by Emma Wildes
It was all actually very odd.
The figure came out of the shadows. To her utter astonishment, a huge, meaty hand clamped hard over her mouth and she found herself being dragged backward across the dusty floor. For a moment, she felt paralyzed, but then reacted, struggling and twisting, trying to get her mouth free so she could cry out.
Her assailant chuckled, she could hear the eerie echo of it in the shrouded space, and he said hoarsely her ear, “Don’t worry, my pretty little bird, you can sing all night long where you are going.”
What the devil did that mean? In open panic, she fought, using her nails on the arms that captured her, drawing a low curse and a swift cuff on the side on her head. Never struck before in her life, she felt positively stunned, and not just from the blow. Whoever held her pulled her into what must have been the storage space of the building, and then out the back door into a filthy alley. Rats scurried away from piles of rubbish as he hauled her upwards, and as she felt the dip of a vehicle, she realized she was being truly abducted. Shoved in through the door, she heard it slam.
Panting with fear and disheveled, she found herself in a carriage, sprawled on the floor, the conveyance lurching away as they rattled along the alley toward the street. The pins had come loose from her hair and it hung in a curtain around her face, obscuring her sight.
“If you so much as open your mouth, I will shoot you.”
The sound of that cool, amused voice made Patricia fling back her tumbled hair, staring incredulously at the woman who sat on the seat just a foot or so away.
“Lady Black,” she gasped.
“That qualifies, doesn’t it?” The woman in question asked in a drawling tone, narrowing her eyes. “One must open their mouth to speak. Shall I do it?”
From her undignified seat on the floor of the moving carriage, Patricia saw that Alicia Black indeed held a very business-like pistol in her hands. Alarmingly, the barrel was just inches away from her head. Next to her sat a plump elderly man, his hands on the knees of his tailored trousers, his eyes, small in his round face, frankly staring. He said in a high, effeminate voice, “No. By all means, do not do it.” Since Patricia sat in a heap practically at their feet, she was easily within reach, and he leaned forward eagerly to take a lock of her hair between his sausage-like fingers. “By the gods, look at this, like fine gold silk. I can get a fortune for her.”
Shrinking back, Patricia registered his words with vague horror, the threat of the gun and her unreal circumstances making her feel a little weak.
Alicia Black smiled, a twist of her mouth that parodied the real thing. Her teeth were slightly bared, like a creature of the night, which she resembled with her dark beauty and glittering venomous eyes. “I suggest you market the duchess to the dark-skinned men of the Orient, Neville. I’ve heard they enjoy pale European beauties and teach submission without mercy. I wager within days, she will be opening her legs without protest to whoever wants her. I like the idea of that.”
A gleam of defiance infiltrated her terror, and Patricia stiffened her spine, giving Lady Black a level look. Regardless of the gun, she said with remarkable evenness, “Let me go. Jared is not a fool. If I disappear, he will look at the logical choices and come up with you as a possible suspect. I have already heard that you are the one spreading the rumors about me. He will also. Don’t think for a minute he will let me go easily.”
The fat man glanced over at Alicia, looking slightly dismayed. “I thought you said her husband would be happy be rid of her and cause us no problems?” Glancing back at Patricia’s face, his gaze traveling down to her bosom and then back up, he muttered, “But now looking at her, I suddenly doubt you, my lady. Why would the duke want to rid himself of such a gorgeous young woman?”
That cold, unnatural smile widened. “I might have adjusted the truth slightly, but just leave Tellbourne to me. Don’t get cold feet now, Neville, darling. You have just abducted a duchess, the wife of a powerful peer of the realm. We used your empty shop to lure her, your man to grab her, your carriage to carry her away, and believe me, if the duke comes looking, he will find you, not me. It is best she disappear completely.”
