Anne Stuart by Prince of Swords

allowed. “But she didn’t look like no piece of muslin. And Clegg wouldn’t have to pay—he’s got half of Covent Garden terrified of him. Most doxies would be happy to lift their skirts for free if he left them alone. Besides, she didn’t look like a doxy, despite them strange eyes. Dressed very neat and soberlike.” He squinted at Alistair doubtfully. “What are you doing?”
    Alistair had already stripped off his velvet dressing gown. “Preparing for an evening stroll. Spitalfields sounds like a fascinating section of town. Care to join me, Nicodemus?”
    “ Do I have a choice, yer worship?” he grumbled.
    “ Not much. Besides, I may need you to protect me from wandering Mohocks and the like.”
    Nicodemus Bottom smirked. “Not likely. You’re a man who can take care of himself. But I’ll show you where the girl lives, if that’s what you have in mind.”
    “ That’s what I have in mind, Nicodemus,” Alistair said gently. And he drained his brandy and headed for the door.
    Alistair had a strange passing fondness for London at night, even the rudest sections. The modest little building that Nicodemus assured him contained the elusive Miss Brown was no different from any of the other small, cramped quarters that housed the majority of the vast city’s French Protestant population. With one interesting difference.
    He and Nicodemus were not alone in their perusal of the building. Two other men were just as interested.
    He had cat’s eyes—he could see in the dark, and he was almost preternaturally observant. In his chosen line of work he had no choice but to be unnaturally watchful. One man stood on the far corner, blending in with the shadows, but Alistair could discern an ample height, a large, loose-knit body, and eyes almost as observant as his own.
    However, that watcher’s eyes were focused on the building, and he seemed unaware that he was not alone that chill autumn night.
    The other man walked slowly by, seemingly caught up in his own concerns, but Nicodemus’s swift hiss of indrawn breath disabused Alistair of the notion that this might be a casual passerby. “Clegg,” Bottom whispered. “What the hell is he doing around here?”
    “ I thought you said she worked with him?” Alistair responded in a hushed voice.
    “ Not at night, I wouldn’t think. Not so’s her family might know. He must be keeping watch on her. Most like he doesn’t trust her. But then, Clegg doesn’t trust anyone.”
    “ The man shows some wisdom.”
    “ He’s smart as a whip, more’s the pity,” Nicodemus muttered. “That’s what makes him so dangerous. You watch out, yer worship. Take a close look at the likes of him. He’ll be your downfall if he can manage it.”
    “ And what about the other man?”
    “ What other man?” Nicodemus demanded.
    Alistair glanced back to the shadowy corner, but the large man had disappeared, fading back into the shadows. “He’s gone,” he said abruptly.
    “ You’re seeing things, gov’nor. Best concentrate on the danger at hand, and not start looking for ghosts in the shadows.”
    He looked back at the building. An occasional female figure passed by a dimly lit window, but he was unable to discern whether or not it was Miss Brown. Not that he had any real doubt. How many ladylike card readers with strange eyes could there be in London? The fact that she worked for his natural enemy only made the temptation more delightful. “I don’t suppose you know her name, do you?”
    “ I can make it my business to find out. I’ll have to be careful though—I don’t want Clegg knowing I’m interested. I don’t want Clegg to even remember my existence.”
    “ Find out for me, Nicodemus,” he said, still intent on the window. “And I’ll double your share of last night’s work.”
    “ You’re a good man, haven’t I always said so?” Nicodemus demanded of the night.
    “ An absolute paragon of virtues,” Alistair murmured, faintly amused, still staring at the