He savored each and every mouthful of the food and drink he ordered, then paid with a silver sixpence. When the serving girl brought his change, she saw immediately that her customer had placed a golden sovereign on the table. It gleamed in the candlelight in a most inviting manner. At last she forced her eyes from it and lifted them to his.

"Is there summat I can do for you, m'lord?" He did not look like a milord, but anyone with that kind of blunt to spend deserved respect.

"What will you do for a sovereign?a "Anything," she replied, glancing at the gold coin.

"Anything?" he asked softly.

She licked her lips apprehensively and thought it over for a moment. He looked a dangerous customer, but how often in this lifetime would she get the chance to earn a gold sovereign in one night? She nodded her a.s.sent.

"I'll need a private room for the night and a bath. As well as soap and a razor I'll need a rasp file from the stables."

He paid the landlord for the room and followed the wench upstairs. With the help of a potboy she dragged a tub into the room, and while the lad filled it with steaming water, she went in search of the file.

When she returned, Sean O'Toole was standing in the center of the chamber, still wrapped in his cloak. "What's your name, la.s.s?"

"It's Lizzy, m'lord."

"Well, Lizzy, I need a shave, a haircut, and a good delousing."

Lizzy giggled; he was so unsavory looking, he hadn't needed to tell her he was lousy. "If you get in the water, 'alf of 'em will float off you."

"Before I get in the water, you're going to have to file a set of manacles off me," he said quietly.

"Is that what you've been 'iding under your cloak!"

"Don't be afraid, Lizzy; I won't hurt you."

She saw his mouth curve in a half smile that did not reach his eyes. She straightened her spine. "Go on, then, I believe youa"thousands wouldn't!"

They took turns working on the manacle, which was on his right wrist. If it had been on his left, Sean would have had it off in no time. Lizzy watched with fascination as he grasped the file in his left hand, gripping it tightly with the stub of his thumb, then dragging the points of the rasp back and forth with little concern for the skin beneath that was by now bleeding from a dozen gouges.

Finally, the stubborn iron gave way. It separated suddenly and she lumped back in surprise as it fell to the floor. Sean picked up the manacle, set it on the table, and covered it with the cloak. Then he undressed quickly and stepped into what was now tepid water.

"Your bath's gone cold ... let me call for more hot water."

"Let me befoul this water first. . . . I'll likely need a second bath to remove my gamy stink."

Lizzy had been amazed when he undressed; beneath the rags was a strong, lithe body that rippled with hard muscle.

"Would you take the razor and rid me of most of this wild hair?"

Lizzy opened the razor and moved behind him. As she lifted the matted black locks, exposing his neck, it occurred to her that he was at her mercy. With growing confidence she hacked away his hair, lice and all. "I bet you could tell some tale,"

she ventured.

"You don't want to know, Lizzy." His voice was quiet, but it held an unmistakable note of finality.

When she had his hair cut so it just curled on his neck, she began on the matted beard. She went about it gingerly, afraid of cutting too close.

"I don't bite," he said softly.

She looked into pewter eyes. "I'll bet you do," she contradicted.

"You're a brave la.s.s, Lizzy, to tackle the likes of me."

She winked at him. "I've a strong stomach!"

He laughed then, throwing back his head so the cords in his neck stood out like ship's cables.

When she had the beard down to about half an inch he lathered his face, then took the razor from her and shaved. Lizzy's eyes widened in appreciation. The transformation was stunning. His face was so lean, his cheekbones stood out like the sharp edges of a saber. His dark eyes burned with zeal. He was so palpably male, her heart began to hammer. He was the image of Satan.

Sean O'Toole stepped from the befouled water and wrapped the towel about his loins. "Would you call for the potboy and another bath?"

When the steaming water was brought, he tipped the boy and watched him leave. Then he took Lizzy's hand and pressed the gold sovereign into it. "Thank you."

He removed the towel, stepped into the clean water, and slid down. The feel of it as it closed over his hips was so pleasurable, it made him quiver. When he glanced at Lizzy, she was watching him with yearning eyes.

"Would you care to join me?"

"Gor blind me, I thought you'd never ask, m'lord!"

By the time he slept, the sun was climbing up the sky. Lizzy reluctantly slipped from the bed and dressed. She threw a wistful glance at the sleeping figure. "Coo, the Irish sure could teach the English a thing or two," she murmured.

Sean O'Toole slept the sleep of the just. When he awoke it was early evening and he saw that his filthy old clothes had been washed and laid beside the bed.

"Lizzy, you are too kind. It will get you nowhere in this b.l.o.o.d.y world!"

He dressed, then put on the black cloak to cover his shabby attire. He carefully wrapped the dismembered thumb in a towel and tucked it beneath his arm.

He went down to the taproom to break his fast with a bowl of barley and mutton stew, followed by crusty bread and Lancashire cheese. Nothing he could remember had ever tasted so heavenly.

Lizzy was all smiles, and to Sean's amus.e.m.e.nt she even produced a blush or two.

"Are you on your way, then?" she asked, wishing he would stay awhile.

"I am, Lizzy. But I'll never forget you."

Before he left, he gave Lizzy another generous tip and bade her good-bye.

"G.o.dspeed," she said earnestly.

Sean stared at her. Did she really believe there was a G.o.d?

He made his way to Meyer, Shweitzer & Davidson, a gentlemen's tailors in Cork Street. When he first entered the shop and they looked at him askance, he immediately produced gold. The staff became instantly obsequious and could not do enough for him. He purchased a complete outfit of ready-made clothes, including stockings and shoes. He kept the new clothes on and told them to dispose of his old garments. Then he ordered two more sets of clothes, one for daytime wear, the other for evening. He paid for them and told the tailor they must be ready by tomorrow evening.

