by Sadie Bosque
The carriage halted abruptly, and the horses whinnied loudly. Annalise started forward and hit her head over the roof of the carriage. As the lid slid open, Miss Gale jumped out of her basket and landed on the carriage seat, her hackles raised, her spine arched up.
“It’s all right, Miss Gale. It’s probably just an accident,” Annalise said as she picked herself off the floor.
She wasn’t certain if she found her own explanation soothing. The broken axle was common enough—the roads weren’t perfect—but so soon? They were barely out of London. Shots fired, and Annalise picked up Miss Gale, brought her closer to her chest, and scrambled to the back of the carriage.
What was that?
The door flew open, and a burly gentleman—no, not a gentleman, a ruffian—entered. Miss Gale hissed, trying to claw her way out of Annalise’s arms. The ruffian picked up the kitten and looked at it curiously.
“Aw, what a nice kit—” Miss Gale scratched him deeply in his eye with a hiss.
“You spawn of the devil!” the thug cursed and threw her against the seat.
Miss Gale twisted in the air and landed on her side with a pained shriek.
“No!” Annalise scrambled to pick up the kitten.
As the thug wiped at his eye, Annalise had just enough time to throw Miss Gale into the basket and close the lid. At that moment, the bandit grabbed Annalise by the ankle and dragged her toward the exit.
Annalise thrashed and screamed, but it was no use. He was too strong, and there was no one to help her.
He exited the carriage and thrust her onto the ground. Annalise landed on her hands and knees, her palms scratched against the gravel, and her skirt ripped. A pair of dark, worn boots appeared before her.
“Get up,” said the man in a barely comprehensible country accent.
Someone grabbed her by the arms and lifted her to a standing position. She stared at the man before her, a tall, dirty, foul-smelling man with hands like hammers, and reared back instinctively. He smiled unpleasantly, showing his yellow, crooked teeth.
“Pretty little thing, aren’t you? No wonder Payne fought so hard to come back home. I’d fight like that too if I had a pretty thing like you waiting to warm my bed. Too bad he didn’t leave it alone upon his return. Should’ve snuggled with you and let us be.”
Annalise’s eyes widened. These were the thugs who took Blake? What did they want with her? Nothing pleasant, she supposed.
She wanted to ask a question or say something witty in answer, but her tongue went numb.
“Back to the horses,” he barked and walked away.
Annalise tried to struggle, but two thugs held her tight on either side and dragged her to the nearest horse.
“Harv, bring the rope!” one man spat, and the other man, presumably by the name of Harv, started tying her up while the other one held her hands.
“No! Let go!” Annalise yelled as she struggled to break free.
Harv grabbed her by the hair and tugged her head back. A sharp pain originated at the scalp, and her mouth fell open.
The thug looked at her mouth and lowered his head with slow deliberation. Annalise struggled in vain. She was no match for the violent, strong man. So she did the only thing she could. Just when his mouth was about to descend on her, she spat on him.
Harv reared back, letting go of her head in the process. The man holding Annalise by the hand laughed uproariously.
“Shut your gob, Garry!” Harv wiped his face and cuffed the other man on the shoulder. The other man reciprocated, throwing some foul words into the argument.
The scuffle gave Annalise a chance to free herself. But before she managed to make a few steps, someone grabbed her by her tumbling hair and yanked hard.
Annalise ended up on her rear, back on the gravel, her scalp burning.
Her breathing was labored, and her vision blurred by either tears or sweat. But what she saw then made her heart constrict in fear. Her driver and the footmen were lying on the ground, tied up by the carriage in a pool of blood.
The thug yanked her by the hair again and dragged her to the horse. Annalise struggled in earnest, crying out for help.
“Shut her up!” their leader called from the horseback.
Harv took a dirty rag and stuffed it in her mouth before tying up her hands and throwing her onto the back of the horse.
* * *
Blake sat in his study, staring at the walls. He hadn’t been able to open himself up to Annalise and share his deepest fears. Now those fears would become his reality. He’d have to live alone.
