To Tempt the Devil (A Novel of Lord Hawkesbury's Players) Read Online Free PDF

can’t think about her problems right now. I have enough of my own.” He stalked off across the road, not looking left or right. The traffic had lessened andhe made it safely to the other side of Thames Street but Rafe still caught him roughly by the arm and pulled him to a stop. James winced. “Leave me alone.”
    Rafe let go. “I’m going for a walk.”
    He strode down a lane so narrow, the upper levels of the buildings lining both sides jutted out so far they almost met overhead. Reach through the window on the third story of one and a man could shake the hand of someone standing at the window of the opposite house. The canopy blocked out what little daylight remained and darkness swallowed Rafe. He stilled, waited for his eyes to adjust, then walked off.
    Someone followed him. Not James, the footsteps were too heavy. It could be a stranger with business in the street but he braced himself anyway and felt for the rapier hilt at his hip.
    “No need for that,” came a light, familiar voice behind him, “unless you want me to run you through in self-defense.”
    Rafe laughed and let go of the sword. “I’d like to see you try.” He turned and gripped his patron’s arm in a sturdy, friendly shake. No, not his patron. Not anymore.
    “Ho, ho! Sounds like a challenge I’d like to take you up on. Shall we make a wager?” Lord Oxley asked. His white teeth flashed in the dark. “I win and you come back to us. You win and you still come back.”
    Rafe grinned, shook his head. “Not today.”
    “Coward.”
    “I’m not returning, Hughe.”
    Hughe St. Alban, the earl of Oxley, gripped Rafe’s shoulder and urged him to walk on. Rafe had no choice but to move forward. Despite appearances, Hughe was not a man easily shaken off. He was as tall and broad in the shoulders as Rafe and every part of him was packed with muscle, but he hid his physique well beneath a bombasted and heavily brocaded silk doublet. When at court or entertaining at his estate, he was aridiculous sight, singing drunkenly late at night or shouting poetry from the landing.
    To anyone who didn’t know him, he was an affected, gallant courtier. To anyone who truly did know him—and their number could be counted on one hand—he was a ruthless and highly capable killer. If Rafe wanted to get away from him, he would have a fight on his hands.
    “What the devil are you doing strolling down a narrow, dark lane on your own?” Hughe asked with a click of his tongue. “Have you lost your wits already?”
    “No one’s after me now,” Rafe said. “I’m not part of the guild anymore.”
    “Doesn’t mean you should forget your training.” His grip tightened, halting Rafe. “Doesn’t mean people don’t want you dead.”
    “No one alive knows I was part of your band except you and the others,” he said, voice low. “Barker is gone. I got to him before he could sell our names.”
    Hughe’s grip became bruising. “We need to talk. But not here.” His ominous tone put Rafe on edge.
    He nodded and Hughe let go. They walked side by side in silence until they reached the Old Swan waterstairs in the shadow of the bridge. The river was quiet, most of the watermen having tied up their wherries for the evening and gone home or to a tavern. On the other side of the bridge the larger ocean ships crowded together near the legal quays like giant swans keeping each other company.
    Water lapped gently against the jetty’s posts beneath where they sat. From there they could see in all directions and could escape into the river if necessary.
    It wouldn’t be necessary. As far as the world knew, they were simply a nobleman and a journeyman having a conversation in the fading light. Why Hughe had insisted on such a spot, Rafe didn’t know. But Hughe was like that. Despiteoutward appearances, he was always alert, always careful, always thinking like the leader of a band of assassins.
    But something was wrong. Perhaps more than anyone alive, Rafe knew Hughe well