The coachman swallowed his surprise and released the reins.

Breckenridge swiftly tacked and, cursing at the tightness, swung the town carriage into the road. The instant the conveyance was free of the line, he whipped up the horses. “Keep your eyes peeled-I have no idea which way they might go.”

“Aye, sir-my lord…”

Briefly meeting the coachman’s sideways glance, Breckenridge stated, “Viscount Breckenridge. I know Devil and Gabriel.” And the others, but those names would do.

The coachman nodded. “Aye, my lord.” Turning, he called back to the groom, hanging on behind. “James-you watch left and I’ll watch right. If we miss seeing them, you’ll need to hop down at the next corner and look.”

Breckenridge concentrated on the horses. Luckily there was little other traffic. He made the turn into the same street the coach had taken. All three of them immediately looked ahead. Light from numerous street flares garishly illuminated an odd-angled four-way intersection ahead.

“There!” came a call from behind. “That’s them-turning left into the bigger street.”

Breckenridge gave thanks for James’s sharp eyes; he’d only just glimpsed the back of the coach himself. Urging the horses on as quickly as he dared, they reached the intersection and made the turn-just in time to see the coach turn right at the next intersection.

“Oh,” the coachman said.

Breckenridge flicked a glance his way. “What?”

“That’s Avenue Road they’ve just turned into-it merges into Finchley Road just a bit along.”

And Finchley Road became the Great North Road, and the coach was heading north. “They might be heading for some house out that way.” Breckenridge told himself that could be the case… but they were following a traveling coach, not a town carriage.