by Anne Mallory
Abigail stopped to scan the area and heard a wheeze as Mr. Farnswourth caught up to her.
“Miss Smart, I say, are you well?”
“That boy stole my reticule! Of course I am not well,” she said irritably. “I had a new handkerchief in there that I rather liked.”
Mr. Farnswourth looked uncomfortable. “Are you hurt?”
She sighed and shook her arm to loosen the tension that had gathered there. Having her bag ripped from her grasp had not been pleasant. “I am fine, Mr. Farnswourth. Thank you for your concern.” And for running after the perpetrator, something crabby inside her wanted to add.
“We should contact a constable, Miss Smart.”
“Yes, Mr. Farnswourth. That is true. Luckily I didn’t have much in—” She broke off as she saw a blond head peer from between two stalls, then disappear. “There he is!” she pointed.
She took off running again, surprise and ire giving her added speed. She broke through the crowd, running as fast as her slippers and skirts could manage. Blond hair darted between one stall then another as she continued the chase.
Rainewood appeared at her elbow, running alongside. He seemed to have finally realized he didn’t need air though, as he wasn’t winded. “Stop, Smart, I thought I saw—”
A hand gripped her arm, yanking her into a secluded alley at the back of the stall she had followed the boy into. She was immediately pinned to the wall, unable to see her attacker, but it was definitely a large man who held her, not a slip of a boy. Panic rushed through her, and she took a deep gasp of breath, the stench of the alley washing over her as the bricks bit into her cheek.
A grimy hand covered her mouth. “Got ya’,” a rough voice said in her ear.
She could still hear the bustle of the vendors along the street. Surely someone would see them. Would come to help. She was in a safe part of town.
Her arm twisted and she gasped another foul breath.
“The infamous, Miss Smart. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” a rasping voice said to her left—not the man holding her, a second man then. His speech was not that of a longshoreman though, the voice was more cultured, though the tone was uncivilized. “Imagine my surprise when you turned up last night. What were you doing slumming in that section of town, Miss Smart? A bit out of the way for someone like you.”
Panic spiked in her further that the man seemed to know her. Valerian appeared at her elbow, eyes a bit wild as he tried to pry the man’s fingers away from her arm to no avail. “Damn it, Smart.”
She tried to calm her fear. Surprisingly, having Valerian near helped.
Something sharp pressed into her side. “I wouldn’t attempt a scream, if I were you,” the cultured voice said. “We will be long gone before someone finds your corpse.”
The first man’s fingers slid away from her mouth, leaving a foul feeling behind. She concentrated on Valerian and his frantic movements, finding courage.
“I don’t know what you are talking about, sir. But please tell your friend to release me.”
“Perhaps. Eventually.” The now amused voice whispered in her ear, closer. “What were you doing near the St. Thomas hell?”
Panic worked through her again, and Valerian’s eyes grew wider and his fingers worked harder—never connecting to the man, slipping right through his flesh. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“Oh, no?”
The other man gave her arm a twist and pain shot through her. Her cheek scratched against the grit of the mortar. She tried to move away, but was neatly trapped between the man and the unforgiving bricks. The man was far too strong and he had placed her in a hold designed to use less than half of his strength—her body position and the wall doing the work for him.
Valerian continued trying to grip, punch, and grapple the man unsuccessfully, his eyes darting above her head to the other man as well. He let out a string of curses, and then touched her instead, his cool fingers soothing the skin of her cheek pressed against the wall as his hand dipped through. Fingers trailing down her neck, stroking, petting.
“Damn it, Abigail,” he whispered. His forehead pressed against hers for a moment before he disappeared through her. Reassuring, ghostly fingers pet her on the other side. It gave her strength.
“Let me go. I don’t know of what you speak, and your friend is hurting me. I won’t call the watch, if you just let me go,” she said into the space of the trash-filled alley, her lips brushing the mortar with each word.
“So sure of yourself. Perhaps other tactics are needed in order to get answers?”
Her captor pressed against her and she struggled again, her actions merely causing him to chuckle foully in her ear. “Oi, that helps me right out, lady.”
“I’m not sure you want to continue to struggle, Miss Smart.”
Tears filled her eyes as she went limp. Prayers, one after another, went through her mind that someone would see them.
The man holding her laughed again and his free hand drew down her hip and grasped her dress, lifting it, bunching it.
Complete panic overtook her. She didn’t even feel the shiver as Valerian appeared in front of her again. “Damn it, Abigail, move, leave!”
She wanted to demand how exactly she was to accomplish that, but she was too terrified to produce the words.
“Now why were you in that alley?” the cultured voice asked.
“Tell him!” Valerian demanded.
“I, I was looking for a friend.”
“I don’t think so. No friends of yours down there, are there lovely?” The other man’s hand continued bunching up her dress, exposing her knees, almost to her thighs.
“A friend who was lost.”
There was a sudden movement behind her and the hand stopped. “Keep talking.”
Everything stubborn in her wanted to tell him to go to the devil. Everything that was terrified and instinctual told her to tell him anything that he wanted to know.
“Tell him, damn it.” A ghostly hand touched her shoulder, shaking it an inch before disappearing.
