Rebecca fought for all her worth but the sack over her head and shoulders subdued her efforts. It was critical she held onto her reticule. The more she struggled, the more her assailant tightened the bag about her head. The sensation was one of too much enclosure—like being confined in a pine box with someone throwing dirt atop. She was bodily tossed onto a hard seat just as the hack jerked into motion. The sack was too thick, too difficult to see through, and she was pressed into small breaths lest she run out of air. Concentrating on breathing went far into staving off the panic.
“How pleasant to see ye, milady.”
Rebecca stilled, forcing herself to calm. Her temper would get her killed otherwise. “Mr. Cromwell, I presume.” She hadn’t gotten a good look at her assailant before the attack. He yanked the coverings from her head and in the mayhem, she had the rationale to shove her reticule at her back and adjust her skirts to shield it. With the oxygen came her confidence. The man was a menace, but she could take him. It was a matter of opportunity.
“Ye’ve cost me time and blunt. Where are those miscreants?”
She smoothed her hands over her skirts. “Miscreants?”
“I know there’s two of ’em. I followed ye out of town. Almost had ye till that nob beat me to ye.”
Rebecca swallowed and sent up a silent prayer of thanks that Sebastian had reached them first.
“Ye said they was yer children.”
“I believe there was only one, sir.”
His fist flew out and caught her on the chin, knocking her head against the inner paneling. “That’ll be ’nuff out of ye.”
“You realize my husband is the Duke of Ryleigh?” How satisfying to see him flinch.
“When they drag yer body from the river if they find ye, he’ll jes think you were runnin’ from yer ’sponsibilities.”
It was her turn to flinch. That was exactly what Sebastian would believe. Silence hovered in the disgusting hack and the smell of the Thames grew closer and more rank. The hack stopped and Cromwell pushed aside a ratted curtain and looked outside. “We’re ’ere.” He tossed the sack to her. “Put that on and keep quiet.”
She opened her mouth to protest and quickly changed her mind. With the sack over her head, she would be better able to conceal her reticule. She fumbled with the dark covering and just managed to get it over her head and snatch up her bag before the scoundrel grabbed her arm. He would pay, she vowed. In the next instant, she was jerked from the conveyance and sliding on the mud caking her kid slippers.
The sack covering failed in keeping out the stench of the river. She clutched her bag to her chest and stumbled along as he dragged her. Rusted hinges scraped and her stomached dropped. Stifling her panic with her eyes covered was the most difficult thing she’d ever done. They were close to the river, but Cromwell was taking her inside a building. There were many abandoned, dilapidated structures where he could stash her. She eased her dagger out, prepared to defend her honor to the death. If Cromwell had plans to defile her, he’d find himself missing a vital, protruding part to complete the act, she vowed.
Sand gritted beneath her thin slippers, scuffing against wood floors as she was led to who knew where. More rusted hinges sounded, and the villain shoved her inside from the back before jerking the sack from her head. “I’ll be back for ye at dark.” His laugh sent a ripple of icy black chills over her that mingled with outrage.
She tripped over a large lump in the floor but caught her balance and spun about, barely registering the low grunt below her. Aiming her dagger at the blackguard, she charged.
“What the hell?” Cromwell’s face twisted in a mask of sheer evil. His foot shot out and hit her thigh, sending the knife flying from her slippery grasp near his feet. He swooped it off the floor and faced her, his body in a defensive stance, arms out, his right hand aiming the blade at her. His rapid breaths filled the confined space. “I shoulda knowd ye fight like a dog.” He swung out at her.
She barely missed the dodge and fell back over the lump. It emitted another groan.
“I’ll teach ye to fuck with Finch Cromwell, ye bitch.” He lunged again and she kicked out, hitting his thigh. The knife swiped again, this time slicing the forearm she held up to ward him off. The burning sensation was almost immediate. She looked down at her shredded, blood-soaked glove, then at him.
He backhanded her, sending her flailing back over the body on the floor, her vision wavering then going mercifully black.
Cavendish Square was a long shot, Sebastian thought not without rising panic as he pounded on Viscount Harlowe’s door. Harlowe was a man who knew the London underbelly better than anyone Sebastian could think of. The man had been kidnapped, left for dead, then dumped in a hold aboard a ship where he would have likely been tossed overboard if not for the luck of a young girl recognizing him. The entire debacle had happened two years prior.
The butler in the open doorway was a large Scot who’d been with the viscount sense his nuptials. “Who be a callin’?” The heavy brogue filled Sebastian’s ears.
“Hello, McCaskin, I’m looking for Harlowe. It’s imperative I speak with him right away.”
“Come in, Your Grace. Go into the parlour. He’ll see you right away.”
Sebastian followed his direction, uncaring that the man didn’t follow the formal protocol when it came to dealing with his betters. Sebastian rather liked the less than embellished and kowtowing. He hurried to the parlour located off the foyer, fighting his way for calm.
Sebastian pulled out his watch, his pulse ratcheting up. Every minute that passed was a minute longer Rebecca’s life was at stake.
Harlowe strode in. “Ryleigh? What an unexpected surprise. My felicitations on your recent nuptials.”
“I find myself in desperate need of your assistance.”
“My, this grows more and more curious,” Harlowe murmured.
The man’s amusement poked at Sebastian like a poisoned-tipped pike. “My wife has been absconded with and I haven’t the slightest notion where to find her.”
“Kidnapped,” Harlowe said startled.
“I believe the man’s name is Cromwell.”
“A lowlife if ever there was one.”
“So, you know of him.”
“He moved in on Jarvis’s territory after Jarvis’s demise.” Jarvis had been in the business of selling children, and the occasional woman if she proved difficult. Thankfully, Lady Harlowe had proved extremely difficult. Jarvis had perished in the scuffle. “Doubt if he moved operations at all.”
“Meaning?” Sebastian bit out impatiently.
“There’s a warehouse on the river’s edge. That’s the first place we should check. Bastards don’t alter their patterns.” Harlowe strode out of the parlor with Sebastian on his heels. “The old place Jarvis used to take children. I believe I painted a picture of the place at one time. There’s no reason to believe he would deviate from what Jarvis would have done. It’s the best place to start. I shall accompany you.”
“I appreciate that.”
They took a hack, deciding its anonymity would serve their purposes better.