Fear mounted. He had seen too much to assume she would be safe because she was a gentlewoman. In fact, as Sir Hawkins’s daughter, she was in even greater danger.
Chapter 4
Victoria squirmed on the squab. The springs dug into her bottom, and for the first time, she was thankful for the darkness and her veil so she couldn’t see what smelled so musty. The passing town houses and shops grew more modest the farther they clattered away from her home in Mayfair until they teetered on the edge of squalor.
Fear urged her to call up to the jarvey to turn around and take her home. Fury at Lord Berkwith stilled the compulsion. That he would ask dear innocent Eleanor to meet him at a less-than-respectable common house was beyond the pale and cemented Victoria’s doubt as to his character. She would ring a peal over his head until he begged for mercy. He deserved worse. The man was a bounder.
The hack slowed. Victoria twisted the ties of her reticule around her fingers. A small sheathed dagger was inside. She had donned a plain black dress with an equally plain cloak and a veiled hat to mask her identity. Padding around her middle concealed her figure and, along with the unfashionable attire, gave the impression of a plump matron.
She wasn’t unused to clandestine excursions, but her unchaperoned daytime jaunts to bookshops didn’t inspire the nerves she battled tonight. They had been larks. If she’d been caught buying torrid novels, at worst, her mother would have berated her and attempted to crush her with maternal disappointment. Victoria would have risen from the ashes unrepentant.
Tonight’s excursion held the risk of ruination. There would be no coming back from that if she were caught.
“We’re ’ere, miss.” The jarvey’s voice was muffled by the knitted cowl around his neck.
The remnants of a storied past were still evident on the sign swinging unevenly outside the Bear and the Crown. All that was left were crinkled flakes of red and blue and white muted by coal dust and neglect. The inn was busy on the cold evening, and every time the door opened, light and noise poured out a welcome.
She exited the hack and looked up at the man, his form shadowy behind the veil. “I’ll only be a moment. Will you wait?”
“It’ll cost you extra.” The man didn’t look at her but held out his hand.
She slipped him the coins, not sure if it was too much or not enough, and waited for his brief nod. Then she faced the door and adjusted her veil as if it were a knight’s visor. Even the false protection was welcome.
She slipped in the door of the common house and scuttled along the wall, scanning the room for Lord Berkwith. It wasn’t difficult to spot the popinjay among the crows. Narrowing her gaze, she strode to the bar where he was drinking an ale, his shoulders hunched and his foot jiggling on the boot rail.
The man was nervous. Was he nervous that Eleanor wouldn’t show or because if she did, he would have to put his dishonorable plans into motion?
Victoria tapped his shoulder when she would have preferred to knock him across the side of his head. He spun around and tried to take her hands. “Oh, Eleanor, my love. You came. How bright you are to assemble such a disguise.”
Victoria slapped his hands away. “I’m not the object of your affection, my lord. Come with me.” She didn’t wait for a response, but spun on her heel and left the common room.
After the crowded warmth of the room, the cold cut all the deeper. In the time it took Lord Berkwith to walk from the common house to the curb, he had assembled his wits, such as they were. “Why didn’t Eleanor come? Does she not love me?”
The man sounded truly despondent, which gave Victoria pause. “If you wish to pay your addresses to Eleanor, you need to call upon her father and do it honorably, not by invitation to a common house for an elopement.”
“Lord Stanfield believes I only want her dowry.”
“And don’t you? If the rumors are true, you have debts, my lord, rather substantial ones.” Victoria suspected the color flushing his face wasn’t entirely due to the biting breeze swirling around them.
“I can’t deny her dowry would be most welcome, but please don’t judge my character based on my past actions. I have not crossed the threshold of a gaming hell since meeting Eleanor.” He lay his hand over his heart.
Blast it. She was inclined to believe him. It would be easier if she could dismiss him as a cad, but her father had taught her that people couldn’t be sorted into good or bad bins. “And what of Mrs. Leighton? Have you professed your love to her as well?”
“How do you…?” Lord Berkwith cleared his throat. His reaction had provided answer enough, but he continued anyway. “We shared brief dalliance that meant nothing. She is a lady of the world and understands the way of these things.”
Victoria was inclined to disagree. Mrs. Leighton was a woman of feeling like any other, yet Victoria could do nothing for her. She would, however, protect Eleanor as best she could. “You must prove your steadfastness to Eleanor and your worth to her family. Patience and persistence are required. No more invitations to common houses or plans to elope, my lord. Are we clear?”
“Quite.” Lord Berkwith’s gaze narrowed as if trying to see behind the veil. Hopefully, the dress and cloak and padding gave the impression of an older lady. Someone stern and not to be crossed, like a beloved aunt.
Victoria turned toward the waiting hack. Shadowy movement from the mouth of the alley down the lane caught her attention. Two men were moving toward her and Lord Berkwith. They were no doubt headed to the warmth and comfort of the Bear and the Crown. Except…
They didn’t speak to one another or call out a good evening. Their movements were silent and stealthy and swift. They reminded her of the men who sometimes came to meet with her father. By the time she recognized the danger snapping in the air, the men were upon them.
She opened her mouth to warn Lord Berkwith, but it was too late. One of the men came up behind Lord Berkwith and thumped a truncheon against his temple. He crumpled like a rag doll. A shot of fear had Victoria leaping into action. She made a run for the hack while fumbling for the dagger in her reticule. The ties were a complex puzzle she couldn’t solve.
Her breathless scream was snuffed out by the gloved hand that came over her nose and mouth. A hard arm circled her torso and lifted her. Her feet dangled uselessly off the ground. She tried to kick the man behind her, but her efforts were puny without any leverage. Air was at a premium, and primal panic had her pulling at the man’s wrist, any thoughts of escape secondary to the simplicity of taking a breath.
Her training dissolved in panic. She clawed at the man’s arm and kicked and wiggled against him. He only tightened his hold and dragged her backward toward the alley. Her feet scrabbled for purchase. Her hat was knocked over her eyes. The inability to see ratcheted up her panic to histrionic levels.
She snatched her hat off and tossed it aside, the pain from the yanking pins miniscule compared to the burning in her lungs. The hack clattered away from the scene at a high rate speed. No doubt the jarvey knew better than to get involved. The men hadn’t made enough noise to cut through the laughter and conversation buzzing out of the common house.
Lord Berkwith raised himself to sitting and held the side of his head. Their gazes locked. He goggled at the sight of her being dragged into an alley, but he didn’t make a move to help her. With her hat off and her hair coming loose, he surely recognized her. She tried to scream again, but her lungs were bereft of air. Pinpricks wavered her vision, and weakness invaded her limbs.