Plump Neville looked a little green. Patricia spoke up, trying to take advantage of his obvious discomfort. Lying through her teeth, she persuasively said, “I left the note lying on my dressing table. Once the alarm is raised, Jared will contact Lady Lockwood and when she tells him she didn’t write it, he will know there is foul play and he will also have the address. Then he will use his considerable resources to search for me. After all, I just told him I carry the next heir to the Tellbourne title.”
Openly perspiring at that news, Neville retrieved his handkerchief and mopped his brow, saying weakly, “Pregnant she isn’t of much use to me.”
Alicia’s face tightened and the pistol raised a fraction. “We’ll get rid of the brat, you stupid oaf, surely you know people? Don’t listen to her anyway, how did she find the address without the note? Memorize it at home? I doubt it. She’s bluffing. True, her driver will know where he dropped her off, but that means nothing. You own an empty building. If the duchess chooses to go in there, what do you know of it? That is your position.”
The coldness of that speech robbed Patricia of any coherent thought. If she was indeed pregnant, which was possible, she feared suddenly for her unborn child. “Ransom me. My husband will pay.”
“Your husband will come back to me,” Lady Black said with chilling illogical conviction. “Once you are gone, he will be all alone. He is after all a man with a rather predictable sexual appetite.”
The idea of Jared and this woman made her feel sick, but there wasn’t time for that. Easing up, well aware of the gun, Patricia slid into the opposite seat of the carriage, her pulse pounding in her throat. She was not at all sure Alicia Black wasn’t just looking for an excuse to kill her. Stonily, she murmured, “What is predictable is that he will want me back. By all accounts, he broke it off with you well before he ever met me, so I had nothing to do with it.”
“That bastard.” The words were said bitterly with a disturbing wobble of insanity lying underneath. “I told him at the time I would not allow him to enjoy another woman. I am always true to my word, Duchess, keep that in mind. From appearances, he is enjoying you far too much.”
There didn’t seem to be a response to that, and Patricia felt the blood drain out of her face as they racketed forward, the wheels rattling loudly.
A shot would probably go unremarked in all that clatter, she thought, staring down the barrel of the gun.
“All right, let’s get her safely hidden. This all makes me very nervous, my lady, I won’t lie to you,” Neville said thickly.
Lady Black’s lip curled in open contempt. “I can see that. For a man who trades in human flesh, you are remarkably squeamish, you little toad.”
Human flesh, Patricia thought in crawling and complete horror.
One fat hand still wiping his face with his soiled handkerchief, Neville rasped, “Tomorrow, a ship sails and I will see she is on it. I have a buyer in Arabia who has interesting tastes. He will relish her ivory skin and unusual eyes.”
“That,” Alicia Black purred, still holding the pistol very upright, “sounds perfect.”
* * * *
The clock ticking on the mantle sounded inordinately loud, echoing through the room. Jared stared at the young man in front of him, his throat suddenly so tight he felt he couldn’t swallow as his worst nightmare solidified. “She went inside but never came out?”
Adam’s apple bobbing, his driver nodded. “Y…yes, sir. I thought it was sort of an odd place for her Grace to visit, not the best neighborhood and all, but it isn’t my station to say so, of course.”
“She doesn’t listen to me either, so don’t worry, I shan’t hold you accountable for where she visits, just go on.”
“I waited only a few moments, your Grace. I just had an odd feeling, so I decided to go in, though I never leave the carriage unatten
ded, I swear it.”
“And I believe you. Please, for the love of God, where is my wife?” Jared felt impatience and fear so acutely that his hands had actually begun to shake.
“Down by the docks, my lord. There’s an old building, at least that’s where I followed them after I saw the carriage come out of the alleyway. When I saw the inside of the shop, there was nothing there. I ran outside almost as soon as I realized it wasn’t a real establishment and caught sight of the vehicle rattling off. The streets were pretty full, but I managed to keep them in sight pretty well until we got down by the pier. Your carriage has the ducal crest, you see, and I didn’t want them to see me following. I got hung up a little and lost them, but then spotted the same carriage I’d been following by an old building that looks to be abandoned.” The boy looked apologetic, his downy cheeks slightly flushed. “The driver was two of me, sir, a huge brute, and he stood out there as if on guard. I thought it best to not tip them to the fact I knew where they had taken her Grace, so I just came back here like the devil was at my heels. It’s getting dark now, I wasn’t certain what else to do.”
