His voice softened. “But you don’t even know what I have to offer in exchange.” He took another drag on his cigar, then smiled.
She glared at him.
He grabbed her wrist; his rough grasp pressed the bracelet into her flesh. “What have we here?”
She tried to jerk her hand free, but his grip held firm.
“I see my worthless employees weren’t the only ones who answered Pandora’s siren call.” He tsked his tongue. “Miss Worthington, I would have expected more restraint on your part.”
Aha, so at least one of the men had returned to the Raven. Not only that, but they’d been honest about the bracelet. She felt her fear give way to curiosity. Perhaps if she could coax some information out of him about the other two bands, she might give Fielding the upper hand. Then he’d see how useful she could be.
“How are your men fairing with their curses?” she asked. “Have you noticed anything peculiar about their behavior?”
One eyebrow slowly arched, then he smiled. “Curses?” he said slowly. “What is it that you’re afflicted with, Miss Worthington?” A spark of interest reflected in his gaze.
He might have thought he’d given her nothing, but now she knew that up until this moment the Raven had not sought the box because of the rumored powers within it. “Oh, you didn’t know.” She chuckled. “So I don’t suppose you know about the second curse either. Pity. Tell me, why is it that you seek this box?” she asked.
He shrugged. “It is a client, not I, who wants the artifact. Now, about that deal.”
She scoffed to hide her glee. He couldn’t fool her. There was no client. Or if there had been, now that the Raven knew about the curses, he would have no intention of fulfilling his end of the bargain. That’s how the villain’s plan always played out in her adventure novels. “Nothing you could offer would possibly interest me.”
“I can be awfully persuasive, Miss Worthington.” His tone was low and dark.
It occurred to her that she might be playing cornered mouse to his clever cat. A drop of perspiration slid down the center of her spine. “And I can be equally as stubborn.” She feigned bravery.
He laughed heartily. “You are a charming woman.
Very much like your aunt.”
As if he’d reached across and squeezed her throat, Esme’s windpipe seemed to close. She eyed the door, wishing Fielding would burst in.
“What do you know of my aunt?” she whispered.
“I know plenty.” He exhaled slowly, the smoke from his cigar curling toward her. “She favors an upstairs corner at the Guildhall Library every Tuesday. And she excels in conversation, though I find talking with her can become tiresome. She does like to prattle on.”
Oh, God. Esme fought the urge to flee, but she needed to hear what else he had to say, what else he knew about Thea. She clamped her hands to the edge of the carriage bench, anchoring herself down.
“You stay away from her,” Esme said through gritted teeth, knowing full well her threat would not be taken seriously. Still, she’d needed to say the words, and if it came down to it, she’d find a way to protect Thea.
Again he chuckled, but his mirth was short-lived. “Perhaps now you will see my way of things, Miss Worthington. The box in exchange for your aunt’s safety. Things could become quite messy from here on out.” He trailed one finger over her wrist.
She shivered with revulsion.
“It’s better not to fight me. The box will be mine; it’s merely a matter of time.” He grabbed her hand again, but this time he pressed a kiss to her palm. “I lost something once. I’ve never made that mistake again. Suffice it to say, I always get what I want.” Then he opened the door and stepped out of the carriage.
Fielding had said he wouldn’t be long, but she could not wait for him any longer. Especially with the Raven skulking about. Glancing down both sides of the street to ensure the nasty man was gone; she stepped from the carriage and darted across the road. She had to fight her way through a crowd before she was able to step back into the pub.
A large man grabbed her by the waist, his meaty fingers cutting into her flesh. “Back for yours, I see.”
Fielding rolled his eyes when Esme stepped into the pub. His annoyance swiftly changed to anger as the nasty man who’d fondled the barmaid pressed his filthy body against Esme. Her frame seemed impossibly small engulfed in the man’s arms. His grubby hands roamed all over Esme, smashing her breasts and trying to reach beneath her skirt.
She landed a firm kick straight into her offender’s shin, which doubled him over in pain.
“How dare you, sir,” she said indignantly.
The man reached for her again just as Fielding finally made it to her side. Fielding punched the brute square in the nose. Blood sprayed from the man’s face. He yelped in pain and reared back to hit Fielding, but before the man could land his blow, Fielding had knocked his fist hard into his stomach. The oaf fell to his knees.
“You ever touch her again and I’ll kill you.” He turned to Esme. “Did he hurt you?”