He didn’t know how he would sleep or if he would ever sleep again. But if that was the sacrifice he had to make so that Annalise was happy, so be it. He had been too selfish to know how to make her happy before. Now he was too broken to even attempt it.
The front door to the townhouse shut with a resounding bang, and the sounds of panicked voices filtered into the study. Blake whipped his head up in attention. Something was going on.
He stood and hurried toward the main hall. His heartbeat accelerated, and his breathing was coming in frantic gulps. He didn’t need to hear the explanation. He already knew. Something had happened to Annalise.
The servants stepped aside, clearing the path for Blake, and he saw the bloody, winded footman, Rogers, fall to his knees. One of the footmen he had sent to guard Annalise.
Rogers caught himself with his hands and looked at Blake, sweat falling onto the floor.
“They took her, my lord,” he said between gulps of air. “They took her ladyship.”
For a long moment, time went still. Sounds muted, and his vision blurred.
The image of Annalise stood before him: bound and gagged in a chair, a burly thug towering over her.
His worst nightmare.
Blake shook his head and shut his eyes briefly to dispel the vision. He brought his attention back to his townhouse. The servants were buzzing around him, fussing with the injured footman.
Blake stepped closer to Rogers, his breaths shallow. There was no time to break down crying and cursing the world. Annalise needed him.
“Where? Where did it happen? And where are the rest of the men?”
“They were injured. Worse than me. They couldn’t move. The bandits took our horses. So I ran to the nearby village inn, asked for the doctor, and took the horse from their stables. The other men should be in the village by now.”
“Which way did the bandits take Annalise?”
Rogers panted, his eyes closing. “Back to the city.”
Blake took deep breaths. If these were the same people who captured him, of which he was certain, then they’d go back to the docks. It was only logical. They had a hideout there. A dungeon. Blake’s hands perspired, and his breaths were coming out in shallow gulps.
Sweat broke out on Blake’s forehead. His footman was lying exhausted at his feet. Four other servants were wounded and bleeding somewhere at a village inn. And Annalise was gone. He needed to concentrate.
Blake turned to Crane. “Find Rogers a comfortable bed. Make sure he is looked after. Send a couple of footmen to find a doctor. I need them to go to the village, find other servants, and bring them back. Alive. Ask Rogers to provide the directions.”
Blake tried to regulate his breathing, his gaze running around the hall, not able to settle on one thing. Now is not the time to lose control. Concentrate; Annalise needs me.
“And bring me Gunning, the thief-taker. Immediately!”
Blake turned on his heel and stalked to his study. He took his musket, threw on a coat, and set out to the only lead he had left.
* * *
Blake banged wildly at Jarvis’s townhouse door.
They took her ladyship. The footman’s words still rang in his mind, so he kicked at the door, cursing for it to open.
Jarvis was the only person left on his damned list of suspects; he’d disappeared from the clubs the same night that the fight broke out in the hell, and the thugs escaped Hades’ punishment
.
But if he was wrong and Jarvis was not responsible, Blake would have nowhere else to go. His only other option would be to turn all of England on its head. And he’d do it too, only to find his Annalise and spare her the cruel fate he’d suffered.
The door opened, and a weathered old butler sketched a bow. Blake stormed past him.
“I need to see your master,” he threw over his shoulder and stalked to Jarvis’s study.
“He is not to be disturbed!” the servant yelled, hurrying after Blake.
“To hell, he isn’t!”
Blake entered the spacious study. Jarvis had been sitting behind the desk, but noticing Blake, he stood with a wide grin on his face.
Blake reached Jarvis and made a swing at his face. Jarvis’s expression of delight turned into confusion for a split moment before he ducked. He got hold of Blake’s arm and moved behind him. With a loud bang, he smashed Blake’s face into the desk.
Blake had barely time to blink, so quickly did this happen. How the hell did he do that? But the shock was replaced by Blake’s anger.