“Take me there.” Jared was already halfway out in the hallway, frantically shouting orders.
“Brightson, I want two footmen to go with me now. I think the duchess has been kidnapped.”
* * * *
“You’ll be comfortable here, your Grace. Though I am glad you have your cloak, for it is a cold night and we cannot risk a fire.” The gross man called Neville sniveled the words. Behind him, a hulking man with a greasy beard and beastly small eyes stared at her with avid interest from the doorway.
The room was square, sordid and icily cold. An iron bedstead with soiled sheets sat in one corner, and a bucket to serve as a privy in the other. Patricia viewed the space with a sickening lurch of her stomach, disbelief over what was happening to her at war with a deep-seated desperation to escape. Pulling her cape around her body, she shivered. The only light in the space came from one almost gutted candle that the pudgy and repulsive Neville lit with trembling hands.
“Let me go,” she said once more in her best regal tone. “It will reward you more to free me than it will to sell me.” She could barely choke out the word, the very notion of being violated by a stranger making her physically ill.
Neville’s smile was sickly. “I can’t. Lady Black has evidence that will put me in Newgate forever, your Grace. I had no choice but to do this in the first place.”
“My husband will help you against her.”
“Good night, Duchess.” He eased back, his sweating face gleaming like soapstone in the meager, flickering light, his thick lips pursed. “Arnie will be on guard outside the door, so do not try to raise a racket with useless screaming, for it would be his pleasure to come in and quiet you.”
The very idea of Arnie, who must have been the man who grabbed her in the first place, touching her again, made her shudder. When the door closed, she heard the sound of a wooden bar dropping into place with a rattle of dreary finality.
Picking up the candle, she paced across the space, peering into the corners, wrinkling her nose against the vague unwashed stench. It smelled like fear, Patricia decided, wondering dizzily how many other women had been held there against their will, waiting for a ship to take them into hellish unthinkable slavery.
Well…not her.
She had too much to lose, she decided as she stood there shivering, an eddy of frigid air swirling around her feet. Most of all, a wonderful husband who occasionally might be dictatorial and aristocratically arrogant, but was also infinitely passionate, unfailingly generous, and a tender, caring lover. The townhouse, the country estate, the grandiose title of Duchess of Tellbourne and the cache of glorious jewels that came with it…none of that mattered to her. What she couldn’t contemplate was that she would never see her husband’s face again or feel his strong arms around her as they made love.
The wooden walls were made of warped, half-rotten boards. Patricia explored, finding chinks and small holes, wondering suddenly if the structure was as flimsy and decayed as it looked. She pushed in promising places, feeling give and even the occasional crack as a piece split, but not having any luck and trying to not make any noise. The candle sputtered, threatening complete darkness and she fought back tears, her throat thick.
Finally, one spot in the wall opposite the door did let her arm go straight through. The board crumbled under the desperate pressure of her questing hands. Even in her triumph, the light on the floor beside her where she’d set the candle, dimmed ominously.
“Hell and blast,” she muttered inelegantly. Hastily picking it up and tilting it so the wax ran to the side and the wick flared up a little. Sticking her wayward light through the opening, she saw a vast room, the other side of the warehouse at a guess, with rotting boxes and high broken windows showing a dusky winter sunset of glimmering gloom.
Windows.
The candle went out in a wisp of dying smoke. Not caring as much, Patricia pulled and pushed at the area surrounding the hole, right now the size of a pumpkin, but soon big enough to allow her to try to wiggle through. Her natural slenderness was a boon, and she did manage finally to escape the hellish little room, once probably an office, if she had to guess, though she lost her cloak in the process. The garment ripped with a soft hiss as she slid through and went sprawling several feet below to a dirt floor.
