An Unlikely Alliance by Patricia Bray Read Free Book Online Page A

vanished. He scanned the street from one side to the other, but there was no sign of them, no faint glow from a beckoning lantern.
    How could they have gotten away from him so fast? Throwing caution to the winds, Alexander raced down the street in the direction where they had been headed. But it was no use. Within half a block the street made a sharp bend to the right, where it intersected with another. Now what to do? He looked as far as he could see in all directions, but it was as if they had vanished in thin air.
    There was the sound of a footstep behind him. “Where’d they go?” Luke asked.
    It galled Alexander to have to admit to his failure. “I don’t know,” he said tersely. “I’ve lost her.”
    Luke merely nodded. “Looks like they were headed down toward Covent Garden. Why don’t I take this way,” he waved his left arm, “and you go on straight down here.”
    Alexander shrugged. He had no better plan of his own. “Very well, but if you catch up with her, just send for me. Don’t make a move till I get there.”
    “And don’t you go keeping all the fun for yourself,” Luke admonished. “If it’s more than just the two of them, send word to the house and I’ll come join you.” He disappeared as silently as he had arrived.
    Alexander diligently followed the street. Within a short time he found himself in one of the less wholesome districts of London, where for all their poverty, the residents were just as active at this hour of the night as their more fashionable brethren. He continued searching until even he had to admit there was no point in continuing. It was time to return home, and to see if Luke had had any better luck.
    But he doubted that even Luke would have found her. The Gypsy wench had made a fool of him again. He vowed that next time they met, things would be different.

Chapter 4
    The knife blade pressed softly into Magda’s neck. “Easy now,” a voice whispered into her ear. “Not a word out of you.” His left arm held her firmly against him, while his right arm, the one with the knife, encircled her neck.
    Magda obeyed, standing motionless in the dark alley that led off Damon Lane. She could not see her captor. He had appeared out of the shadows and grabbed her before she knew what was happening. Not five minutes had passed since she had left her lodgings, making her way to this evening’s performance as Mademoiselle Magda. She knew better than to venture into the alley after dark. But she had been impatient, and confident that the alley was empty. One moment she was walking along. And in the next there had been the sound of a footfall, and the sudden glint of steel in the moonlight as the knife was placed against her throat.
    “That’s a good girl,” her captor said, the greasy fabric of his sleeve rubbing against her cheek. His coat was of coarse boiled wool, smelling of salt and tar and rotting fish.
    Magda knew she was in terrible danger, yet she couldn’t stop her mind from wondering what a dock laborer was doing so far from the wharves. Surely there was easier prey to be found closer to his home?
    Her eyes darted frantically, but the alley was empty, and its narrowness hid them from view of passersby. Not that the denizens of Damon Lane were likely to be of much help. Respectable residents were tucked safely in their beds; now the street belonged to those who made the night their trade—prostitutes, pickpockets, thieves, and ruffians of all types.
    Magda swallowed nervously, her chest tight with fear. Each second seemed an eternity.
    She could scream, but what would be the use? There were no heroes to be found, no one who would risk his skin to save hers. Anyone who saw what was happening would assume that she deserved what she got. A poor woman alone in London was fair prey.
    It was all her own fault. She knew the risks and had hired Matt Sweeney to escort her to her engagements as Mademoiselle Magda. But Matt had been late, no doubt drinking at a nearby