Branches and brambles picked at her gown. A branch whipped back from their passing and scratched her cheek. A drop of blood trickled toward her temple. Her hands were numb, and her wrists grew raw as she worked against the coarse rope.
How had these men managed to evade her father’s extensive grasp in London? Even though they had captured her easily, they did not seem unusually skilled. After all, she had landed two blows. That gave her hope. As did the fact the men did not bother to hide their tracks.
At first, she tried to keep her head raised to mark their progress, but all she could see were trees. When the ache in her neck became unbearable, she counted their paces instead and estimated they’d walked at least a mile.
Twice they crossed stiles. One man passed her to the other like a sack of potatoes. Both times, she managed to inflict damage by way of a well-placed knee. Once in the stomach, and once in the chest. Neither hit their mark of the nether regions. Still, she garnered immense satisfaction at their grunts and curses of pain.
“My sister is going to teach you a lesson, my lady.” The words “my lady” dripped with derision, but Victoria focused on the nugget of information offered freely.
His sister was the mastermind? That lent an air of loyalty and not greed to her abductors’ motivations. The danger rose a notch. Men could be turned through avarice, but familial bonds made the proposition more difficult.
The scent of woodsmoke tickled her nose as they entered a clearing. Less than a minute later, she passed from sunshine to shadows before being dumped on a dirt floor. The sudden change in attitude dizzied her. Not to mention the wave of pain coming from her bottom and hands from landing on them. She shifted to her side, desperate to evaluate her surroundings.
She was in a hut. No, a hovel. Leaf litter piled in the corners, and the smell was musty and animal-like. A fire burned, and as much smoke filled the room as went up the crude chimney. Her eyes watered, and a cough threatened behind the gag.
A woman emerged from the corner. Victoria awkwardly maneuvered herself to sitting and blinked to bring her into focus. She wore a veiled hat very similar to the one Victoria had commissioned two years ago to hide behind during her unchaperoned jaunts. The woman pointed at Victoria and turned to her brother. “Why the devil did you bring her?”
“It’s Lady Eleanor. Like you asked.”
“You dolt. That’s Miss Hawkins.”
The man squinted at Victoria. “Nay. She’s the one who met with the toff at the Bear and the Crown.”
The woman paced in the small space, punching one balled fist into her other hand. Her voice. It was familiar. And just like that, everything clicked into place.
“Mrs. Leighton?” Except it sounded like she said “blah, blah, blah?”
Mrs. Leighton spun to regard her. Something in Victoria’s eyes must have signaled her recognition, because the woman let out a curse that would be common on the docks and waved her hand toward her brother. “Remove her gag, John.”
The woman raised the black netting of her veil. The deferential expression the milliner wore in her shop had been replaced by a zealot’s madness.
Victoria’s mouth was dry and sore from the gag. She daubed her tongue along her lips before saying, “You meant to take Eleanor from the start.”
“Of course I did. What would I want with the likes of you?”
If her situation weren’t so dire, Victoria might have laughed. No wonder the abduction had never made sense. Once again, her father’s adage about making assumptions had proved true.
“But why Eleanor?” Certainly, Lord Stanfield had money, but not outrageous sums, or else they would have taken a town house closer to the ton’s stars in Mayfair.
Mrs. Leighton’s lips drew into a thin line, and she didn’t answer. Grooves alongside her mouth deepened, and a wrinkle appeared between her eyes. Mrs. Leighton was older than Victoria had first guessed.
What made a woman who supported herself through a successful business resort to abduction… and perhaps worse?
Love made everyone a little mad, didn’t it?
Lord Berkwith had been the one to suggest using Mrs. Leighton as a go-between, and she had seen him duck into the tailor’s shop next door as they arrived at the milliner shop. “You and Berkwith are lovers.”
“Randall loves me.” The statement hit like the bang of a fist on a table.
“That’s odd, because he told me that he loves Eleanor.” Victoria kept her voice cool and even.
Mrs. Leighton swallowed hard and then pointed her finger at Victoria. “Why were you at the meeting with Randall at the Bear and the Crown? Were you trying to take him for yourself?”
“Hardly. Eleanor grew leery about meeting Lord Berkwith at such a place, so I went in her stead to pass along a message.” Victoria went on the offensive. “Do you expect Lord Berkwith to marry you?”
“He loves me.” Desperation drowned out the earlier surety in the statement.
“He may love you, but he will marry for money. He must in order to save his lands and legacy.”
“No. He will marry me.”
Arguing would not convince her of Berkwith’s faithlessness. Victoria tried a new tack. “Now you know who I am, I beg you to return me to the manor house before I’m missed.”
“I cannot. You will summon the authorities, and we will be hanged.” Mrs. Leighton’s unnatural calmness made the hairs prickle on the back of Victoria’s neck.
“No, I won’t. This will be our secret. I promise.” Of course, it was a promise she would not keep, and based on Mrs. Leighton’s narrowed eyes she knew this as well.
“I can’t take the risk, Miss Hawkins. I apologize.” She might have been apologizing for a lack of blue ribbon needed for adornment around the brim of a bonnet.
“Eleanor saw your brother and his comrade take me.” Victoria pulled at her bonds, but she couldn’t tell if she was making any progress because the numbness had spread up her forearms and was invading her shoulders.
Mrs. Leighton looked to her brother and raised a brow.
“The chit collapsed in a heap before I could even say boo. She knows nothing that would incriminate us.”
Mrs. Leighton pointed to Victoria but spoke to her brother. “This is your mistake. Dispose of it.”
That sounded ominous.
John wrenched Victoria up by her arms. Pain streaked across her shoulders, and she was unable to stifle a cry. “Can you loosen my bonds? My hands and arms hurt.”
“Soon enough it won’t matter. Nothing will.” While the threat was clear, a crack in John’s voice had Victoria forgetting about her discomfort and focusing on the man.
John wasn’t a killer. He might be a thief and a brawler, and she could picture him committing any number of immoral acts, but murder? No, she didn’t think so. Especially a woman.
The question was how to sway him. Logic or tears?
Victoria appealed one more time to Mrs. Leighton’s sense of self-preservation, if not decency. “You are making a mistake. If you hurt me, my father will not rest until he discovers the truth. He will make you all pay dearly.”
Mrs. Leighton stepped closer. The bloom of youth might have faded from her face, but a different kind of beauty emerged. Less refined, yet equally as arresting.
“Berkwith is my last chance. Someone like you wouldn’t understand the position of a woman like me.”