Still, he’d prefer sussing out information first. Informants were always far more talkative before they realized he was their foe instead of their friend. It was only logical they would talk more before they knew they were, in fact, acting as informants. Best not to tip his hat too soon.
Marcus dropped his hands to his sides and relaxed his posture. He gave the fellow a smile, hoping to put him at ease. All the while, he took in every detail he could.
He’d heard rumors that it was a naval officer he was after, but this... He eyed the short, slight figure that hovered near the edge of the cave.
Perhaps it was a young boy, then?
His brows drew together in concern. He’d been prepared to face a worthy opponent on this, his last mission for the crown.
But a young boy?
Curse it. He hated feeling sympathy for his enemies. Perhaps if the young upstart was working for someone else? There was no way a young boy could be the only one behind the smuggling side of this operation, which meant the real villain was hiding behind this young man. He eyed the figure.
No, definitely a boy.
He’d been right the first time.
“Are you alone then?” he asked, keeping his voice light, dropping the growl that served him well when he was dealing with brutes and rogues.
The hood moved. A nod.
Ah, so he would have to play this well, then. There was no sense taking down the pawn when what he was after was the king. If he played his cards right, the boy would lead him right to the smuggler in charge, and that smuggler... Well, that smuggler must know how and where to contact the pirates who’d been wreaking havoc at sea, stealing cargo and even plundering ancient treasures bound for British soil.
He just barely held back a sigh as he rocked back on his heels.
He would not pounce. He would take it slow, demonstrate patience.
But good heavens, he was running out of the latter. His brother had been right, his sister-in-law too. It was high time he left this life of adventure and intrigue behind.
It was a young man’s game, and while he was hardly senile, his latest injury had been a reminder that he wasn’t invincible either.
More than all that, at some point in the last few years, he’d lost the thrill of the hunt.
Even now, he could only summon up pity for the lad who’d been drawn into this mess. The excitement that used to make his heart pound and his blood rush only left him weary now. He took a small step back, and then another, watching as the figure slouched slightly as he did.
Yes, yes. Be at ease, child. You are not the prey I’m after. He let his smile widen as he adopted his most congenial air. You are not my prey. Just the means to an end.
He eyed the figure with remorse. It was too bad he’d have to drag a child into this, but it was his master’s fault, in the end. The blasted criminal ought to have done his own dirty deeds.
“Now then,” he said to the boy. “I suppose you’ve been sent with my coins, eh?”
He tried for casual. Harmless. There was often a misconception among those who dwelled in the shadows that the best way to get ahead was to be the meanest, the nastiest, the toughest. Pirates, in general, seemed to think this was a requirement for doing business, and privateers were no different than pirates, for the most part. The only difference lie in legalities.
He who held a letter of marque was exempt from the gallows, and those without were not so fortunate. A slip of paper meant the difference between right and wrong.
According to the courts, anyway. For Marcus, right and wrong had never been about the law, but rather justice. Humanity. He valued his own sense of right and fair over any law.
But these days, he and the law found themselves in agreement.
How fortunate for the law. He could practically hear his brother Alistair, the Earl of Colefax, and his dry humor.
The thought of his brother’s amusement had his own lips curving up, making his smile genuine as he faced off with this poor youth.
While Marcus was undoubtedly capable of physical violence and brutality when it was necessary, his upbringing as the heir to an earldom had taught him well that often the easiest and most efficient way to obtain power was through a smile. A wink. A kind word and an easy laugh.
All of which he employed now.
Well, not the wink. But he did laugh softly, throwing his hands out wide to put the child at ease as he shifted again. Still close enough that he could lunge if need be, but not so close as to be threatening. “Do you have the coin?” he asked.
Another hesitation. Then another nod.
“I’ll make a deal with you; how would you like that?”
Silence.
“If you tell me where I can find the man who sent you, I shall let you walk out of here with all the money to keep for yourself. For your family.”
Nothing. Not so much as a grunt of acknowledgement. He held back a sigh. And here he’d been hoping this wouldn’t have to unfold the hard way.
That was when he caught it. A slight shift, a tensing...a dead giveaway.
The chap was going to bolt. And he’d be taking the name of Marcus’s prey with him.
He moved just as the boy did. But Marcus was faster. The boy barely even put up a fight as Marcus landed on top of him and brought him down to the ground. An oof escaped the lad as Marcus had no doubt knocked the wind out of his lungs when he’d landed on top. He went to roll off and start in on the questions, but another sound escaped the boy.
It sounded like a squeak.
Ridiculously small and frightfully weak fists struck him. This boy wasn’t going down without