“Where the devil is she, Jarvis?” he yelled.
“Where is who?”
“Do not play innocent here, Jarvis. Where is my wife?” Blake sneered against the surface of the desk.
“Why in the world would I know where she is?” Jarvis let him free and slowly stepped away from him, hands raised in the air.
Blake straightened and turned to him, panting. “I know it’s you. You are the one who plotted my capture. It makes sense, your strange behavior, your carriage from which I got taken—”
“You never reached my carriage!”
“Or so you say. But I don’t give a fig about that. Tell me where Annalise is, and I’ll let you live.” Blake took out a musket and aimed it at Jarvis.
“You are out of your mind,” Jarvis exclaimed. “I had nothing to do with your capture. And Annalise is gone? How—Why do you think that?” He paused. “Perhaps she just left you. In which case, I’d be looking at Kensington’s.”
With a growl, Blake ran toward Jarvis and swung at his face again. Jarvis ducked, but Blake’s knuckles still grazed his chin. He reared back and raised his arms in surrender.
“Stop it, Blake. I had nothing to do with it. I swear. But I can help.”
“How can you help?” Blake was breathing heavily, his heart thudding in his ears. “How can anyone help me? She… It’s all because of me.” He scrubbed his sweaty face with his palms, then thread his fingers through his hair. “She is suffering because of me. It’s all my fault. It’s always been my fault.”
Jarvis made a tentative step toward him and slowly patted him on the shoulder. “There will be plenty of time for self-pity later, my friend. Tell me everything you know. I shall help you find her.”
Blake bit on his lower lip and shook his head. “I know nothing. Why else would I be here punching air? Her carriage left the drive at half-past eleven. I told her not to travel right after the ball, but she”—he closed his eyes briefly in agony—“she didn’t want to spend another night in the same house as me. I sent four footmen with her and the driver, but it still wasn’t enough.
“Two and a half hours later, a bruised and bloodied footman ran up the steps to our townhouse and declared that someone accosted them just outside the city. Several thugs pulled guns on them, took Annalise, and rode away. They took the horses, so they wouldn’t be followed. But Annalise, she’s… I don’t even know where they took her. The footman said they headed back toward the city. I would only guess they moved toward the docks, where I was kept.”
Jarvis frowned in thought, but an insistent bang on the door interrupted his musings. There were muffled noises, and then the voices grew louder.
“Someone else is at the door.” Jarvis raised a brow. “Perhaps more people came to accuse me.”
Jarvis led Blake back to the main hall, where the butler spoke calmly to a man over the threshold. The moment the man saw Blake, he pushed past the butler and stalked toward him. Ford.
“The thief-taker,” Jarvis grumbled.
“Oh, good! You’re here.” Blake expelled a breath of relief. The thief-taker would know what to do, surely.
“I received your note,” he said. “Tell me everything.”
Once Blake recited the events of the morning again, Ford scratched his jaw thoughtfully.
“Let me send a note to my men. We need all the help we can get here.”
“Very well, but what are we to do? Do you think Hades will help us hunt his rogues down?”
Jarvis scoffed. “Hades does not help people.”
Ford gave him a curious look before turning to Blake. “I do not think it wise for you to go anywhere. In fact, you shouldn’t have left the townhouse.”
“What?”
“Since the thugs took Annalise and did not harm her, I suppose they have a motive of their own. And they will probably be contacting us to let us know what their demands are.”
“And what are we supposed to do until then?” Blake threw up his hands.
“Wait.”
“You are mad if you think I shall be sitting on my arse while Annalise is in peril!”
“And what are you going to do, then? Ride up and down the road looking for any sign of her? You’ll just waste time and energy. It isn’t worth it.”
“It’s my wife we are talking about, you cur!” Blake grabbed Ford by his cravat and slammed him against the wall.
“Blake!” Jarvis put a calming hand on Blake’s arm. “The man is right.”
“To hell he is!” Blake growled.
