The Leopard Prince (Princes #2)(26)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

The boy didn’t even blink, just walked past them and around the corner of the cottage. Maybe that was how his grandmother always spoke to him.

“What about Annie?” she asked.

“I’ve heard that she was involved with Lord Granville,” he started cautiously.

“Involved? Aye, that’s a pretty word for what it was.” The woman curled her lip to reveal dark gaps where her front teeth had been. Her pink tongue poked through. “Why do you want to know about that?”

“Someone’s killing sheep,” Harry said. “I’ve heard that Annie or perhaps someone close to her might have a reason for doing it.”

“I don’t know nothing about those sheep.” She started to close the door.

Harry stuck his boot in the crack. “Does Annie?”

She shook.

Harry thought at first that he might have driven her to tears, then she raised her head, and he saw her face was split by a grotesque smile.

“Maybe she does, does Annie,” she wheezed. “If they know about the doings of the living in the fires of hell.”

“Then she’s dead?” Lady Georgina spoke for the first time.

Her crisp accent seemed to sober the woman. “Either that or might as well be.” She leaned tiredly against the door. “Her name was Annie Baker, you know. She was married. At least she was until he came sniffing after her.”

“Lord Granville?” Lady Georgina murmured.

“Aye. The devil hisself.” The woman sucked in her upper lip. “Annie threw over Baker. She was Granville’s whore for as long as he wanted her, which wasn’t long. Came back here with her belly big and stayed just long enough to whelp. Then she took off again. Last I heard she was spreading her legs for a cup of gin.” She looked suddenly wistful. “A lass don’t last long as a gin slut, do she?”

“No,” Harry said quietly.

Lady Georgina looked stunned, and he was sorry he hadn’t been able to talk her into staying behind at Woldsly Manor. He’d dragged her into a cesspit.

“Thank you for telling us about Annie, Mrs. Pollard,” Harry spoke gently to the old woman. Despite her hardened manner, it must have pained her to talk about ancient hurts. “I’ve only one more question, and then we’ll bother you no more. Do you know what happened to Mr. Baker?”

“Oh, him.” Mrs. Pollard waved a hand as if flicking away a fly. “Baker took up with another lass. I’ve heard he even married her, though it can’t be right in the church, him already married to Annie. Not that Annie cares. Not anymore.” She closed the door.

Harry frowned, then decided he’d questioned the old woman enough. “Come, my lady.” He took Lady Georgina’s elbow and escorted her back up the path. As he was helping her into the gig, he glanced back.

The boy leaned on the corner of the cottage, head down, one bare foot on top of the other. He’d probably heard every word his grandmother had said about his mother. There weren’t enough hours in the day to solve all the problems of this world. Da had said that often enough when Harry had been growing up.

“Wait a moment, my lady.” Harry strode the short distance to the boy.

He looked up warily as Harry approached but didn’t move otherwise.

Harry looked down at him. “If she dies, or you find yourself without, come to me. My name is Harry Pye. Repeat it.”

“Harry Pye,” the boy whispered.

“Good. Here, see if she’ll get you some clothes.”

He placed a shilling in the boy’s hand and returned to the gig without waiting for thanks. It had been a sentimental gesture and one that was probably useless. The old woman was as likely to use the shilling for gin as to buy the boy new clothes. He climbed in the gig, ignoring Lady Georgina’s smile, and took up the reins. When he glanced again at the boy, he was staring at the coin in his hand. They pulled away.

“What an awful story.” Her smile had died.

“Yes.” Harry looked sideways at her. “I’m sorry you heard it.” He urged the horse into a trot. Best to be off Granville land as soon as possible.

“I don’t think anyone in that family could be poisoning the sheep. The woman is too old and afraid, the boy too young, and it sounds like Annie’s husband has got on with his life. Unless Annie came back?”

He shook his head. “If she’s been at the gin stalls all this time, she’s no threat to anyone.”

Sheep grazed on either side of the road, a peaceful scene, in spite of the lowering clouds and rising wind. Harry watched the surrounding area narrowly. After yesterday, he was wary of an attack.

“Have you another farmer to visit today?” Lady Georgina held her hat to her head with one hand.

“No, my lady. I—” They topped a rise, and Harry caught sight of what lay on the other side. Abruptly he pulled on the reins. “Goddamn.”

The gig rolled to a stop. Harry stared at three lumps of wool lying just inside the dry stone wall bordering the road.

“Are they dead?” Lady Georgina whispered.

“Yes.” Harry tied off the reins, set the brake, and leaped from the gig.

They weren’t the first to make the discovery. A sleek chestnut was tethered to the wall, shaking its head nervously. The owner, a man, had his back toward them, bent over one of the prone sheep. The man straightened, revealing his height. His hair was brown. The cut of his coat, flapping in the wind, was that of a gentleman. Just his luck Thomas would find the poisoned sheep first.

The man turned, and Harry’s thoughts scattered. For a moment he couldn’t think at all.

The man’s shoulders were broader than Thomas’s, his hair a shade lighter, curling around his ears. His face was broad and handsome, laugh lines framed his sensual lips, and his eyes had heavy lids. It couldn’t be.

The man approached and vaulted the stone wall easily. As he got nearer, his green eyes glowed like phosphorus. Harry felt Lady Georgina come alongside him. He realized absently that he’d forgotten to help her from the gig.

“Harry,” he heard her say, “you never told me you had a brother.”

Chapter Eight

It had always been her downfall: failing to think sufficiently before speaking. This was brought home to George rather emphatically when both men swung to look at her in shock. How was she to know it was some sort of dark secret? She’d never seen eyes as green as Harry’s, and yet here they were, the same green eyes, staring at her from another man’s face. True, the other man was taller, and his features were of a different cast. But who, looking at their eyes, could draw any other conclusion than that they were brothers? She really couldn’t be blamed.