“I…there was a rumor that someone I have had bad dealings with in society was last seen there. I, I wanted to find out if he had finally received his comeuppance.”
“Ah, so just there for a little gossip, is that what you are trying to tell me?”
“Satisfaction. The man is a menace. I, I just wanted to see. But it was a bad idea. I didn’t stay. Didn’t talk to anyone. Surely if you saw me you know that.” Desperation and fear laced her words, but she tried to inject just the right amount of sincerity. It was true, she hadn’t talked to a soul other than Telly and the hack drivers.
Silence followed her words. “Clever girl. And yet, you followed two boys to Mayfair. Odd that. Who would have given you such direction? Almost as if you had unseen help.”
Complete terror overtook her as she realized that somehow this man hinted at a knowledge far exceeding what he should know. What anyone knew.
“Almost as if you had someone beside you telling you where to go. I think you are going to have to be more forthright, Miss Smart, or perhaps I will just let the man holding you take what he will.”
The man holding her seemed to take that as permission. Abigail struggled, lashing her foot out in any direction she could while pressed against the wall. He used his feet to spread her legs further apart, immobilizing her as his thighs pushed into her rear, pinning her there.
“Such spirit,” the smoother voice said. “What a rare treasure you are. Too bad your friend didn’t see it that way. Or didn’t see it sooner, should I say?”
She went still.
“Oh, poor thing, are you just now coming to understand?” Fingers, not the calming ones of Valerian, but the calloused, crooked ones of the unseen man, stroked her exposed cheek, pressing her other cheek more firmly into the mortar. “I need to be sure now before taking you in for further questioning. The state you arrive in is completely up to you. You have twenty seconds, Miss Smart.”
“I don�
��t know what you want!”
“Tell me why you were really in that alley last night.”
“I told you why.”
“Partial truth, Miss Smart. Partial truth. And not the truth I desire. I think for that I will let my friend here have partial payment.”
She squished her eyes closed as her dress was hiked all the way up.
Frantic ghostly fingers touched her face and she opened her eyes to see Valerian looking completely panic-stricken. She had never seen him in such a state. Not even when he had come to tell her about the death of his brother and his own involvement.
“No, no, no, no, no.” Something dark and deadly came over Valerian’s face as the sinister promises of the man behind her jarred her ears.
Valerian pulled his arm back and swung violently at the man. She closed her eyes as he did so. A strange calmness overtook her, even as she felt the man behind her press closer, the movements slowing to a crawl as her thoughts far outpaced the actions. There was a kind of calm bearing that filled her. That Valerian actually cared enough to do battle for her with that look upon his face—one that went deeper than simply a gentleman defending a lady. That there was an attachment that still existed between them. The world had tilted into something she was having trouble processing, and the stark thoughts were strangely comforting in the barren numbness that was overtaking her.
A crack sounded and she was pressed into the bricks further—as if the man’s body had recoiled behind her—than released. The skin of her hands tore against the bricks as she pushed away and turned.
The man who had been holding her was splayed on the ground holding his nose, the other man stared down at him in shock. Some preservation instinct caused her to act without thinking, and she bent down and picked up a small wooden plank and swung it at the leader’s head. He keeled over and lay there motionless. She repeated the action on the man holding his nose.
Valerian clutched his stomach and forehead, crouching over next to the fallen men. “Run, Abby.” Then he blinked out of existence, and she ran as if the devil were upon her heels.
Chapter 11
The sounds of screaming punctured his dream and he jerked awake. Light flared above him and he squinted, that same terrible feeling that his eyes hadn’t been opened in days washed over him once again as he ripped them apart.
He opened his mouth to call for Abigail, but his lips wouldn’t part. A sound at his left echoed and he turned his head that way, the force required to move just those few inches made him squint further. When his eyes opened back up it was to see Templing straining on a table a few feet away, a man in a dirty coat leaning over him with some sort of ungodly implement in his hand.
Valerian tried to move, tried to help, but his hands wouldn’t obey. His arms strained and he wobbled his head enough to see bands stretched across his wrists, tethering him to the surface. Templing gave another cry and Valerian pulled at the bonds. A meaty fist gripped his chin and yanked it up.
Something was poured down his throat and all went dark once more.
Chapter 12
Abigail’s spine was much more rigid when she dragged her mother and Mrs. Browning to Grayton House for the second time. The dowager and her snide looks could go to the devil. She would collect Valerian and then leave. She couldn’t countenance that he wouldn’t be there, couldn’t think about such a thing. And as far as this visit was concerned, as long as she didn’t reveal her real purpose for being there, she would recover from the embarrassment of returning where she was unwanted.
Truthfully, at the moment she didn’t care what anyone thought of her actions. She’d tossed and turned all night. Haunted by the way Valerian had looked right before he’d disappeared. Plotting a way to gain entrance to the house. Unable to think that he wouldn’t be here when she came.
Mr. Farnswourth had been nearly apoplectic when she had darted out of the alley. She hadn’t wasted time with him, however. She had asked him as politely as she could manage to return her to her mother, explaining that she had fallen while chasing the thief.