It was full dark when he left the shop, and London by night was an experience he couldn't resist. He walked the streets, familiarizing himself with the ancient city and enjoying his newfound freedom. When he reached the Strand, he entered the Savoy Hotel and took a room. He looked the clerk directly in the eye and said, "My luggage won't be arriving until tomorrow. I want the bed linen and towels changed twice a day. Be good enough to give me the name and address of London's finest glovers, and send up a bottle of your finest Irish whisky."

Sean FitzGerald O'Toole stood before the mirror in his chamber. He had not seen his image in almost five years. He stared dispa.s.sionately at the man in the looking gla.s.s. His youth had gone. Gone, too, was all the firm rounded flesh from his body. He was all bone, sinew, and muscle. The face that looked back at him was pure Celta"dark, stark, and dangerous. They had turned him into the Prince of h.e.l.l!

When the clock struck midnight, he locked his room door, walked down to the Strand, and made his way to Portman Square.

12.

As John Montague came up through the layers of sleep, he sensed something was wrong. When he felt the cold blade of a knife between his legs, he was certain of it.

He did not dare move or even breathe, for the knifepoint p.r.i.c.ked his sac.

"Johnny, lad, do you remember me?"

He remembered the deep voice with the Irish lilt as if he had heard it yesterday. "Sean . . . Sean O'Toole. Christ, is this another nightmare?" John Montague whispered.

"Let's call it a living nightmare, Johnny."

"Wh-what do you want?"

"Think about it for a minute; I'm sure the answer will come to you."

All that broke the silence was John's labored breathing. Finally,

ohn's voice broke the silence. "You want revenge."

"You're a clever lad, Johnny."

"Sean, I'm sorrya"I acted like a sniveling coward that night. I was unified of my father and didn't dare defy him. I swear to you I don't know which one knifed Joseph, but it was either my father or Jack Raymond."

Silence met his words in the darkness, so he babbled on to fill the void. "I've regretted not speaking up every clay since!"

"You betrayed me with silence, but it will be the last time you ever betray me without retribution."

"I swear if I had it all to do over, I'd stand beside you and tell the truth!"

"I thank the devil we don't have it all to do over, Johnny, for Joseph wouldn't enjoy dying a second time and I a.s.suredly wouldn't enjoy serving another five years on the hulks."

"Forgive me, Sean, forgive me. You have no idea how I admired you, idolized you, and how much I despise myself for what I did to you!"

"If you ever cross me again, not only will you end up without thumbs, you'll have no c.o.c.k and b.a.l.l.s when I'm done with you."

John Montague was now trembling so violently, he was in danger of doing himself an injury.

"Don't p.i.s.s yourself, Johnny," Sean said, removing the knife from between his legs. "I'll not do it tonight."

Johnny drew a ragged breath, not rea.s.sured in any way.

Sean O'Toole struck a sulphur match and lit the candles at John Montague's bedside.

Johnny stared at the intruder with wide eyes. O'Toole had changed drastically; only the voice and the pewter eyes that burned with a silver flame were the same.

"You've not come to kill me?" Johnny asked.

"I don't want to kill you; I want to own you, body and soul, Johnny Montague."

"What do you want me to do? Just tell me and I'll do it." He sat up on the edge of the bed and his visitor took a chair facing him.

"You work in the Admiralty Office. I want you to remove my records and destroy them. The name of Sean FitzGerald O'Toole must appear never to have been there. Every trace of my arrest and conviction must be wiped out. If it is not done, Johnny, my knife and I shall return."

"It will be done, exactly as you say. They won't be able to arrest you again, because there will be no record of your trumped up crime or sentence."

Sean's mouth curved in a half smile. He propped his feet up on Johnny's bed and stretched his arms behind his head. "I've been out of touch with the world. What has happened in the last five years, Johnny?"

"My mother ran away a few days after your birthday celebration. My sister and I have never seen her since. She was in love with your brother, but I don't even know if she's aware of his death . . . for that matter I don't even know if she's alive."

"Amber was a wh.o.r.e."

"An Irish wh.o.r.e!" Johnny retaliated.

"Touche, Johnny, you're not quite as gutless as you look."

"I suppose you knew that your grandfather, Edward FitzGerald, died of his wounds when he was arrested for treason?"

"I knew he could not recover," Sean said quietly. "That's another gravestone I shall lay at your father's door. I believe Montague was the informant."

Johnny's eyes widened in shock, but when he thought it over he saw it was a probability. "I wouldn't put anything past him. I hate and despise him!"

"Good, it will make you a better ally, and if you are not my ally, you are my enemy."

"I am your willing ally, Sean, never your enemy," Johnny swore.

"I suppose your family's fortune has flourished as the green bay tree?" Sean asked, his voice tinged with irony.

John replied guiltily, "Yes, we have a fleet of merchant ships now, known as the Montague Line."

"Mmm, I believe you are going to prove invaluable to me, Johnny. I'll see you on Sat.u.r.day. That should give you time to see to the records."

"My sister is getting married on Sat.u.r.day," Johnny blurted out.

"To whom?"

"To our cousin Jack."

Sean's face was a dark mask. Then he smiled, although the smile did not reach his eyes. "Perhaps the Earl of Kildare will attend." He bowed to Johnny and melted into the darkness.

It took John Montague a moment to realize that Sean FitzGerald O'Toole was now the Earl of Kildare.