He met her gaze and some of the heat dissipated. His heartbeats slowed simply by glancing at her. Odd really because what could Violet possibly do about this situation but merely looking at her was enough to calm him marginally.
“Someone has my father.” He nodded toward the letter.
“Has your father? I don’t understand.”
“This...” He gestured up and down himself, “was no robbery gone wrong nor some random attack.”
She blinked a few times. “Whatever do you mean?”
“This was a warning attack.”
“But from who?”
He rubbed a hand over his jaw. He’d dismissed the men as petty criminals. That had been his first mistake. His second had been turning down their case but he couldn’t defend a murderer knowing full well of the man’s guilt.
“You have heard of John Doyle?”
She nodded. “I read of his case in the newspaper. He ran one of the rookeries did he not?”
“Indeed. They recruited dozens of young children to steal for them then fenced the goods through a pub on Avon Street.”
“I read he killed a rival but there was also suspicion he killed his wife too.”
“They won’t convict him for the wife—that case is not strong enough—however, chances are he’ll hang for the first murder.”
“Well good. He sounds like an awful man.”
“He is.” Duke wasn’t going to go into the details of the case with Violet. Doyle took pleasure in killing and inflicting pain it seemed. Whoever had attacked him felt similarly. They’d hoped to beat him into submission.
“So what does this have to do with your father? John Doyle cannot have him. He’s being held in Newgate.”
“No, but his men do.” Duke shook his head, sagged against the bookcase and gave her a grim look. “And they won’t release him unless I defend Doyle and ensure he does not hang for murder.”
Chapter Eight
Ashiver travelled through Violet, and she clenched her fists at her side to suppress the sensation. She’d never seen Duke look so serious—not even after his severe beating. Even then, the dimple in his cheek flashed while he reassured them all he was fine.
She glanced at the crumpled note that landed just shy of the roaring fire then back to Duke. It was difficult to avoid discussions of the impending court case for John Doyle. His organization had menaced much of Bath society and many local charities decried his use of children to do his ill deeds for him. Children as young as five were trained to pick pockets or even sneak into houses and yet Doyle and his men had never been brought to justice. In fact, it was usually the children who were punished when many had little idea what they were doing wrong or were too scared of Doyle to refuse to work for him.
Violet eyed the fading bruises on Duke’s face and the arm still wrapped about his waist. If Doyle’s men could do such a thing to someone as strong as Duke, what would they do to his father?
“So they wanted you to defend Doyle?” she asked through a thick throat, aware her voice trembled.
He nodded. “His son Patrick approached me about a month ago. I turned him down and thought nothing of it until his men did this.”
“You knew his men were responsible for this? But why did you not say?”
He smirked. “And frighten you all? What purpose would that serve?”
“Well, we could have...” She waved vaguely. “I don’t know...”
“Gather your knitting needles and defend me?”
Hands to her hips, she fixed him with a cool look. “I do not knit.”
“My point is there was little that could be done, and I rather hoped after inflicting this upon me and realizing I would not acquiesce they would give up.” Duke ran a hand across his face. “It seems not and now my father is to pay for that arrogance.”
“Surely there are other lawyers in Bath? Why are they so desperate to have you defend Doyle?”