Joan had already considered that. “Give it a few minutes. If I know Morgan, he arrived early and went to the tavern to get a good view of the situation. He’s likely inside right now and will come out in a little bit. That way he won’t be recognized as just arriving at the determined time, making him appear as the intended target. This location was the most defensible, and he likely guessed it wasn’t about picking the correct place, since all would be watched. He’d pick the location that was the easiest to manipulate.”

“Never before have I been so grateful for my profession,” Rowles replied with a chuckle. “Being a professor may seem boring to some, but it’s far less dangerous, with less intrigue.”

“Of that we can both agree. And I wouldn’t consider it boring. Your job is to teach…what a gift! But I digress. Do you have the time?” Joan asked.

Rowles withdrew his gold pocket watch. “Quarter of five.”

“Perfect,” Joan responded and nodded to the door of the Hound and Hare. “Look.”

Sure enough, Morgan stepped out and glanced at his own pocket watch.

“Follow me.” Joan opened the carriage door and allowed Rowles to step out first, then assist her out as well. She’d donned her veil once more, keeping her face hidden from view.

As she took Rowles’s arm, she started toward Morgan, who froze as he saw them approach. Swallowing her rising trepidation, she squeezed Rowles’s arm as they strolled, and as if reading her mind, he slowed.

“Good sir,” he called out. “Thank you for meeting me.”

Joan released a sigh of relief. “Yes, thank you,” she added. “Will you come with us?”

Morgan’s stare hardened, and he looked toward the three men waiting by the hitching post.

“Please, my brother waits to meet you?” Joan implored. The men at the post were nudging one another, as if suspicious, and mounted their horses. With a unified front, they started to approach Morgan. Joan held her breath as the riders came toward them. With a sigh, she shifted to the left slightly as they crossed the muddy street. The riders approached cautiously.

“You, what’s the time?” one asked Morgan, the other two riders sidling up beside him. With a loud shriek, Joan slipped in the mud—purposely, of course—and grabbed for the nearest horse’s reins, noting the rider was the one who had patted his chest pocket earlier. The horse sidestepped and bucked, dismounting its rider, then bolted down the road. Mud was flung from its hooves as it thundered away, leaving the rider dazed as he sat in the mud.