Embarrassed, most probably at his lack of athleticism, he had bent over backward to help her. He was a truly nice man. But she had been too worried about Valerian, and about what the other men had nearly done to her, to show Mr. Farnswourth the appropriate regard. They had reported the theft of her reticule to the nearest constable, but she had no delusions that she would see it again.
And she had said nothing to either the constable or Mr. Farnswourth about the attack. Too many unanswerable questions lay there.
She didn’t even know the answers herself.
“Miss Smart, I do not know what you hope to achieve by visiting Her Grace again.”
“I merely wish to give her my regards, Mrs. Browning. And they extended the invitation.” Abigail lifted her chin and squarely met the eyes of their guide. Hopefully Basil wouldn’t reveal that Abigail had sent him a missive asking for the visit. Who knew what Basil thought of the request, but he had replied with a simple yes and an invitation had appeared an hour later.
Mrs. Browning’s eyes narrowed, but she gave a single nod and led the way once more into the drawing room with its magnificent, but cloying purples.
Abigail’s mother trailed behind looking preoccupied, as she had for the last few days. Casting strange looks in Abigail’s direction. Abigail tried not to let the fear manifest. Her mother didn’t know for sure. She was biding her time, watching and waiting.
Which also meant that Abigail had to sit on every urge she had to yell out for Valerian. To see if he was somewhere in the eerily silent house, waiting for her.
The dowager coolly welcomed them into the drawing room, in much the same manner as she had dismissed them last time. She gave Mrs. Browning a receptive greeting, but barely worked up the social smile to greet Abigail and her mother.
“You have been much on the lips of those around me, Miss Smart,” the dowager said, showing her sharp teeth. “Lord Basil has a kind word for you, as do some of his friends.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” She inclined her head, knowing that the woman wished to say more, wished to lay bare everything she thought of Abigail, but society’s strictures were too well ingrained.
“I find myself most curious as to your future plans.”
“Oh, I am merely interested in a fulfilling season, Your Grace. I am honored by any kindness extended our way.” Abigail gave a demure nod.
The dowager smiled in her vampirish way. “You are a resilient lady, Miss Smart. I daresay you will find a fulfilling end to your season. I hear that both Mr. Farnswourth and Mr. Sourting have a care in your direction.”
But no one with the name of Rainewood or Danforth—nor would there be—was left unsaid, lingering in the air to curl around the teacups that were automatically lifted and sipped as the volleys continued.
She inclined her head. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
Basil appeared in the doorway. “Ah, Mrs. Browning, Mrs. Smart, Miss Smart, so good to see you.”
He walked through the door and gave a courteous bow before taking a seat. She watched him, slightly unnerved. Had he really done something to his brother? It was hard to countenance Basil doing such a thing—not with that affable smile in place.
“I am looking forward to our outing the day after tomorrow, Miss Smart.”
But he had always maintained depths that he kept hidden from society.
“As am I, Lord Basil.” She purposely held his gaze and did not look at the dowager, knowing the displeasure she would find.
“It will be a bright spot in this otherwise rainy week.”
She had barely noticed the rain, so used to it, but the temperatures this morning had taken an unpleasant downward spiral. She blamed Valerian’s absence for her lack of attention.
Or perhaps she had finally just noticed the weather based on her own feelings of depression and anxiety now that he was gone and might not return.
“Abigail.”
A rich voice heavy with me
aning. The very fabric of it sent ripples of emotion through her, like the raised pattern on a particularly fine piece of silk.
She turned automatically to the sound, half rising from her chair to meet that voice, to hug it, to stroke the fabric in order to be sure it was real. She remembered herself a second later and sank back into her seat.
But her eyes said that her ears did not deceive. There Valerian stood, looking thinner, the planes of his face sharper, but the relief on his features could only be matched by the nearly violent physical loosening of pressure in her body that made her feel lightheaded and shaky.
“Miss Smart, are you ill?” asked the dowager in a sharp tone.
“No, I am rather well. Happy in fact.”
She knew she sounded mentally inept, but as Valerian strode through the furniture and the Duchess of Palmbury, she found that again she didn’t care a wit for the others’ regard.
“Are you well? Did you get away?” He extended a hand to stroke her face, and she wanted to alternately laugh and sob in relief.
“I am well,” she repeated. “I do believe Lord Basil is right in that the weather is about to take a turn for the better.”
She couldn’t stop staring at Valerian though, and as his extended fingers touched her, shock punched her in the gut. Real fingers touched her cheek like an unexpected wave washing over her toes at the beach. Refreshing, shiver inducing, heightening all senses.
“What…?”
Her shock was reflected on his face, and then an even more intense look came over his features. He extended his other hand and began to touch her everywhere—her neck, her hair, the cloth of her poofed shoulders and sleeves.
“Madness,” he whispered, but continued to explore, his eyes nearly black as he touched the lace at her neck, the satin of her sash, always returning to her bared skin as if seeking reassurance from the heat beneath.
“Yes, Miss Smart?” Basil prompted.
It was assuredly madness that held her. She tried to pull her thoughts together. “I, I was wondering what you had planned for the outing, Lord Basil.”
