The Peacock Throne Read Online Free PDF Page A

She flinched away from the touch and he sat back.
    Lydia sucked in a lungful of air. She refused to succumb to the darkness again. She needed her wits about her to discover what this gentleman wanted. In no condition to fight, she sat back, rallying her strength and biding her time in case she needed to bolt.

    Anthony suppressed a sigh as he stared at the girl. She looked as timid as a caged sparrow. Her glance darted about as if searching for a means of escape. He needed to gain her trust before she tried to fly the coop. The girl leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. He needed whatever information she might have. The runner’s investigation was going nowhere.
    He would take her home with him. There he could find out what she had to tell him away from prying eyes. Her wounds would need to be tended, and perhaps he could find a friend in need of a maid—then she wouldn’t have to return to the Green Peacock at all. A neat solution all around. He rapped on the carriage roof.
    â€œHome, Martin.” Settling back comfortably into his seat, he tried to think of some topic of conversation. He had never been in such an odd situation. “Might I know your name?” Perhaps not the most ingenious of openings, but at least it was practical.
    The girl widened her eyes as if he had pulled her from a deep reverie. “Lydia Garrett.” Her dark eyes held his in a steady gaze. “Why did you take me from the Peacock?”
    â€œI couldn’t leave you there. If convicted of thievery you might have faced the gallows.”
    â€œHe wouldn’t send me to the gallows. There would be no one left to do the work.”
    â€œNo?” Anthony cocked an eyebrow. He’d always been rather proud of that particular ability. He felt it gave him a rakish air.
    For some reason the girl flushed. “No,” she said. Her tone cut the topic off at the legs. “Why did you really take me away?”
    â€œI don’t know why you should refuse to accept altruism as my motivation.” He flashed her a smile. They were almost home. He needed to gain her trust before she tried to flee. Perhaps it would be best to state the facts openly. He held his palms up. “I admit it. I do have need of you—preferably conscious—to tell me more about your cousin’s death. It’s possible you may be right and his murder is related to my father’s, though I can’t see why that might be the case.”
    Lydia narrowed her eyes. She opened her mouth, probably to deliver a cutting remark, but a particularly rough bump caused her to gasp. She swayed in her seat. For a moment, Anthony feared she would faint again.
    â€œWe’ll have a physician in.”
    She shook her head and grimaced, what little colour she had draining from her face. “No, sir.” Her voice was so fragile he could scarcely hear her over the rattle of carriage wheels and hawkers’ cries.
    â€œI intend no offence, my girl, but you don’t look well.”
    Lydia dabbed gingerly at her bleeding lip. “Some hot water to wash with will put me to rights.”
    â€œI insist.” Anthony held up a hand. “I need you in proper working order.”
    She almost smiled, but the slight upward twitch at the corners of her mouth was turned back by a fierce scowl. She stared at him for a long moment. “I will tell you why I believe the murders are connected on two conditions.”
    Anthony angled his chin and one eyebrow up a fraction, waiting to hear her terms.
    â€œFirst, if I tell you what I know, you will not go hire some Bow Street runner, and leave me in the dark. My cousin was my last… I owe him a great deal. I need to know who did this. I need justice.” Tears pooled in her eyes and Anthony pressed his handkerchief into her hand.
    â€œIs there a second condition?”
    Her lips tightened and she breathed in deeply. He could see her shepherding her emotions together. She did