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Colin gave the jarvey the address and settled across from Harley. The low light slanted into the carriage before he closed the curtains, not wanting to be seen. Flickering lamps illuminated the child’s wan face. They rode in silence for a few moments, Colin parting the curtains and peering out when the conveyance paused. The jarvey called down that a lorry had overturned and there would be a slight delay. Harley seemed to sink down further into her seat. Colin sighed impatiently.
“Yer lady is kind,” Harley said a few minutes later.
“I suppose she is,” Colin answered, peering through the curtains again.
“She gave me sugar in me tea. Not every lady would do that.” When Colin didn’t respond, she added, “And she let me sit on the chair.”
“That is the purpose of chairs,” he replied drily, though he knew what she meant. She was dirty and her clothing stained. Many ladies wouldn’t so much as admit her into their houses not to mention allow her to sit on their expensively upholstered furnishings.
Several more minutes of silence followed. Colin looked out the curtains frequently and Harley sighed, shifted, and muttered to herself.
“Change your mind about the orphanage?” Colin asked when the conveyance finally began to move again.
“Not exactly,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
The expression on her small face was the embodiment of guilt. “It means I think I made a mistake, is all.”
Colin felt a small frisson of alarm course through him. “What sort of mistake?”
“The kind you won’t like. The kind I can’t take back.”
Colin resisted the urge to demand she tell him immediately. Instead, he kept his voice level. “What is it you’ve done?”
“I didn’t really know you when I did it,” she said, seeming to explain without having yet identified the crime. “I didn’t know yer lady was so kind.”
“What have you done?” Colin now demanded, fear rising in him like hot air.
“And the blunt ‘e offered was too good to pass up. I should ‘ave known it was too good.”
Fear began to claw at Colin’s chest, raking his heart and lungs with hot talons. “Who paid you?” He resisted the urge to grab her and shake her. “What were you paid to do?”
“I don’t know ‘is name, gov. But ‘e was a nob like you. He gave me a ‘ole pound to get you out of the ‘ouse and ‘er alone. He said ‘e’d give me another once I did it.”
Colin rapped on the roof of the hackney. “Turn around,” he ordered. “Now!”
“But, sir!”
“Turn around!” Colin yelled.
“Yes, sir.”
The hackney swerved and turned, and for a moment both Colin and Harley had to hold onto the seats to steady themselves.
“I’m sorry,” Harley said when the carriage was steady again. “I didn’t—”
“I don’t want to hear your apologies,” he snapped. “Can you tell me what he looked like? The man who paid you.”
She shook her head. “It were dark, but ‘e had a voice like yours. All clipped and proper like.”
The fear had sunk itself deep into his flesh now. Colin could hardly breathe. “If anything happens to her...” He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to finish. What would he do if something happened to Daphne? This was Colin’s worst fear realized. It was as though he’d expected this and could hardly be surprised it had come to fruition. He’d known something would happen to her. He’d known he couldn’t allow himself to fall in love with her.
But now he knew something else as well. It didn’t matter that he’d tried to wall his heart off or keep his feelings bottled away. He felt the pain and fear anyway. And now he worried he would regret never telling her how he felt. He’d regret not having told her he loved her. Because he did. Colin loved Daphne.
The carriage moved too slowly. Colin could wait no longer. He rapped on the roof again and called for the driver to stop. When he did, he leapt out and tossed him a handful of coins.
“What you about, gov’?” Harley called.
He didn’t answer. He simply began to run. By the time he reached the town house, his chest felt as though a knife had been plunged into it and his false nose was melting off. He tossed it aside and stormed into the house, calling for the butler. The man was already rushing toward him. “Sir! We did not expect you back so—”
“Where is she?” Colin panted.
“Lady Daphne?” the butler asked. “I-I’m not sure. In the parlor?”
Colin gestured to the open door of the empty parlor. “Wrong. Where is she?” he yelled.
“Perhaps she retired to her chamber, sir?”
“No,” said a voice coming down from the stairs. It was Brown, Lady Daphne’s maid. “She’s not in her chamber. She came up to fetch her gloves as she wanted to take that dog out.”
Colin glanced at the table near the door where Pugsly’s leash had been left. It was not there. He rushed back to the door, fumbling to open it.
“She said she would only walk him in front of the house, but she’s been out for some time, and I was coming to check on her,” Brown said.
Colin could hardly hear the maid over the pounding of his heart. He threw the door open and all but flew down the steps, looking right and left for Daphne. The street was empty except for a few men hurrying on their way. No sign of Pugsly or Daphne.
