Page 20 of An Extraordinary Lord

Yes, he would do. Nicely.

She signaled to the bar wench for a glass of whiskey as she moved through the crowded room with Merritt following closely behind. He was so alert and ready to respond to any attack that she could feel the tension dripping from him.

She stopped at the table. Danker looked up from his cards.

She gestured at the pile of coins and banknotes. “I hope you’re winning.”

“Always.” He swept his gaze over Merritt, then turned over one of his cards and tossed another coin into the center of the table. His opponent folded and left. “I see you’ve brought a guard dog.”

She slid a half-hooded glance over her shoulder at Merritt, her only acknowledgment that he was there. She gestured at the chair across from Danker. “May I?”

He waved a hand, and she sat. Merritt remained on his feet directly behind her. His right hand held his left wrist, his fingers only inches from the handle of the knife hidden up his sleeve.

A guard dog indeed.

“I need information.” She lowered her voice so it wouldn’t drift beyond the table. “Everyone knows you have the best.”

“I suppose that would depend upon the information.” Danker’s voice was little more than a wheezing, rough rasp. Most likely, that was due to a lifetime of smoking and drinking. And to the scar that circled his neck where the noose that failed to kill him had cut into his throat and crushed his windpipe. “What do you want to know?” He reached for one of the coins and tossed it to the bar wench as she placed a glass of whiskey on the table in front of Veronica. “And how much are you willing to pay for it?”

She raised the glass in a toast of thanks, then took a sip. “What do you know about the recent riots and who’s behind them?”

A crocodile smile spread across the man’s face, ghoulishly mirroring the scar at his throat. He leaned back in his chair and nodded at Merritt. “You can’t expect to be given that kind of information in front of a stranger.”

“He’s not a stranger.” She kept her gaze fixed on Danker, her face impassive. “He’s a barrister in league with the Home Office.” The truth was too ludicrous to resist. “What’s not to trust?”

Danker laughed. The wicked and hellish sound vibrated at his vocal cords like a rusty blade scraping over a metal file.

“You know me.” This time, she took a healthy swallow of her drink. “Do you think I’d bring along someone I don’t trust with my life? Someone Filipe wouldn’t trust with me?”

Danker pinned him beneath an assessing look. “He’s a Miracle Worker?”

Miracle Workers…the nickname that had been bestowed upon Filipe’s men. She’d expected that question, which was why she’d taken Merritt to the Court of Miracles that morning to introduce him to Filipe and why she hadn’t warned him to leave his knife behind. She’d needed the guards to remember him, and they’d never forget a man with enough spine to carry a weapon to pay homage to the King. She’d carefully constructed that incident so if Danker asked around about Merritt after they left the tavern, any suspicions about his true identity would be quashed.

“Mr. Herbert is a new recruit.” There—she’d worked in the name. Another way for Danker to place Merritt in the Court. And as a bonus, another chance to irritate Merritt. “He’s helping with a matter for Fernsby.”

Danker knew she’d taken up work as a thief-taker, as did most of the men around Filipe. The idea of honor among thieves was a myth, and they were willing to overlook what she was doing as long as she went after the petty criminals who existed on the fringes of their world. As long as she left them alone and didn’t interfere in their business.

But if she ever crossed that line, she would be a dead thief-taker.

“Fernsby! That old bastard?” Danker let out another rasping laugh. “Still paying him off for that favor, are you?”

Her spine stiffened. For the first time, she wished Merritt had waited outside. She didn’t want him to know anything about that. “You mean like the way you have yet to repay me for the favor I did for you?”

Thatsilenced Danker. If the tavern weren’t so dark, she might have seen steam roll off his bald head.

“I stumbled across a couple of rioters the other night and took one of them,” she explained, falling easily into her story and suffering no guilt at lying to Danker. “When Fernsby delivered him to the watchhouse, the constable offered twice the reward if we could provide the names of the men who instigated the riot. Money’s not so common in the Court these days that I’m willing to pass up easy blunt. So what can you tell me about them? What have you heard?”

Danker twirled a coin between his stained fingers. “Only rumors. Nothing specific, mind you.”

“Of course not,” she drawled, not bothering to hide the sarcasm.

“But there’s talk of a man named Smathers who’s been paying former soldiers to attack the city. He’s the one you and Fernsby need to take for the reward.”

“Why soldiers?” Merritt interrupted.

“Why not soldiers?” Danker’s gaze darted over her head to Merritt. “They need the money and can’t find work, yet they’re physically strong and loyal and follow orders without question.” He sneered pointedly. “And they know how to keep their silence.”

“What do you know about Smathers?” Veronica pressed, drawing his attention back to her when she felt Merritt’s irritation begin to simmer.