Ford took advantage of Blake’s distracted state and freed himself from the hold.
He cleared his throat. “You feel free to roam around the docks then, and we’ll be the ones actually getting your wife back.”
Blake turned on his heel and raked his hands through his hair, his entire body vibrating with anxiety and helplessness.
Somewhere out there, Annalise was in the company of thugs, and there was nothing he could do to help her. What if they hurt her? What if they were doing unspeakable things to her at this very moment while he prowled in this townhouse?
Useless.
He felt completely and utterly useless. And it was all his fault. If he wasn’t such a bastard, Annalise would never have left him, and she’d be safely tucked in by his side, sleeping peacefully in his arms.
* * *
Annalise sat on the cold, dirty floor, hugging her knees to her chest.
She hadn’t moved ever since the captors threw her into the basement of an old, rickety building and left her there. It felt like hours had passed, but she had no way of telling for sure. In the dark, all sense of time left her.
It was pitch black, and the darkness was suffocating her. She had no idea if the room she was held in was big or small, if it had any furniture or was empty, and she was frightened to make a sound, fearing that she was not alone.
The squeaking of a rodent startled her as the animal ran past her. Annalise jumped up and shook out her skirts in disgust. She hugged herself close and squinted in the dark. As her eyes adjusted, she noticed a slight shadow playing on the wall opposite hers.
A shadow. Which meant there was a source of light somewhere. She turned and saw a narrow window up on the wall. It was barely letting in the light. It seemed like the window was covered with something. She came closer and stood on her tiptoes to inspect the window. Was it dirt, stones or—
Steps sounded outside her door. Then the key rattled in the keyhole. Annalise burrowed into the opposite corner of the room and made herself as small as she could.
The thug appeared in the doorway. “Here, drink some of that.”
He threw a flask her way without stepping down from the stairs, then left the room as quickly as he appeared, locking the door behind him and leaving Annalise in complete darkness once more.
Annalise slowly made her way toward the flask. She shuffled her feet, hoping she would stumble upon it eas
ier that way. She wanted a drink. She hadn’t had a drop since before their carriage was stopped by the bandits.
The sound was deafening to her ears when she finally reached the flask and kicked it with the tip of her slipper. She picked it up and opened it, ready to gulp down the vitalizing elixir.
But the smell that hit her was not a pleasant one. It was some kind of alcohol. Annalise wasn’t versed enough to recognize it by smell, but it was foul to her senses. Nevertheless, she took a sip and grimaced as the fiery liquid passed down her throat, burning the path to her stomach.
Annalise closed the flask, dropped it into her pocket, and turned back to the dim, lone window. She carefully walked forward and squinted at it, trying to figure out what was blocking the view.
Ah, yes. It looked like leaves! If her addled brain wasn’t fooling her and it was indeed just leaves and dirt, she would be able to push the window open, and hopefully, crawl out of it.
The only problem was that it was high up. Even if she did open it, there was no way she would be able to pull herself up far enough to crawl through it.
Annalise looked around but found nothing she could stand on to help her reach the window better. She came closer to the wall again and ran her palm over it. It was a stony wall with indents, large enough that she could hook her toe in. She hiked up her skirts, raised her foot, and placed it on the wall.
Seemed sturdy enough. Annalise raised her arms and held onto the windowsill with all her might. She raised her second foot and… skittered down.
She hit the wall with her knee on the way down, and her hands felt raw from scratching them down the rugged wall. Dust and dirt flew around her, and she coughed into her sleeve.
Well, this wasn’t going to be as easy as she hoped. You have to fall to learn—her husband’s words rang in her mind. At the moment he’d said them, he hadn’t meant it literally. He had definitely fallen a few times in his life and had fallen hard. Had he learned, though? Would she live to find out? Would she ever see him again?
When she had left the townhouse, she was adamant about living on her own, but she had never thought that the moment her carriage jolted to a start, that view of her husband out the window would be the last time she’d ever see him.