Correction. No sign of Daphne. Harley was racing up the walk with Pugsly in her arms. The dog’s leash trailed on the stones below her bare feet.
“I found ‘im on the corner,” she said. “He barked at me when I ran past, and I thought, that looks like ‘Er Ladyship’s dog.”
“Show me,” Colin said, taking the dog and handing him to the butler. “Show me where you found him.”
She led him to an unremarkable corner. Some bushes stood nearby and a small patch of grass that had probably appealed to the pug. Colin stared down the street then at the ground for any sign of Daphne. But if she’d been there, she hadn’t dropped anything or left any evidence. He’d come this same way Harley had but hadn’t noticed Pugsly. His gaze trailed again to the bushes. If Pugsly had been scared, he might have crouched beneath them. It was growing dark now, so Colin signaled for the butler to bring the lantern. “Shine it over near those bushes,” he instructed then bent and peered inside.
A splash of pink caught his eye, and he reached through the branches and plucked out a small pink bow. It was one of those that had adorned Daphne’s dress today. She’d been here. He studied the bow’s frayed edges—she’d struggled enough that one of her bows had been ripped off.
It was all the evidence Colin needed. He was too late, and the pain and regret crashed over him. Steeling himself, he bore the onslaught then pushed it away. He was good at that, and he needed to think now, not feel.
“Get my horse ready and send for Lord Jasper,” Colin ordered. “Tell him to meet me at Battersea’s town house.”
***
WHEN BATTERSEA PULLED the hood off her head, Daphne blinked at the sudden brightness. As soon as she could keep her eyes open, she tried to take in as much of her surroundings as she could. She was in a place unfamiliar to her, a room with old-fashioned paper on the walls. She sat at a scarred and dusty table in a chair that felt wobbly and uneven. The place smelled of slightly damp carpet and onions. No fire had been lit, and she was cold, but she shivered from fear.
Battersea stood before her, smiling.
She couldn’t speak. He’d gagged her with a strip of linen right after his men had grabbed and bound her hands. She’d bit him, but he’d still managed to secure the cloth. Then he’d pulled the hood over her head.
There was no sign of his men now. She’d assumed they were his men, but they’d not worn his livery. Perhaps he’d simply hired them to help abduct her. But she’d known his carriage when it had appeared on the street. His family crest was on the door. So surely his coachman knew what the earl had done. Surely, someone would help her.
But one more glance about the room did not give her any confidence she would receive aid at all soon, if ever. She had no idea where she was, and perhaps the only other person who knew she was here was the coachman. She could imagine Battersea paid the man well to keep his mouth shut. She’d have to use her wits and save herself. She tried moving her hands, but they were bound securely in her lap. Still, it could have been worse. They hadn’t been in the carriage long enough to leave Town, so at least she was still in London.
Somewhere in London.
“You led me on a merry chase,” Battersea said, still smiling.
Daphne glared up at him, which only seemed to amuse him further.
“Such lovely blue eyes but filled with such hatred. This is your fault, you know,” he said, moving behind her. She had to turn her head to watch him. “If you’d only paid me what you owed.”
She tried to retort that she had paid him, but she couldn’t move her mouth around the cloth. Battersea reached around and yanked the cloth down about her chin.
“What was that?”
Daphne didn’t waste her chance. “Help me! Help!” she screamed.
He chuckled. “Go right ahead and scream. No one will hear you, and if they do, they won’t come to your aid. People keep to themselves in this part of the city.”
He put his hands on her shoulders and Daphne tried to dislodge them. “Don’t touch me.”
“If you would simply relax, I think we will both enjoy this much more.”
“Get your hands off me!” she yelled. “I paid you.”
“Oh, come now, my lady. I think we both know this isn’t about the blunt.”
No, it had never been about the gambling debt. She could see now that even if she had somehow won that night at cards, he’d still have found a way to come for her. “What you’re doing is kidnapping and rape,” she said.
“We’ll see,” he said, sliding his hands down her back and making her skin crawl. “You might find you enjoy it.”
“You might find yourself a eunuch.”
He chuckled. “Perhaps we should have a drink first. We have plenty of time. We’ll spend the night here and then travel to a friend’s country house. My friends there will be so pleased when I show them the present I’ve brought.”
To Daphne’s relief, he released her and walked to the other side of the room. It had been dark in that corner, but he carried the lamp with him, illuminating a bed with a brass headboard and ropes tied to it. He lifted a bottle of wine sitting on the table beside it and two glasses, carrying them back to the table.
