Page 85 of Never a Duke
A firm grasp closed around her arm. “Mind your step, milady. Wouldn’t want you to trip.”
“My hat,” Rosalind said, emerging from the coach. “Please don’t leave it in the hackney.” If he’d turn loose of her for even a moment, she might be able to elude him long enough to raise a hue and cry.
“Nice try.” What felt like a shawl was draped over her bound hands, and then the grip on her arm became tighter. “Move along now. We ain’t on the fancy end of Town, so don’t think you’ll be any safer running about on yer own.”
Rosalind could not see, and thus her progress was halting. She was directed across a cobbled lane, then onto an uneven walkway.
“Steps ahead,” her escort said a handful of yards later. “Three, and then you can have a nice sit-ye-down.”
Rosalind managed the steps, then heard a key scraping in a lock. She was ushered into a space that smelled of tallow and gamey bacon, though the place was quiet. No footsteps, no banging doors, no voices.
“In here,” the man said, turning her by the arm. “I’d fetch you a cuppa tea, but you’d probably throw it in me face.”
If the tea was hot enough, Rosalind would have thrown it at his crotch. “Now what?” she asked.
“Now you sit and keep yer gob shut.” The shawl was taken from about her wrists. “Be a good girl, and nobody gets hurt.”
Be a good girl.
Be a good girl.
Rosalind sat, clutching her reticule and holding fast to her temper. She was debating whether to posit a fictitious plea for the chamber pot—a lady could not exactly hoist her skirts while blindfolded, could she?—when a delicate scent tickled her nose.
Beneath the stink of cheap bacon and cheaper candles, Rosalind caught a whiff of honeysuckle and scythed grass. All the benevolence and warmth of a summer day in the country.
Ned was here.That could not be, and yet, his scent was unique to him, and Rosalind would recognize it anywhere. He had been in this room recently or he was nearby, waiting for the right moment to intervene. Her relief was enormous, though tempered with caution.
If Ned was on hand, Rosalind needed to let him know that she was aware of his presence.
“My good man,” she called. “I must trouble you to direct me to the necessary.”
“Hush, milady. Won’t be much longer and we’ll be joined by my associate. I don’t mind tellin’ ye, he aims t’ put the fear of damnation in ye. Ye’ve been meddlin’ where you oughtn’t and makin’ life difficult for ’im. He’s not a patient sort, but that’s the Quality for ye.”
“Nor can I afford to be patient,” Rosalind said. “I lack the ability to embroider on the truth regarding a matter as indelicate as a lady’s bodily functions. Do you honestly believe I’d admit to such a need if it weren’t becoming a dire necessity?”
“Such fancy talk. I could listen to you go on all day.”
“And I would give the wealth of nations for a moment’s privacy with a chamber pot.”
Perhaps her captor consulted a pocket watch, perhaps he peered out a window. “If he’s not here in a quarter hour, I’ll walk ye out to the alley, and ye can take a piss like the rest of the regular folk do. I’ll even hold yer skirts up for ya, gent that I am.”
In which case, Rosalind would knee him in the nose. “The matter is urgent, I tell you.”
“Oi, now. Urgent, is it? Everything with the Quality is urgent. Cease pesterin’ me, and don’t even think to whine to himself. Has a temper he does, and a fine lady, all delicate and proper, might not survive the places he could send ye. Be a good girl for another quarter hour, promise to cease pokin’ yer nose where it don’t belong, and you can go back to pickin’ out bonnets.”
Ned had been right, then: Somebody with a great deal of influence was behind the disappearances, and now that influence was directed toward intimidating Rosalind into submission.
“I have never much cared for picking out bonnets, and I have lost—utterly—my patience for being a good girl.”
She swung her reticule in a circular arc, hard, and had the gratification of knowing she’d hit her target. A scuffle ensued, during which Rosalind tore off the veiled bonnet and blindfold.
Ned Wentworth stood over a large heap of downed villain. “Well done, my lady. Clocked him on the side of the head and he never saw it coming. Are you well?”
“I want to kick him in an unmentionable location.”
The fellow groaned.
“So do I,” Ned said, untying the bindings at her wrists, “but not when he’s down. Street rules forbid it. If his reinforcements are on the way, we’d best make haste away from here.”
