The Duke Of Ruin by Claudia Stone

Author:Claudia Stone
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: 0
Published: 2017-10-07T23:00:00+00:00

Ruan's hand was itching to form itself into a fist, and thoroughly punch the recalcitrant man seated before him. They were in the small, damp gaol near the docks, where George Beattie -- the tar who had blown up The Elizabeth -- was being held. Ruan had been informed that Beattie hailed from Bristol, and was a well known thief, who often acted as hired muscle for local criminal gangs.

"I'll ask you one more time," Ruan said, in a voice so low and menacing that even the magistrate who had accompanied him to Beattie's cell, quaked upon hearing it. "Who paid you to wreck The Elizabeth?"

"And I told you," Beattie sneered, "I don't bloody well know."

Whack.

Ruan delivered a blow so forceful to the sailor's chin, that he fell from his chair to the floor.

"Are you going to let him punch me like that?"

"Punch you like what?" the magistrate replied blandly, to Beattie's outraged protests. "I didn't see a thing."

Ruan suppressed a grin; if he was so inclined he could have strangled Beattie to death and the magistrate wouldn't have blinked an eyelid. Such was the power of his title. But Ruan wasn't there to kill Beattie, he didn't need to for he would surly hang on the gallows for his crime; Ruan just wanted to know who had paid him to commit the act in the first place.

"Once again Mr Beattie," he said softly, advancing on the young man, who was still sprawled on the cold, hard ground of the gaol cell. "Who paid you to wreck The Elizabeth?"

"I don't know."

This time Beattie sounded scared, as he made his reply, his eyes darting around the cell, as though searching for a means of escape. "If I knew I'd tell you, but it was dark when I met him. Alls I know is that he sounded like a toff. He spoke just like you did, your Grace."

Ruan frowned; this information didn't narrow down his list of suspects by many. Every aristocratic male of the ton spoke with the same clipped vowels; the product of an Eton education.

"Where did you meet with this man?" he asked.

"The alley behind The Seven Stars, in Redcliff, your Grace," the prisoner offered reluctantly. "I was relieving myself after a couple of pints, and he approached me from behind."

"Brave man, to approach a man engaged in that particular act."

Beattie snorted with laughter; "Aye, he was, but he came ready with a bag of coins the weight of a small calf, and the promise of another once the act was done."

"And you were to collect the second payment here, in Southampton?"

"Aye," Beattie grimaced, "And then I was to take a boat to France and disappear."

"You'll disappear alright, young man," the magistrate interjected, "In a few weeks time you'll hang for this, and the world will forget that George Beattie ever existed."

At these bleak words, the young man paled, and Ruan knew that he would get no more answers from him. Still, he ventured to ask one final question.

"When

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