The Vagabond Duchess. Claire Thornton

his head and stepped back. ‘I’ll return as soon as I can,’ he said. ‘In the meantime, be careful. And no matter how bad business is—don’t try selling muslin in taverns after dark again!’

      Covent Garden, later that night

      Even though it was the early hours of the morning, the coffeehouse buzzed with activity. Bundle was keeping a careful watch on the progress of the fire, but so far he hadn’t opted for flight.

      ‘Coffee or ale?’ he asked Jack laconically.

      ‘Coffee,’ Jack said, looking around the coffee room. ‘Is my cousin here?’

      ‘No one claiming to be your cousin is here.’ Bundle gestured to a serving boy. ‘We haven’t seen you since Sunday.’

      Jack spared him a quick glance. ‘Were you worried?’

      A grin flickered on Bundle’s face. ‘After only three days? Which cousin? What does he look like?’

      ‘Jakob Balston. Big. A couple of inches taller than me. Blond. Swedish.’

      ‘Ah, yes, I remember. No, he hasn’t come here.’

      ‘Diable!’ Jack had known it was a long chance. There was no reason for Jakob to suspect Jack had been staying in the coffeehouse. For the thousandth time he damned himself for not having received Jakob’s message in time. If Jakob died because he had delayed resuming his ducal responsibilities, Jack knew he’d never forgive himself.

      ‘If he comes here…’ He stared at the surface of his coffee as he tried to hold his grinding anxiety at bay. ‘Send him to St Martin’s Lane,’ he said.

      ‘St Martin’s Lane?’

      Jack looked up. ‘Send him to Lord Swiftbourne,’ he said harshly.

      Bundle’s eyes widened briefly. ‘As you wish.’

      ‘I don’t like it, but it’s close,’ said Jack. ‘If he goes there, Swiftbourne can send a message to me at Putney. I’m going back there now. He wasn’t there this morning, but they hadn’t moved the prisoners then—’

      ‘Prisoners?’

      Jack quickly explained.

      ‘I’m proud to serve such a lively, gallant family,’ Bundle remarked.

      ‘You have an insolent gift for sarcasm,’ Jack said to the man who’d carried him as a three-year-old all the way from Sussex to France.

      ‘Since when has Jack Bow acquired a taste for tedious deference?’

      ‘After tonight, Jack Bow’s dead.’

      ‘What?’ Bundle sat up straighter.

      ‘That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’ Jack tossed off the last of his coffee. ‘Or did I misunderstand all your hints that I should adopt a more regular style of living? I’ll become a paragon of respectability—but first, please God, I must find Jakob.’ He stood up. ‘I need a horse.’