As soon as his back was to me, I turned and fled the room, praying no one would stop me, least of all Gage. I smiled tightly at a couple ascending the stairs as I hurried down them. It took the footman longer than I would have liked to find my wrap, but chilly as it was, I knew I could not leave without it. I pulled it around my shoulders and escaped through the doors into the night.
I was certain the footmen huddled outside waiting to help the guests in and out of their carriages looked at me oddly as I walked past them and then turned down George Street alone, but they could hardly say anything. Not to me anyway.
The air was so bitter cold it almost burned as it entered my lungs, but I welcomed the discomfort. Anything to distract me from the hurt and anger roiling up inside me, threatening to choke me.
I lengthened my stride as I crossed the intersection at Frederick Street. The farther I walked away from the Assembly Rooms, the quieter the night became, and fewer carriages were parked along the curbs. The streetlamps illuminated the sidewalks in this part of town quite adequately, but even they could not pierce the gloom completely.
So when a man pulled away from the shadows clinging to the buildings and fell into step beside me, I was not anticipating it. I made a startled side step, even as I continued to walk, but when I realized it was Bonnie Brock, I merely scowled, too irate to feel any genuine fear.
“Don’t even think about forcing me into another carriage,” I told him, staring fiercely ahead of me. The ground was hard and cold beneath the material of my thin slippers, but I refused to shorten my stride.
In any case, my fast pace didn’t seem to bother the long-legged rogue. His hands were tucked in his pockets as if we were out for a leisurely stroll. “I wouldna dream o’ it,” he replied. “Just thought I’d join ye on your evenin’ constitutional.”
I turned to glare at him, catching the flash of his teeth as he smiled. They were remarkably clean and straight for a man who’d grown up on the streets of Edinburgh and lived his life among the rough-and-tumble existence of the lower denizens of Old Town. But then, I really knew nothing of the man’s history. Maybe he hadn’t grown up on the streets? Maybe he wasn’t even originally from Edinburgh?
I considered Brock for a moment. I could understand why he was called Bonnie, for he certainly was handsome, with his tall, trim figure, long hair, and regular features that seemed marred only by his crooked nose, likely from repeatedly being broken. Though tonight he was also sporting a dark bruise across his left cheekbone, hopefully earned in his scuffle with Gage. What I didn’t understand was why a man in his position would allow others to call him by such a sobriquet. It didn’t exactly inspire fear or awe or respect.
Perhaps that was the point. Maybe he preferred to keep his public face unintimidating, only to lull those who would challenge him into a false sense of security. I had to admit, I’d not found the name to be very menacing when Sergeant Maclean had first told us about him. Maybe that was on purpose. Maybe it was harder to convict a man called Bonnie Brock than it would be if he was called The Butcher, or some other awful name.
“Why are you following me?” I snapped, deciding it would be best for me to remember this was not a harmless gentleman come to walk me home.
He didn’t insult my intelligence by attempting to lie to me, though I could tell that he considered it. “Perhaps I find ye interestin’.”
I glowered at him, telling him just what I thought of that bit of balderdash.
He easily kept pace with me, even as I hurried across Castle Street. I could see the dark outline of the green space of Charlotte Square up ahead. Another block and I would almost be home.
“Perhaps I want to ken what progress you’ve made in findin’ my sister.”
“Not much,” I admitted bitterly.
“Well, perhaps ye need to try harder.” His voice had sharpened along with his eyes, but I was in no mood to be intimidated.
“Perhaps it would be easier if certain people stopped talking in riddles.”
His eyes narrowed to study me more closely, but I turned away, trying to gauge how much farther it was to Philip’s door.
“Nay,” he declared. “I think it’s because yer too distracted by this Mr. Gage.”
I stiffened at the mention of his name.
“Although tonight he seems to have angered you something fierce. Or else why would ye leave him and set off to walk home by yerself?”
How long had Bonnie Brock been following me? Certainly since I’d arrived at the Assembly Rooms with Gage, but had he been trailing me before then? What of earlier in the day, or yesterday, or the day before that? I didn’t like the idea of being followed about unaware by this criminal or his henchmen.