“You see,” he said, setting the wine on the table. “This place has all the comforts of home.” He poured two glasses then took a small vial from his waistcoat pocket and allowed a few drops to fall into one of the glasses. He pushed that one toward her.
“What is that?” she asked, nodding at the vial.
He smiled again, his thin lips stretching over his taut face. “Something to help you relax.”
Daphne eyed the glass warily. She wouldn’t drink it voluntarily, but she was also under no illusion that he wouldn’t force it down her throat if it came to that. Her gaze drifted to the wine bottle, still half-full. It was within reach, barely.
“My husband will kill you for this,” she said.
He shrugged. “I am not so easy to kill. And if he tries, I have every right to defend myself. Perhaps I will kill both of you before the Season is over. Although, if you prove especially entertaining, we may keep you for a while.” He smiled again, his eyes going dark with what she assumed was anticipation of pleasure. Daphne lunged for the wine bottle, grasped it with her bound hands and threw it, barely missing Battersea’s head. It crashed against the wall behind him, red wine running down the tattered hanging papers.
Battersea stared at the wine and then rounded on her. “Look what you’ve done.” His hand flashed and she felt the hot slap across her cheek. She sat stunned for a moment as he walked to the broken bottle and began to pick up the pieces. “No gratitude,” he muttered.
Daphne blinked and forced herself to concentrate. She ignored the pain in her face and moved slowly, lifting the drugged wine and changing its place with the clean glass. Her gaze fastened on Battersea while he worked, but he didn’t look back at her. When he finally did, she was sitting back, looking as though she hadn’t moved. He tossed the broken glass in the rubbish bin then went to the table and drank from the glass with drugged wine, his work having made him thirsty. Daphne had to fight not to smile. That was until he set the glass down.
She held her breath, afraid he would taste whatever it was he had put in the wine and know what she’d done. Instead, he lifted the clean glass and stepped toward her. “But you haven’t been drinking,” he said, his voice deceptively calm. “Time to have a drink.”
“I don’t want a drink,” she said, afraid if she gave in too easily, he would suspect.
“Come now, Lady Daphne. Don’t make me force this down your throat. I want no more violent outbursts from you. Have a sip. It will calm you.” He offered the cup, bringing it to her mouth. She allowed him to pour a measure into her mouth and watched him smile in triumph. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? Now another.” She opened her mouth again, and he poured more down her throat.
He reached for his own glass, careful not to mix the two, and sipped again. Daphne watched him intently. How long would it take for the drug to have an effect?
“Isn’t this nice?” he said. He sipped his wine again then sat in the chair opposite her.
“Give me my glass,” she said. “I’ll drink it.”
His brows rose with suspicion. “How do I know you won’t throw it across the room?”
“To what end?” she said, trying to sound defeated. “You’ve already given me half. I feel myself drifting already.” She had no idea if that was the effect of the drug, but it was as good a guess as any.
He pushed her glass across the table, and she took it between her hands, bound at the wrist.
“A toast,” he said, lifting his glass. She lifted her own. “To tonight.” He clinked their glasses together and drank. She drank as well, watching him over the rim of her glass. His eyes closed briefly then opened again. His brows seemed to lower as if in question, but before he could wonder at his sudden tiredness, she yawned.
“I need to lie down,” she said. “I’m so weary.”
“I’ll take you to the bed.” He rose, stumbled, and shook his head to clear it.
Daphne still said nothing, but now Battersea lifted his glass and sniffed it. He had only a little wine left at the bottom, and he stared at it. Then his dark eyes rose to hers. “What have you done?” he asked.
She widened her eyes in innocence. “Me?”
“What have you—?” He sat quite suddenly on the floor, tried to rise, and toppled over. This was her chance. Daphne rose and grasped the lantern. Where was the door that would lead out of this place? She ran toward the door, narrowly avoiding Battersea’s hand when he reached out to grasp her ankle.
“What have you done?” he called, his words slurred.
Daphne yanked the door open and ran into a dark corridor. At the end of it was a steep staircase. This was the way she’d come up. She remembered stumbling over her skirts as he’d pushed her up and up. Now, she ran down the steps, opened the door at the bottom, then paused to peer out. What if Battersea’s coachman waited for his master outside?
But there was no coach outside. Nothing and no one except darkness and a low rolling fog.
She stepped out of the house and onto the street. And then she began to run.