Page 113 of A Duke's Keeper
Syd smiled. “The best.”
Renard wouldn’t question, wouldn’t hope. Whatever this young woman’s skills and connections, he’d accept any help to get Camille back.
The tavern came into view, and Renard’s body flushed with cold sweat. He rushed for the front door just as the girl’s armcut in front of him. He stopped when she did against an adjacent building’s wall.
“Why are we stopping?” he asked.
Syd glanced from alley to alley, her face hardening. “He’s here.”
Renard looked around. Seeing nothing amiss, he frowned and couldn’t keep the impatience from his voice. “A woman of many talents. Fortunetelling as well as wisdom, oh, wise sage?” He stepped into the street. “I’ll take my chances.”
“There’s no sound. Something is wrong.” She waved towards the quiet docks at his disbelieving frown. “You peers have your princes and titles of note you bow your heads to in reverence.”
All traces of humor were gone from Syd’s face, making her next statement settle like lead in Renard’s gut.
“When you grow up on the streets, Your Grace, the only man you bow before is Death, and even the wee ones go silent when He comes calling.” She stuck out her chin in the direction of the tavern. “Doyouhear anything, Your Grace? Sailors preparing for sendoff? Children begging for scraps?”
He heard nothing.
“No.” He crouched back out of view and willed his brain to think. He knew nothing of the streets. Warning signs and caution had never been a priority. He’d always run headfirst into danger, and that foolishness had almost made him rush into the bar without a thought.
Now that it was pointed out, the silence was unnerving. Not even the constant water flow from the Thames could be heard, as if danger were a blanket muffling the nature around them.
Renard bowed his head to the strange girl beside him and offered up pride, vanity, and arrogance, knowing somehow she’d just saved him from ruining their best chance at a surprise attack.
“We’ll do this your way,” he said. “What’s your plan?”
Seeing he was finally on board, Syd’s hard expression cracked with a predatory smile. “Find your duchess, save her, and one more thing.”
He huffed. “Don’t die?”
“Not today, lordy.” She took out a knife from the belt at her waist and held the blade up to the light. “You’re not squeamish at the sight of blood, are you?”
Renard paused. “No?”
Syd slapped him on the back. “Good man. Now, when you see Camille, say these words exactly...”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Camille twisted asshe fell and hooked an arm around Nic’s knee, sending them both tumbling to the tavern floor.
Glass shards scraped the skin off her palm where she tried to catch herself. Her head slammed against the floor. Stars danced before her eyes. Lifting herself onto her hands, glass bit savagely into flesh, but she blocked out the pain.
An icy hand curled around her ankle.
Shaking off the dizziness, she kicked at his arm, his shoulder, his face. Her heart pounded. Her mind screamed. The door was so close. She pawed for it, her nails shredding against the hardwood floor.
Her foot connected with a part of his face that crunched, and those cold fingers around her ankle loosened. She bolted to her feet and staggered towards the door.
The room spun. She stuck out an arm to steady herself and ran into a table, sending one of the upturned chairs to the floor.
She blinked, focusing on the hazy outline of the door, and took stock of her injuries.
Sprained wrist. Abrasions on her hands and cheek. Nausea and blurred vision, most likely a concussion.
She wouldn’t get far, but then, she didn’t need to. If she could make it to the docks, someone would see her, someone would remember. And someone would tell Renard she’d fought until the end.
Her bloody fingers slipped on the door handle. She grabbed it frantically. The latch lifted. She gave a cry of relief and—
