arms and stood there staring belligerently at Hil. “I do what I
want, see? I told you she’s going to Blackman’s. My duty’s done. You and that
bloody sod she’s going to marry can go and get her.”

Hil sighed and lit the lamp on the table in the foyer. When
he glanced back up at Wiley, he was shocked into silence by the young man’s
appearance. Without his hat he was breathtakingly handsome. He was short, but
Hil could see the telltale signs of a boy still growing. Wiley’s face was a
masterpiece of sharp angles. His looks rivaled Roger’s for classical
perfection. His eyes were a pale blue-gray that shone luminously in the
lamplight, quite ethereal against his golden complexion and dark cinnamon hair.
And he was muscular, particularly for a boy of perhaps sixteen or seventeen,
Hil would guess. No wonder Vickery had warned Sharp about Wiley’s ability to
attract the opposite sex.

Just then his sleepy butler appeared from the back. He
looked at Wiley in shock. “James, please send for my carriage immediately. We
must be off in minutes. It’s a matter of life or death, man.” Used to his
employer’s cryptic ways, James simply left the room and hurried off to relay
the request.

Hil turned back to Wiley and gestured for him to follow as
he went to the gun cabinet in his study. “How did you become acquainted with
Miss Harte?” he asked as he unlocked the cabinet and took out a set of pistols,
offering one to Wiley.

Wiley shook his head. “No thanks. Don’t trust those things.
Blow up in your hand, they will. I do all right with these”—he raised his
fists in a fighting stance—“and this.” He tapped his temple.

Hil nodded, and repeated his question as he relocked the
cabinet and tucked the pistols into his waistband. “How did you meet Miss
Harte?”

 
“My gang says
you already know I met her when she came to sell the pearl to Blackman. You
leave them alone, now, you hear me?” He sighed and shrugged, his anger
apparently on the wane. “And she’s got two of my boys in that home of hers, so
I already knew who she was. Had to take her in hand, didn’t I? Couldn’t very
well let her march in there alone.”

They had started back toward the front hall, and Hil had a
moment to consider which he found more intriguing, that this young man had two
children whom he obviously cared for, or that he was kind enough to be
concerned about a young lady who was clearly in trouble.

“No, you could not,” Hil agreed when they reached the door.
He held out his hand, and after a moment Wiley hesitatingly shook it. “Thank
you, Wiley, for taking care of her. Now I don’t suppose you’d like to see this
through and save her one more time?”

Wiley grinned, but it was clearly against his better
judgment. “Well, when you put it that way I don’t suppose I can refuse, now can
I?
Stupid female, risking herself for a man.
Don’t she
know how many are out there that would take her without that damn pearl?”

Hil shook his head, and looked up to see Roger hurrying down
the stairs while pulling on his coat. He hadn’t even taken the time to comb his
hair—a first, to be sure. “No, Wiley, she doesn’t. She doesn’t even
realize she’s already got a man who doesn’t give a damn about that pearl.”

Wiley’s eyes grew wide. “Sharp
don’t
want his pearl back?”

“Sharp has come to his senses and realizes that Miss Harte
is the true treasure. He wants the pearl but only to protect her, because he
suspected she’d do something like this. I don’t think he’d care if he never saw
it again as long as she was safe.”

Wiley whistled. “Well, I guess the bloody sod isn’t as
stupid as I thought, then, is he?”

“Don’t be so quick to jump to conclusions,” Roger drawled.
“He’s still pretty damn stupid. He didn’t manage to keep her from doing this,
did he?”

“Neither did you,” Wiley reminded him sarcastically.

Roger looked up from pulling on his glove. “Yes, well, we’ve
already established that she’s not mine, haven’t we?”

A few minutes later they were careening down the street in
Hil’s carriage. Wiley looked decidedly uncomfortable sitting across from Hil
and Roger, clinging to a leather hand strap as Hil’s coachman took the turns at
breakneck speed.

“Tell me where Miss Harte is, Wiley,” Hil asked. “You did
not give me much detail.”

Wiley frowned at him. “This may all be nonsense. She’s
probably asleep in Sharp’s bed right this minute. But if that’s not where she
is, then she’s breaking into the Black Horse in Tottenham Court. That’s where
Blackman does his business.”

“Why do you believe she’s not at home?” Roger asked
curiously.

Wiley sighed. “Checked there first, didn’t I, before going
to his house?”

“Ah.” Roger paused a moment. “What do you know of Blackman?”
he asked.

“He’ll take just about anything you’ve got. Best at
disposing of hot goods, if you get my meaning,” Wiley answered, and Roger
nodded.

“You said you met Miss Harte when she showed up to sell the
pearl to Blackman. What were you doing there?” Hil asked.

“Does my own business there,” Wiley replied belligerently.
“Best Blackman’s got. My gang brings in the biggest haul each day.”

“Blackman is your employer?” Hil frowned. That wouldn’t do
for this young man at all.

“I work for myself,” Wiley said emphatically. “But Blackman
delivers, you see? He gives me the best price and I give him first look. Used
to work for him,” Wiley added with a sniff, “but I paid my dues and became my
own man. I got my own crew now, responsibilities.” He frowned out the window as
they took a particularly sharp turn. “Can’t be flying around all night rescuing
silly females. I’ve got mouths to feed.”

“Where are your parents? The rest of your family?” Hil
wondered aloud.

Wiley laughed. “I’m the parent now, ain’t I?” He shrugged.
“My da’s long dead, my mam just a year ago. Gin got her. My two boys are at the
home. Their mam, she’s in Newgate and not likely to get out, thank God, and me
other two babes is with their own mams. I’ve got to pay rent on two places, but
worth the price.”

