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Since leaving his life in the navy, it was rare to discover an opponent worthy of his skills Certainly not the Runners, whom his victims occasionally hired to track him down Or even the militia, which had been called in by the local aristocrats who had wearied of having their elegant guests robbed traveling through Knightsbridge How could he not respect the damnable cur?

His ridiculous thoughts were cut short as a slight, dour-faced servant entered the kitchen to regard him with a startled frown

Foster had once been a trained manservant who had worked at soht still be holding today if he had not been caught forging his enature to obtain a number of bank drafts It didn’torphanage rather than lining his own pocket He had been found guilty and ordered to the penal colonies

He had tossed himself from the convict ship and was near death when Josiah had fished him from the waters

That had been nearly twenty years ago and Josiah had never had cause to regret his i loyalty and the skill to teach Josiah the proper entleman

The fact that Josiah ree was entirely his own fault

Noticing the blood staining his master’s shirt, Foster hurried forward “Good Lord, sir, you’ve been injured”

“So it would seem, Foster”

“Well, I’ve given you warning enough, the Lord knows” The servant gave a click of his tongue “Aacross the countryside as if you were still a strapping lad Bound to come a cropper in the end I suppose that deave you a tumble?”

“No, I did not take a tue nor a greenhorn unable to control his mount, demon-spawn or not”

“Then what…?” Bending forward to have a closer look at the injury, Foster abruptly caught his breath “Bloody hell You’ve been shot”

“Yes, I did suspect as ave a muttered curse as he pulled his ruined shirt over his head and tossed it to the nearby fire “Daht in taxing their citizens into abject poverty and then pretend horror when those citizens are forced to live a life of crime to survive”

“Liverpool shot you?”