by Ella Quinn
He yanked her arm again and towed her to the back of the room, shoving her into a small chamber. Complete with a bed. The only window had iron bars on it. This was not good at all.
She whirled around in time to see the door slam shut and hear the lock click.
Well, at least she was alone. Going to the door, she pressed her ear to it. There was no sound at all. Did that mean the blackguard wasn’t in the room? She did the same to the wall with the tavern, and faint voices filtered through.
There was only one thing to do: try to open the door. Charlotte drew two pins from her hair, and began to work on the lock. After a few moments, it was clear that the lock hadn’t been attended to in a while, and her oil can was in the basket. She would have to think of another means of escape, but what?
A bed took up most of the small space. Pristine linen sheets covered the mattress. Satisfied there were no vermin, she began to sit, but stopped. The sheets were too clean for her comfort. She could not quite put her finger on why that bothered her, yet it did.
She and Constantine had wondered where Miss Betsy delivered her victims. This must be one of the places. Charlotte wiped her suddenly damp hands down her skirts. No matter what happened, she would not allow herself to be frightened.
That blackguard Burt had said a gentleman was coming for her. Did Miss Betsy encourage the men to rape their captives before they left? Did she make sure the sheets were clean because of the gentlemen? Charlotte glanced at the bed again and shivered. It was the only reason she could think of for the presence of a bed. She tried not to shudder again or think about the horrors this room had seen.
As she paced the room—refusing to sit on the bed—she tripped and almost fell over a small wooden stool. It had four legs with wood spokes, or whatever they were called, between the legs. Charlotte lifted it up to get a feel for the balance. Although not large, it was well made and sturdy. She practiced swinging it side to side, then down and back up again. After a few moments, she smiled to herself. The stool would do nicely. No matter how she hit whoever entered the room, she was sure to do some damage. The only question now was who to use it on.
The sound of a pair of horses coming to a halt could be heard from the front. A door opened and banged shut. She clung to the stool, glad she had found a weapon.
A woman’s voice floated through the air, yet Charlotte could not understand what the female had said.
“Ma’am,” a man answered.
“That is Burt,” she murmured to herself. The woman had to be Miss Betsy.
Charlotte put the stool down and stood in front of it, hoping her skirts would hide it.
A door near her, probably to the parlor, opened and closed. “Well done,” Miss Betsy said as she opened the door to the bedchamber. “Go to the Dove and collect the other package. Our first customer should be here soon.”
“Package? Customer?” Rage coursed through Charlotte as she thought of all the lives this villain had destroyed. “Is that all people are to you? Do you not care who you harm?”
“I provide a service,” Miss Betsy replied in a composed voice, then shrugged. “What goes on afterward is none of my concern.”
Before Charlotte could grab the stool and bash the miscreant over the head, Miss Betsy closed the door. Soon the jangle of a harness interrupted the silence.
There was the sound of metal clinking, most likely the payment being made, and the door to the bedchamber opened a crack. “When you’re done, leave through the side door. No one will see you.”
“You think of everything.” The man entered the room, and Miss Betsy pulled the door shut. “There is no one to rescue you now, my dear,” Lord Ruffington said. “Your brother will have to agree to our marriage.”
Good Lord! Ruffington? Charlotte barely knew him. In fact, she did not think she had even danced with the man or been introduced to him. He always seemed to be just outside her circle.
Straightening her spine, she raised one brow. “Lord Kenilworth, however, will not.”
“Do you truly think he’ll want you after I’m done with you?” He looked at the bed. “I was going to wait, but it might be easier to simply take you here.”
Ruffington sauntered forward unbuttoning his falls, then stopped and glanced down as if he was having trouble with one. Charlotte lifted the stool and smashed it as hard as she could on his head.
He fell to his knees, hitting his forehead on the bed frame. “Bloody bitch,” he roared as he tried to stand. “You’ll pay for that.”
* * *
A wheel hit the rutted road, causing Con to lurch to one side.