But she was free.
Well, not precisely, she thought wryly as she scrambled up and wrapped her arms around her upper body, the insidious cold making her teeth chatter. She was no longer locked in that horrible tiny room, and that was something, but free?
At least there was some light, though the space was shrouded and there came an occasional rustle that spoke of rats or mice. Picking her way across rubble and refuse, Patricia could not believe how it felt to see a small door inset on one wall, the bar across it telling her it was locked from the inside, not the outside.
Lifting the barrier, she heard a soft screech of rusted hinges as the door opened. It wasn’t quite dark, but between the close buildings of the docks it was thickly shadowed. Swallowing hard, she slid outside into the frigid night.
* * * *
If ever there was a journey that could be called interminable, it was the neck or nothing trip to the wharves. The carriage rocked and took corners on two wheels, and Jared made a mental note to give young Rob a nice bonus both for being so resourceful in the first place so they knew where Patricia had been taken, and for following orders and driving there at lunatic speed. When they slowed, he didn’t even wait for the vehicle to actually stop before he flung open the doors and jumped out.
The building was long and utterly dark, set near a dock that was obviously not in current use, for the planks were rotted and half-gone. Dingy and seedily decaying, it would be a perfect place to hold a hostage, far from the bustle of the active part of the wharf so cries for help would not likely be heard. Taking the pistol from inside his coat, Jared checked it with expert precision and then nodded. “Come with me. From the sounds of it, there is likely to be trouble, so be prepared.”
The two footmen Brightson had chosen were both wide-shouldered and brawny, and they both looked a little bemused by having to dash out on a cold winter night to rescue their mistress, but seemed more than willing to do so. One of them said, “Not to worry, your Grace. John and I would give our lives if need be, for her Grace.”
“Hopefully, that won’t be necessary, but I appreciate your loyalty. Let’s go.”
The main entrance to the deserted-looking building was not locked, the first sign they had found the right place, and though it should have been dusty inside, there was a clear path where feet had traveled recently. The place must have been used for storage at one time, perhaps for fishing vessels if the vague smell was any indication. It was vast and dim inside, and in the middle small, ill-fitting doors indicated a small series of tiny rooms, either offices or for storing special wares. Next to one, a man doze
d on a chair, his breath coming out in foggy wisps. He must have been the driver Rob had seen, for he was barrel-chested and thick-shouldered, his dark beard resting on his chest as he slumbered.
Jared took great pleasure in giving him a solid kick to wake him and shoved the pistol in his face.
“Where is she?”
“What the devil?” Sputtering, the big brute looked for a moment like he contemplated coming out of the chair. His fists half-lifting, he stared at the very businesslike gun and perhaps registered the competence with which Jared held it just inches away, for he subsided and grumbled, “Guv, this isn’t my game. I’m just here to make sure she comes to no harm.”
“Yes, I’m sure. You’d better pray like hell she hasn’t.” Jared moved the pistol a fraction toward the door. “In there, I take it?”
“She’s right as rain, on my word.” Slightly whining now, his pig-like gaze saw the two footmen and young Rob and registered he was outnumbered. The man made short work of unfastening the door and shoving it open to reveal a dark, small cubicle with a filthy bed.
His stomach twisting as he imagined how it would feel being locked in such a place, Jared said softly, “Patricia?”
No answering sound came. Though the room was quite shrouded, to his dismay he saw a very distinct hole in the opposite wall. A puddle of cloth lay next to it. The fine wool material was a contrast to the general air of squalid decay.
“Shit,” Jared said, his fears compounding instead of easing.
The big man smiled maliciously, showing stained and blackened teeth. “It looks, Guv, like your pretty little bird has flown.”
Chapter 6