“In Mayfair’s wide streets the moon shone down, but here the tenements and warehouses hemmed the lanes in; it was nearly pitch-dark. This close to the river, fog had already thickened, wisps wreathing about their greatcoated shoulders, clinging as they passed. Their boots fell softly on ancient cobbles. “I’m glad you know where you’re going.” Tristan’s voice came in a whisper from behind. “I just hope you know the way back.” Christian’s lips quirked. Five yards farther on he halted and faced a p...lain wooden door. Raising a fist, he knocked once, waited a heartbeat, then knocked twice. A moment passed, then a small screened window in the door slid open. There was no light within. Another silent moment ticked past, then a hoarse voice demanded, “Who is it?” “Grantham.” The window slid shut. Tristan tapped his arm. Christian glanced his way, saw Tristan’s raised brows, whispered, “Previous title.” “Ah.” They waited, patiently, for several minutes, then they heard heavy bolts sliding back.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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