Bloody hell! He’d have to slow down. Where the devil was the damn place? Less than a second later a large, grubby building with a sign hanging crookedly from a wooden arm appeared. A coach stood in the yard, horses still hitched.
He had to find Charlotte. Pray God he was in time.
Movement from one side of the inn caught the corner of his eye as a gentleman entered a side door. Stopping his phaeton to one side of the yard, he jumped down and dashed to the side, ducking so that he couldn’t be seen from the windows.
“Bloody bitch!” a man roared. “You’ll pay for that.”
Every muscle and sinew was alive and ready to do battle as he jerked the door on the side of the building open, ran to the door at the end of the room, and kicked it in.
Clutching a stool over her head, Charlotte stood like a Valkyrie. Ruffington—the bloody cur—had blood running from a gash in his head as he rose.
Con grabbed the cur by his cravat. Someone was going to pay dearly, but not his love. “This is for insulting my betrothed,” he growled as he drove his fist into Ruffington’s nose. The sound of bone crunching made Con grin. Blood flowed down the blackguard’s face onto his neckcloth as the man lurched backward. “And this is for even thinking of dishonoring her.” Still holding the neckcloth, Con rammed his fist into the villain’s jaw. Ruffington slithered to the floor, unconscious. “It’s too bad I didn’t kill him.” Con had wanted to. He reached for Charlotte, pulling her to his side. “Are you all right? I was so afraid I wouldn’t arrive before—”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” She had thrown her arms around his neck, but let go. “I cannot believe he—he—” She reared back and kicked Ruffington hard in his ribs. “I wish you had killed him as well. The scoundrel! What are we going to do about him?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Bringing a criminal case against Ruffington in the House of Lords was not an option. That would only serve to ruin Charlotte. “I’ll think of some fitting punishment.” Con wanted to hold her again, but they had to escape before anyone found them. “We must get him out of here. We do not know when that villainess will arrive with Miss Cloverly.”
“She left not long ago,” Charlotte said.
Con opened the side door. Merton’s men had arrived and were ready to help. He pointed to the bedchamber. “Get the man in there, bind him, and put him in his coach.”
Turning to take Charlotte’s hand, he almost bumped into her. “Let’s go.”
“Should we not wait to see it through?”
Naturally, she would not want to leave immediately. He’d been foolish for even thinking she would. “If you wish, but not in here.”
“No.” She shivered, as if the horror of the morning was catching up to her.
He heaved a sigh. “Better yet, hide his coach and put him over by my phaeton. That way we can keep an eye on him.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Charlotte and Con stood outside as Ruffington was carried out to the trees, dumped on the ground, tied up, and gagged with his own bloody cravat.
“We’ve got him trussed all right and tight, my lord,” said the same outrider who had found the hedge tavern.
“What is your name?” Con asked.
“Jeffers, my lord.” He was a good man. Con was bound to require outriders to protect Charlotte. Perhaps Merton would be willing to let the servant go.
“We have to find some way
to keep Miss Cloverly safe,” Charlotte said. “Could you go back to the room and stay there until we ensure she is safe?”
Con hesitated. He would much rather remain with Charlotte and keep her safe. For a moment he thought of ordering one of the other servants to man the room, but if one of them struck a peer, or even the son of a peer, they could be in a great deal of trouble.
“We shall take good care of her ladyship,” Jeffers said.
“Very well.” Con escorted Charlotte to where his phaeton was hidden. “If you are in any danger, do not wait for me. Just go. I’ll find my own way back.” He glanced around. “Where is Jemmy?”
“Right here, sir.” The boy popped up from behind the carriage.
“You stay with Lady Charlotte.”
The lad grinned. “I’ll protect her, my lord.”
Con ruffled the child’s hair. “I know you will. By the by, when all this is over, we must have a discussion about you jumping onto the back of coaches.” Jemmy opened his mouth, but Con said sternly, “There is no time to talk about it now.”
The boy’s face fell. “Yes, sir.”
