Was this to be her end? The shadows of the alley swallowed them. There was no one to help her. No one to save her.
She would have to save herself. The element of surprise was her greatest weapon. If they believed her weak, perhaps she could mount an attack. She let go of the man’s arm and went limp against him, working on the ties of her reticule. The man’s hand loosened enough for her to take a gasping breath. She gripped the hilt of her dagger and waited for an opportunity to present itself.
A grunt sounded behind her. The hand on her mouth was gone. The arm crushing her lungs loosened, and she dropped to the uneven stones of the alley, falling to her hands and knees. For a moment she allowed herself the joy of filling her lungs with air. Then she gathered her wits and looked deeper into the alley.
The outline of a horse blocked the far exit. One of her abductors lay motionless on the pavers. The other was exchanging blows with a third man. The newcomer wore a greatcoat and a brimmed hat of a serviceable variety. He grabbed her captor by a lapel and drove his fist into the man’s face. Her captor’s head snapped back into the brick wall. He sank to join his compatriot on the ground.
Victoria looked from the two unconscious brutes to the last man standing. Was he friend or foe? She scrambled to her feet, clutched the dagger in a defensive pose, and took a careful step backward toward freedom.
“Thank you for the assistance, but I need to be going now.” She cursed the waver in her voice.
The man watched her take two more steps from where he stood in the shadows. Just when hope flickered in her chest, he made his move. She flipped the knife into a guarded position and slashed toward him. The dagger clattered to the pavers. He had her disarmed before she realized how he had done it.
“Not bad. It might have even worked on a common footpad.” The growly voice was only too familiar.
She couldn’t summon even an iota of indignation toward him. She stepped closer and he gripped her arms. Only his hawklike nose, tight-lipped mouth, and stubborn chin were visible under the brim of his hat. She fought the urge to pepper kisses over every inch of available skin. How would the stubble of his night-beard feel against her lips? She shivered, but not entirely from the cold.
“Of all the idiotic, foolhardy capers… What in bloody hell were you thinking?” he asked.
She had been foolish and idiotic. She’d been too confident in her ability to take care of herself and too naive about the threats lurking in the shadows. “How did you know?” she asked hoarsely.
“It didn’t take much persuasion to get the information out of Lady Eleanor.”
“You didn’t frighten her to half to death, did you?”
“Only a quarter to death.” The shard of humor was like a lightning bolt during a storm. “Part of me wants to shake some sense into you. The risks you take, Victoria. You drive me mad.”
He tightened his fingers around her arms, and she braced herself for the promised shaking. It never came.
He kissed her. So hard and fast, she didn’t have a chance to even close her eyes. It wasn’t a kiss laced with passion, but proof of something much deeper and more primal. They were alive, and that’s all that mattered. She leaned into his chest and tipped her face to his, her lips glancing across his stubbled jaw, the rasp even more appealing than she supposed.
One of the men in the alley groaned and rolled over, shattering the strange intimacy of the moment. They each took a step away from one another, opening a chasm between them. She was in a dank alley with two men who wished to do her harm. Now was not the time to commit another folly with Thomas.
“Let me see if I can finagle some information, then we can depart this foul place.” He nudged his chin toward his horse. The handsome, sturdy bay gelding stood perfectly still in the opposite mouth of the alley. He was as well trained as his master.
Victoria held her skirts to the side and tiptoed by the men, keeping as much space between her and them as possible. Thomas squatted next to the man who was stirring and lifted him by the lapels. His head lolled.
“Who sent you?” Thomas asked in a harsh voice.
The man only groaned. Thomas dropped the man back down and riffled through his pockets, coming up with empty sweet wrappers and a dented watch. He left the watch on the man’s chest and searched the second man, who had not moved since collapsing.
Thomas stood and muttered to himself before turning to Victoria and his horse. He mounted, then held out a hand for her. She put her foot atop his and let him haul her up behind him. She was astride and circled her arms around him. “What about Lord Berkwith? He could be gravely injured.”
“It would serve him right for picking such a place for a rendezvous with a lady, the bounder.” Despite the sentiment and the cantankerous manner in which it was delivered, Thomas circled around the common house.
Lord Berkwith was gone.
Thomas grunted, his disgust palpable. “Strike that. He isn’t a bounder but a cowardly arse. He didn’t even attempt a rescue.”
He pointed his horse away from the common house. The pace he set was almost leisurely. They clopped through a maze of side streets and alleys.
A half dozen turns later, Victoria was utterly turned around. “Are we almost home?”
Turning his head so his face was close to hers, his breath was a puff of white in the air. “It’s too dangerous to return.”
The implications were starkly clear. “You don’t think those men were two ruffians looking for easy coin?”
“Did they riffle through Lord Berkwith’s clothes for his valuables?”
The men had treated Lord Berkwith like an inconvenience. They’d been focused on her. She’d been followed. But why? “What did they want?”
“I don’t know, but we have to assume it involves your father.” He tugged on the reins, and the horse deftly turned down yet another narrow alley.
“Where will we go?”
“We’ll stop to send a warning to your father.”
It wasn’t an answer, but Victoria didn’t press him further. She trusted Thomas.
An hour passed. The tightly packed buildings of London gave way to cottages with fallow gardens and bare trees. Unimpeded by buildings, a brisk wind found its way beneath her collar and under her skirts. She huddled behind Thomas’s bulk and shivered.
Clouds hid the moon, and no lanterns lit their way. Thomas didn’t seem bothered by the darkness and navigated them to a small cottage with an untidy front garden. Brown weeds bent over in supplication to the cold, and a trellis covered in a leafless vine marked the entrance.
Thomas dismounted and helped Victoria off. Her bottom was numb, and her lower back ached from the unusual experience of riding astride and double. Garrick loosely wrapped the reins around the rotting fence post.
“Are we not staying?” she asked as she followed him under the trellis.
“Only long enough to get a note to your father.” The pattern of his knocks on the door was complicated and unique.
“A secret knock? Isn’t that rather obvious?” She shot him a look.
“It’s simple but effective.”
“Unless the enemy has infiltrated your safe house and is waiting for anyone with an overly complicated knock.”
Thomas shifted toward her, and she mimicked his stance until they were face-to-face. “Do you think you know better than Britain’s finest agents?”