by Shana Galen
“I need your help,” Ewan said.
Neil nodded and dropped the paper, and Jasper rose. “I’ll always row in your boat, Protector,” Jasper promised.
He’d known they would agree, but the readiness with which they did so made his heart clench for a moment. The men of Draven’s Survivors didn’t ask questions of their fellows. If one of their own said he needed help, the others agreed without question.
“How can we help?” Neil asked.
“Lady Lorraine has been abducted.”
“Kidnapped?” Jasper stepped forward. The scars on the side of his face appeared red and angry in the firelight. He wore his mask out in public but found no such protection from stares and ridicule necessary here at the club.
“Are you certain she hasn’t simply eloped?” Neil asked, sounding as logical and levelheaded as always.
Ewan took a breath. Words had never been his allies, but he would have to speak now, speak and explain. “Her father sent for me because the lady was not in her bed this morning. Nothing had been taken from her room. Only the lady and her dog were missing. I went to my father and ascertained the location of Francis Mostyn’s residence. I found him at a coffee shop nearby. He had her abducted so he could play the white knight and rescue her.”
“Bloody idiot,” Neil said.
“I trust you’ll give him a topper once the lady is recovered,” Jasper added. “I can sniff her out.”
“That’s why I’m here. My cousin was to meet the men he hired at an inn in Edgware at midnight tomorrow. I want to find the men before this meeting.”
“Has the duke received a ransom note?” Jasper asked.
“No.”
“He might have. We should pay him a call—” But even as Neil spoke the words, Porter knocked on the door, carrying a silver salver.
“A missive from the Duke of Ridlington for you, Mr. Mostyn.”
Ewan took it and broke the seal. The enclosed paper fluttered to the floor. He lifted it and cursed his inability to read. He held it out, and Neil, who was the closer of the two soldiers, took it.
He looked up at Ewan. “It’s the ransom note we expected. They want twenty thousand pounds for her safe return.”
Jasper whistled. “For blunt like that, they might decide to keep her. Francis doesn’t have the yellow boys to cover that.”
Neil continued to read the paper. “The abductors request the duke to come alone to an inn in Edgware tomorrow night at midnight. If he doesn’t appear, comes with other men, or doesn’t bring the blunt, they’ll kill Lady Lorraine.” He looked up. “And her dog.”
Ewan looked down at the paper that had held the note. The words on it moved and rearranged themselves, but he finally had the gist of the brief message from Ridlington.
“He asks for my advice.”
“Tell him.” Neil waved a hand. “Porter! Paper and ink, please.”
“Yes, Mr. Wraxall.”
“I’ll write to him and you sign it,” Neil said. “I’ll tell him to stay here. You’ll go in his stead and bring her back.”
“How will I find her? Francis didn’t know any more than to meet them at the inn.” No doubt the abductors thought to bring the duke and their employer together and see who would pay the most for the lady. If neither man would pay or anything went wrong, they would probably find it easier to kill her and be done with the scheme all together.
“Leave finding her to me,” Jasper said. “I can find anyone.”
“Given enough time. We have a day and a half,” Ewan argued.
“Edgware isn’t far outside of London, and I know the area well. We’ll find her, and we’ll crash the culls your cousin hired to take her.”
For the first time since he’d stepped into the Duke of Ridlington’s drawing room, Ewan relaxed. Jasper was the best tracker Ewan had ever known. He would find Lorraine, and when Ewan got his hands on the men who had taken her, he would kill them with his bare hands.
* * *
By the time darkness fell, Lorrie had managed to loosen not one but two planks of the wall. It had been slow, tedious work, because she must do everything silently. Using her feet, she had braced herself on one side of the room and pushed against the loose planks with steady pressure. Now when she pushed one of them, the bottom gaped enough so Welly might slip through it. She hadn’t allowed the puppy to escape. That would alert the men holding her when they returned.
She’d almost been caught once. She’d been pushing against the plank that was not quite as loose when she’d heard the lock slide against her door. Welly had barked a warning, but it hadn’t been necessary. Lorrie had slid in front of the planks to shield her work from view.
“Get up,” the man who opened the door ordered. She couldn’t see his face under the coat collar and lowered hat, so she had no idea if it was the same man who had brought her the bread and apple earlier.
Lorrie rose, her heart pounding. Her knees felt weak, and she couldn’t catch her breath. Had she been wrong about the men’s intentions? Would they rape and kill her now?
“What do you want?” she asked, trying to keep her voice from trembling.
“Here.” The man threw her a length of rope. It fell to the floor, and Lorrie stared at it. Would they tie her hands?
“Put it on the dog,” her captor said. “We don’t want it running away.”
“Where will you take me?” Lorrie asked, bending to scoop up the rope. She saw now it had been fashioned into a sort of lead, with a loop around one end. She put the lead around Welly’s neck and tightened it enough so it would not slip off.
The man moved aside. “Out.” He pointed into the main room of the workhouse, which appeared empty at the moment.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked again.
“Walk or I’ll make you walk.”
