Page 88 of Juliet's Touch

“Bloody hell.” Fletcher cringed. “Now every nosy chap on High Street is going to come a calling.”

“Damnations, ye are one hell of a shot, and a pretty chit to boot,” one of Fletcher’s goons said.

“Humph,”murmured the other. “That’s one less useless aristocrat in the world.”

Time seemed to pass slowly as Eric caressed Juliet’s back and whispered soothing words. Miracle of miracles, at least no “nosy chaps” came “a calling.”Perhaps it was the early hour. Although the pessimistic part of Eric suspected those who might be about avoided the despicable Riley—with good reason.

Meanwhile, Abigail stared at the corpse, her skin pale and her expression blank. Shivers wracked her body, and her teeth chattered. The mustached man wrapped his threadbare greatcoat around her.

“We ain’t gonna take her to prison, are we?” the tall man asked. “It doesn’t seem right? He was a right proper arse.”

“I’m thinking,” Fletcher said.

“Say it was Knight Roamer, and he got away before you caught him,” Eric suggested.

Juliet whimpered.

Fletcher scratched his head. “Nah. It will only fuel the aristocracy’s hatred of Knight Roamer and make Riley a martyr. We need to ensure the world sees who he truly was. Depraved, cruel, vindictive, abusive, and violent.”

Juliet lifted her cheek from Eric’s chest. “If we can discover who AW atThe Daily Dispatch of Londonis, we could ask him to write about Riley’s secret life. He doesn’t seem to be intimidated by Riley or afraid to tell the truth.”

Fletcher’s lips quirked upward with his subtle nod. “Brilliant idea. I happen to have an old mate from school who writes theMeanderings of a Gentlemancolumn. I will ask him if he can put me in touch with AW.” Fletcher frowned. “Unfortunately, Abigail, you need to disappear for now.”

Abigail didn’t react. The poor woman must still be in a state of shock.

“Guv, what about asking that sweet mum of yours to help her?” the tall man asked.

Fletcher bobbed his head. “Stilts, for once, you are worth the blunt I pay you.”

Stilts grinned.

Fletcher approached Abigail and held out his hand. “Your shoes and your hair ribbon, please.”

She blinked at him.

Juliet pulled from Eric’s embrace and wiped the tears from her eyes. To his surprise, she approached Abigail.

“Abigail,” she softly said. “I hated him, too. I also wanted him dead for what he put me through. I can’t imagine the horrible things he did to you. But for now, you must find your wits and let these men help you, or you will be sent to Bedlam.” She placed her hand on Abigail’s shoulder. “Give Mr. Fletcher your shoes and your ribbon.”

Abigail seemed to return from whatever alternate world she had escaped to.

“May I help you?” Juliet asked her.

Abigail nodded.

Juliet removed the ribbon from her hair, taking the time to tuck a long, curling strand behind Abigail’s ear. Then she bent down and waited for Abigail to slip out of her shoes.

By God, Juliet Coldpepper was too good to be true—a high-born lady, bowing in front of a low-born prostitute, as she tried to comfort her and save her life.

Juliet handed the shoes and ribbon to Fletcher. He placed the ribbon in the dead man’s hand. Then, he tossed one shoe into the pool of blood and placed the other beside the chair Juliet had been tethered to.

“Stilts and Curly.” Fletcher waved to his men, ensuring that he had their attention. “Go out the back door,” he said in a stern voice that brooked no argument. “Make sure no one sees you. Use my carriage and take Abigail to my mother at The Crown Jewel Inn in Brighton. I will send a missive explaining our predicament as soon as I can.”

The men saluted.

“Abigail,” Fletcher said, his tone gentle but firm. “My mother owns a lovely seaside inn. I will ask her to take you on as a maid. No one will think to look for you there. It’s a chance to start your life over.”

The mustached man rubbed his hands together. “I’ve always wanted to go to a rich people’s seaside inn.”