Chapter 1
England 1815
* * *
Jolted awake as her head banged the side of the coach, Prudence Lancaster mumbled something extremely unladylike. If there wasn’t a sack over her head, she could see where she was going or if it was still night. She assumed it had to be. While she’d managed to doze, the rough road didn’t allow her to rest for long.
She had no idea where she was going or who had kidnapped her, let alone why. That anyone would go to the trouble of snatching her—an unimportant paid companion—was perplexing to say the least. Hopefully, she would have some answers when they got to wherever they were going. She prayed that would be soon.
With her hands and feet bound and a cloth tied around her mouth, she was quite uncomfortable. She’d long ago tumbled from the seat and hadn’t been able to get herself back onto it. Her captors were not the least considerate.
The sound of rain against the roof soothed her, at least.
She rolled to her back and was grateful that her hands were bound in front instead of behind. She’d prefer they weren’t bound at all, of course. Every attempt she’d made to loosen the rope had been utterly futile. She’d given up some time ago.
How long ago was that exactly? She wasn’t even sure what time they’d abducted her because they’d roused her from a dead sleep.
All she recalled was that she’d fallen into a dreamless slumber upon returning to the inn in Croydon after the boxing match. She’d rushed there from London with Cassandra, the duke’s daughter to whom she was companion, so Cassandra could find the man she loved. Lord Wexford had been one of the fighters. He and Cassandra had been happily reunited, then they’d gone to spend the night wherever he was staying.
Since Prudence was not a chaperone, as she’d reminded Cassandra repeatedly, she’d done nothing to stop them. On the contrary, she was thrilled that Cassandra was so happy.
Decidedly less thrilling was the manner in which Prudence had been rudely awakened at some point in the night. She hadn’t seen the face of whoever had grabbed her before a cloth was tied tightly around her mouth and a bag pulled over her head. Shock and terror had quite stolen her senses.
They’d then bound her hands and feet, and the pair had carried her downstairs and out of the King’s Arms. She assumed they were a pair since she’d heard only two voices by that point. They’d joined a third man outside before setting her into the coach saying she’d “be with him soon” and there was “nothing to fear.”
With whom? And how in the bloody hell could she remain unafraid given their careless handling of her? Many parts of her ached from bouncing about the floor of the coach, and there was a thoroughly disgusting taste in her mouth from the cloth they’d used to gag her.
But Prudence refused to break. She’d eventually get free.
And then what?
She supposed that depended on whom she’d be with soon. Since they’d said she had nothing to fear, Prudence clung to that. Perhaps there was a good explanation for her abduction.
The dread that had lived in her spine these many hours said otherwise.
The rain increased to a heavy staccato, and she hoped it wouldn’t slow their passage. She wanted to get wherever they were going. The thought of stretching her body and taking a deep, unhindered breath was incredibly appealing.
Eventually, she closed her eyes and was again lulled into a half sleep where she remained aware of the bump and rustle of the coach. Then the coach stopped. That catapulted her into full wakefulness.
She sat up just before the door opened—behind her, she realized.
“Oi! She’s on the floor!” one of them called out.
“Just pull ’er out!” another responded.
Large hands hauled Prudence from the coach into the rain. At least my head’s completely covered, she thought wryly. She was also glad for the cloak they’d thrown over her night rail before dragging her from her room.
The man tossed her over his shoulder and carried her some distance. She was cold and wet by the time they walked into a building. Warmth suffused her, and she closed her eyes in a mixture of relief and gladness.
The emotions didn’t linger, however, as she realized she was surely about to meet the “him” she wasn’t supposed to be afraid of. Tension knifed through her, and unease swirled in her gut. Bouncing against the brigand’s shoulder as they climbed stairs didn’t help matters.
A door opened, creaking softly, before they moved inside. She heard it close behind them. Then they set her on the floor, but the one who’d carried her kept his arm around her. As much as she would have preferred that he erupt into flames instead of touch her, she needed the support.
“What the devil have you done?” a fourth gentleman, who sounded vaguely familiar to Prudence, not that she could place him, asked with a mixture of shock and anger, his voice low.
“We brought ’er ’ere just like ye said. Where’s the money?”
“You were supposed to bring her, not truss her up like a pheasant after the hunt!”
A pheasant after the hunt? This was a gentleman, but she would have guessed that based on his refined speech alone.
“We don’t take chances when there’s this much blunt involved,” the same brigand responded. “Now give us what you promised, or we’ll take the chit and go.”
She heard a thump and wondered what that noise could be. How she wished she could speak!
“I hope you didn’t wake the innkeepers.”
“We came in quiet, just like you said to. Now give us our blunt.”
“Fine,” the gentleman said caustically. There were footsteps and some shuffling. “Here.”
“Count it,” the brigand growled.
“It’s all ’ere,” another of the kidnappers said. “Let’s go.”
“Pleasure doing business with you, m’lord.” There was no mistaking that the brigand was smiling as he said this.
Then the arm around her was gone, and Prudence wobbled. Another set of arms came around her, along with the scent of pine and bergamot. This was the gentleman.
The sound of the door closing filtered through the sack covering her head just before it was whisked away.
“My apologies, Lady Cass—”
Prudence blinked into a face she knew. Bright blond hair and stunning blue-green eyes, chiseled features with sculpted lips. Lord Glastonbury?
He recoiled in horror. “You aren’t Lady Cassandra!”
Prudence’s response was muffled by the gag. He’d planned to kidnap her employer? Not that Cassandra was her employer, but Prudence was her paid companion.
“Oh my God.” He reached behind her head and untied the infernal piece of fabric.
As soon as it was loose, she spit it from her mouth. “A drink, please.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Perhaps after you untie me,” she rasped, her body suddenly screaming of thirst, but not as loudly as it was for freedom.
Glastonbury hastened to pluck the rope from her wrists, then bent and did the same at her ankles. When she was free, she contemplated sending her foot into his chest and knocking him back on his arse. Instead, she rubbed her wrists and glowered at him as he stood to fetch her a glass of whatever was in the bottle on the table.