Striding back to the tavern, he remembered the woman from this morning.
Blast it all. He’d forgotten to tell Charlotte about the older lady who had been asking about Jemmy. Con hoped the woman would turn out to be Jemmy’s relation. Con was growing fond of him, but Charlotte would be glad that the lad had found his family. If that was indeed the case. He couldn’t think of another reason the woman would ask about the lad.
Meanwhile, back at the Star and Garter . . .
Matt rode into the yard just ahead of his coach. Several servants in Merton’s livery were mounted on horses, ready to go. He had been satisfied to leave this mess to his cousin and Kenilworth, and would have if his unexpected guest had not arrived.
A moment later, Matt spotted Merton being harangued by an older woman. What the deuce was going on?
“Madam, I shall explain everything later,” Merton said in a haughty tone Matt hadn’t heard him use since he’d married Dotty. “At the moment, I have an urgent task to which I must attend.”
“I demand—” The woman started to reach out.
“Come with me.” Dotty took the woman by the arm. “I shall explain everything, but my husband must leave immediately.”
Merton blew out an audible breath. “Worthington, what are you doing here?”
“Trying to find out what the devil is going on.” He’d had a long morning thus far and it wasn’t even eight o’clock.
“I wrote you,” his cousin said in an offended tone, as if that explained everything.
“I received the letter, but Grace was concerned, and”—Matt pointed to his coach—“Miss Cloverly’s betrothed arrived.”
Merton swung up onto his horse. “We do not have time for introductions at the moment. I suppose you will want to come along?”
Matt nodded, as if there was any real choice in the matter.
“Then let’s go.” Merton’s coach started forward as they rode out of the yard. “I doubt you’ll need your carriage. I have mine.”
“I’ll explain later,” Matt said as Merton urged his roan gelding into a gallop, and Matt could do nothing more than follow. A few moments later, he caught up to his cousin. “Do you know, Dominic,” Matt shouted over the sound of the hooves, “you have only yourself to blame for my arrival. The letter you wrote was terse at best and largely uninformative. Grace was not at all happy.”
“I can be trusted to take care of this matter,” he grumbled, slowing to a canter.
Matt slowed to match Merton’s pace. “I’m sure you can be, but she figured out that this was no longer a matter of simply rescuing Miss Cloverly, and she became concerned. Then, early this morning, Ben Mitchell, the young woman’s betrothed, arrived with my neighbor, Lord Wharton.”
Merton closed his eyes for a second. “I suppose you had to bring him?”
“You know as well as I do there was no choice. Would you remain behind if Dotty was in trouble?”
“No, of course not.”
That was exactly what Matt expected his cousin to say. “This man might not be gentry, but he is no less concerned about his betrothed. By the by, where is Kenilworth?” Matt had known Kenilworth for years. It didn’t make sense that he wasn’t present. “I can’t imagine he wouldn’t be involved in this.”
“Going after Charlotte.” His cousin’s jaw tightened. “She was abducted this morning while walking her cat. There is nothing to worry about. I sent four men with him.”
Bloody hell. “How in Perdition did that happen?”
Before his cousin could respond, a servant in livery, turned his horse to ride next to them. “My lord. I have a message from Lord Kenilworth. He said to tell you all is well and he will remain at the hedge tavern.”
Thank the Lord Charlotte was safe. Grace would have murdered him if anything had happened to her sister. But what the devil were they doing at a hedge tavern?
“Good,” Dominic said. They had reached the Dove, and his gaze scanned the inn’s yard. “We’re in time.” The Merton coach rolled to the back of the Dove, and, once again, Matt wondered what was happening. His cousin turned to one of his outriders. “Hide our horses and Lord Worthington’s coach. Bring Mr. Mitchell in through the back.” Dominic glanced at Matt. “As soon as we’re in place, I’ll explain everything to you and Mitchell.”
“Very well.” After all, there was no other response. They could not sit around the yard discussing the matter.