Roger was staring at him wide eyed. “Absolutely,” he agreed
in awestruck tones.

Wiley nodded grimly and gestured at Roger. “Knew you’d see
it my way,” he said with a wink. “Gentlemen understand these things.”

“How old are you?” Roger asked incredulously.

Wiley jerked back. “
Old
enough,
ain’t
I
? Turned seventeen last year, I think. My mam
couldn’t quite remember. Born either in May or October, she said. She didn’t
have much left”—he tapped his finger to his temple—“before the gin
got her.”

“I see,” Roger said. “Shame that.”

Wiley nodded. “She was a good mum. Paid the rent and didn’t
smack me around too much. Not near as much as I needed, that’s for sure.”

“Have you an education?” Hil asked, and was immediately
sorry for his supercilious tone.

Wiley bristled with indignation. “The only education I
needed was on the streets, wasn’t it? I’m my own man, and mine don’t go
wanting.”

“Of course,” Roger told him sharply, surprising Hil. “We can
plainly see that. He was just asking if you’ve had a formal education. Not many
get as far as you without it, do they?”

Wiley eyed him suspiciously. “No, I suppose not.” He
shrugged. “I haven’t had a formal education. Can’t read, if that’s what you
mean.”

Hil jumped on that. “Well, you won’t get much further
without that skill, Wiley. If you plan to take care of your children properly,
you must learn.”

Wiley looked uncomfortable. “I know that. I just haven’t
found someone willing to teach me. No respectable teacher wants to associate
with me, and the less than respectable don’t want me to better myself.”

“Wiley—” Hil was cut off when the carriage jerked to a
halt. He looked out the window and said, “We have arrived at Sharp’s.”

Wiley looked disgruntled. “He better come up to scratch, or
I won’t be responsible for my actions, see?”

Hil smiled. Yes, he saw a great deal in Wiley—more,
perhaps, than Wiley saw in himself. Hil made a promise to himself to continue
their discussion after they were assured of Miss Harte’s safety. Hil would be
damned if he let a lad with as much promise as this one slip through his
fingers.

Alasdair and Ernest were interrupted by a loud commotion
below stairs as they sat in his study having a drink. They’d spent the better
part of the day catching up, and Ernest had come over to review some paperwork
concerning Alasdair’s investments. No sooner had Alasdair recognized Hil’s
voice than his footman, Smithfield, came rushing into the room.

“Sir Hilary is here, Mr. Sharp, and he says that it is
urgent you meet him downstairs immediately. He said to tell you it is a matter
of life and death.” Smithfield looked properly impressed by Hil’s message.

“Whose life and whose death?” Ernest inquired as he put down
his drink.

“I do not know, my lord,” Smithfield replied. “I only know
that he seemed quite agitated, and he had Mr. Templeton and a young street
ruffian with him.”

“Sharp, hurry up!” Hil called from below.

“A street ruffian? Are you sure?” Alasdair had been thinking
this was one of Hil’s larks, but a distinct unease gripped him and he grabbed
his discarded coat and rammed his arms into it quickly.

“Quite sure, sir,” Smithfield assured him. “I believe he
referred to you as ‘the bleeding sod upstairs,’ sir.”

Alasdair was taken aback. “He did, did he? Do you know who
he is?”

“Not his name, no. He’s a mere youth, red hair. Other than
that I can’t say, sir.”

Alasdair hurried from the room, tying his cravat in a very
simple knot.

“Hil,” he was saying as he ran down the stairs, “what is
going on?”

And then he saw the street ruffian Smithfield had mentioned,
Julianna’s street ruffian. The one who had held her and kissed her hand and introduced
her to people who would as soon kill her as look at her. He didn’t think about
what he was doing. His mind was a haze of fury as he launched himself off the
last step and tackled the boy to the ground.

“What the bloody hell?” the boy cried out. Alasdair got one
good punch in before the youth’s surprise wore off and he regained his
composure. The time he’d spent on the streets became obvious as he effortlessly
elbowed Alasdair in the temple and shoved him away with a booted foot to his
stomach. Alasdair went flying across the hall, sliding along the marble floor into
a wall. “You stupid sod!” the boy yelled, wiping the blood from the corner of
his mouth. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You little bastard,” Alasdair growled, coming to his feet.
“How dare you.” He ran back at the young man, who jumped up to meet him.

“How dare I what?” he demanded as he and Alasdair circled each
other, their fists raised.

“Sharp!” Hil barked at him. “Have you gone mad?”

Alasdair could hear shouts behind him, voices raised in
alarm. He ignored them all. He couldn’t see anything except the memory of this
boy tenderly touching Julianna before she threw her arms around him. “How dare
you put her in danger,” he ground out. “How dare you.” He swung but the boy
sidestepped his punch and landed a blow to Alasdair’s midsection.

“How dare I what? Touch her? As if I’m not good enough?” the
boy asked venomously. “I ought to gut you right now and save her a life of
misery, because you’re not good enough to lick her boots.”

“You little prick!” Alasdair bellowed. He feinted to the
left and when the boy compensated, he landed a punch on his jaw. He fell to the
floor and scrambled backward as Alasdair rushed him.

He didn’t see Roger’s outstretched foot until it was too
late. Alasdair fell hard on his elbows and knees, the wind knocked out of him.
The street youth laughed uproariously.

“Both of you be quiet,” Hil ordered in a murderous tone. “Miss
Harte could even now be in grave jeopardy and you two are fighting over her as
if she were the prize in a contest. What the hell is going on here, Sharp?
 
Surely you can’t still be jealous.”