His cousin turned to the servant. “Jeffers, come to me when you’re done.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The innkeeper met them at the door. “Everything is ready, me lord. Me wife is taking Miss Cloverly to the room.”
“Thank you. Worthington, this is Mr. Crowe. We explained the situation to him and his wife yesterday. They have been very helpful.”
“Good morning.” Matt inclined his head. “And thank you.”
“Good morn to ye, me lord.” The innkeeper grimaced. “Will we have to tie Miss up again? Don’t sit right with me rib.”
“No,” Dominic assured the landlord. “Miss Betsy won’t know she was bound.”
Mr. Crowe led them to a room at the top of the stairs. “It’s not as nice as the one Lord and Lady Kenilworth had yesterday, but I thought it might be better for what we’re doin’.”
Lord and Lady Kenilworth?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Someone had a great deal of explaining to do if Charlotte and Kenilworth were going around the country pretending to be married. Matt wondered just how long it would take to discover the entire story. He had half a mind to simply take his sister back to Town and demand Kenilworth marry her immediately.
“Excellent.” Merton clasped Mr. Crowe’s shoulder. “Her betrothed, Mr. Mitchell, is with us as well. We instructed him to go around to the back of the inn with Lord Worthington’s coach. Send him to my chamber as soon as you can. I also imagine he will wish to ascertain that Miss Cloverly is safe.”
“I’ll tell him, me lord.” Crowe bowed to Merton, then to Matt.
“He seems like a good man.” Matt watched the innkeeper move swiftly down the corridor.
“He and his wife are both good people,” Merton said. “It was Charlotte’s idea to recruit them. They were shocked at how they had been duped.”
“I imagine they would be.” Duped? Matt was confused by his cousin’s statement, and it occurred to him that neither he nor Grace had asked Charlotte for all the details surrounding her abduction, and she had not volunteered the information.
Apparently, she had discovered much more about Miss Betsy’s operation than she’d let on. Then again, they hadn’t asked her exactly what had occurred. Not only that, but Charlotte had been dealing with an unwanted betrothal to Kenilworth at the time.
At least that seemed to have changed. As soon as he returned home, Matt would secure a special license and see the two wed.
A few
minutes later, the small room seemed even smaller. Ben Mitchell was a tall, strapping fellow, with brown eyes and blond hair just a shade darker than his intended’s.
“I was able to see Miss Cloverly.” Mitchell’s brows lowered in a slightly menacing fashion. “She just hugged me, told me she’d be fine, and pushed me out the door. Are you sure she’ll be all right?”
Dominic nodded. “She will be guarded the entire way.” He motioned to Jeffers. “I take it there was more to tell me.”
“Yes, my lord. They’re at a hedge tavern called the Dirty Duck. Her ladyship managed to hit the blackguard over the head with a stool and his lordship finished him off, so to speak. They—”
“Why did they not return with you or go to the Star and Garter?”
“Worthington,” his cousin said in a tone designed to depress questions, “allow him to finish. We don’t have much time before the bawd arrives. I shall explain the entire plan when he’s done.”
“There’s another man that needs to be arrested. If you don’t mind, my lords, I should get back in case they need any help.”
Dominic nodded. Once Jeffers was gone he turned to Matt. “Yesterday we, all of us including Miss Cloverly, decided that the only way to put an end to Miss Betsy’s villainy was to catch her in the act. Merely rescuing the women wouldn’t be enough to hang her.” Glancing at Mitchell, Dominic continued. “We gave Miss Cloverly the choice of not being involved, but she agreed to help, as long as we could keep her safe. I promise you, she shall come to no harm.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” Mitchell’s mouth tightened. “She’s as brave as they come.” He shook his head. “What I don’t understand is why her?”
“What we have ascertained,” Dominic said, “is that the woman, Miss Betsy, is a procuress. In other words, she is hired by men who want a certain female.”
Or child. Matt’s stomach turned when he remembered what Charlotte had said.
Mitchell’s face turned murderous, and Matt couldn’t blame the man. “What about the men who hired her?”