Shivering with fear, Lorrie pulled her night robe close around her neck and held the leash in her other hand. She led Welly into the main room. The windows had been shuttered and the hearth was cold and dark, but she could see well enough to avoid bumping into the long table.
She’d expected the man to lead her, but he stood staring into the little closet. “What is that?” he asked.
Lorrie swallowed the panic. He’d seen the loose planks. She didn’t know how, as they still fell flush against the foundation if she did not push on them, but something had given her efforts away.
Lorrie turned slowly to peer into the closet.
“I…I don’t know what you mean.”
The man pointed into the closet, but when she followed the direction of his finger, he wasn’t pointing at the loose planks. He pointed at a corner where Welly had relieved himself.
“The dog needed to go out. He’s still a puppy. He hasn’t much control.”
He looked at her—at least she thought he looked at her. It was difficult to tell with his eyes so hidden. “I suppose you want me to clean it up.”
Lorrie didn’t know how to answer. She’d forgotten about it in her efforts to escape. She might be a duke’s daughter, but she’d spent most of her youth in the country. A little puppy pee didn’t upset her.
The man jerked his head toward a corner of the room, and Lorrie realized a man in a dark cloak sat there. She hadn’t been able to see him in the dark.
“Clean it up,” the first ordered.
The second said nothing while the first gave her a shove. “Outside.”
He opened the door to the small work shed for her, and she blinked at the bright sunlight, lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the glare. Welly barked and started forward, and Lorrie almost pitched down the two steps leading up to the door. She followed the puppy down, and he immediately lifted his leg to relieve himself.
Lorrie was aware of a growing discomfort in her own bladder, but her captor pointed to the small privy near the trees. “Hurry up. Take m
ore than two minutes, and I’ll come in and fetch you.”
Lorrie hurried. She could think of little more humiliating than being interrupted while squatting in the privy. She felt better when she emerged, not only because the privy stunk, but because she could see her surroundings in the daylight. There was indeed a path leading away from the work shed. It was somewhat overgrown, but it had been worn over time and was still visible. It must lead to the big house, and surely that had not been abandoned.
She peered in the opposite direction, hoping to spot horses or a glimpse of the road they had traversed. But wherever the men kept their mounts and the cart, she could not spot them from where she stood. They were no fools, these men. No smoke poured from the chimney, no light shone from within the building. To all outward appearances, the place was abandoned.
Even if Ewan did come for her, how would he know to look here? He might walk right past it and never know she was imprisoned within. Lorrie couldn’t leave her escape to chance. She had to find a way to get out. Glancing at the shed again, she focused on the rear where she’d been held. From the outside, the boards she’d loosened looked slightly askew. She hoped the men wouldn’t look at them too closely. She hoped she could loosen them in time. Especially since she had no idea how much time she had left.
“Back inside,” her captor ordered.
“But we just stepped out. Can’t I take my dog for a walk? He needs exercise.” Anything to stall or to give her more time to look around.
“Get inside or I’ll make you.”
Lorrie swallowed. She did not want him to make good on his threats. As slowly as possible, she made her way back toward the steps. She tried to take in as much of the landscape as possible. She would need a mental map of the place when she had to run away, and as that would most likely be under cover of darkness, the better she knew the landmarks, the more likely she would find the path and be able to follow it. She had the fleeting urge to run, but a flash of color caught her eye. A few yards away a third man stood near a tree, keeping watch.
Lorrie knew if she ran now, she would not make it far.
Once inside the gardener’s shed, her captor shut the door and barred it. The other captor was back in his chair, and she wouldn’t have known he’d left his spot except that Welly’s accident in the closet had been cleaned up.
She went willingly back into her prison. Hoping to discourage the men from interrupting her again, she decided to make her demands now. “May I have some water?”
Her captor shut the door in her face.
“What about more bread?”
The lock slid into place.
Very well. She would just have to be very careful and ready for guests at a moment’s notice. Taking a deep breath, Lorrie sat and wedged her feet against a third plank. Closing her eyes, she began to push.
Nineteen
Ewan prided himself on his patience. In a fight, a hot head was almost always a liability. He knew Draven had wanted him for his brute strength, but Ewan didn’t consider his strength and size alone his only skill. He knew when to hit first, when to wait for the advantage, when to allow his opponent to tire himself out with impotent punches.
Ewan possessed considerable patience.
And it had all deserted him today.
He’d seen Jasper track dozens of times. He knew one step forward often meant two steps back. In Belgium there had been a week they’d circled the same two miles repeatedly, tracking a French spy.
But Ewan hadn’t cared about the French spy. He cared about Lorraine and now, on the second day of the search, the hours seemed to fly by. It was almost dusk, and Jasper still hadn’t found where Lorraine was being held. In the wooded area where they tromped through damp leaves and ducked under low branches, the light faded quickly.
In front of them, Jasper held up a hand, then dismounted. Ewan’s arse was sore from sitting in the saddle all day, and he dismounted as well. But before he could follow Jasper into a cluster of trees, Neil stepped in front of him.
“Crowding him won’t find her any faster.”
“What if I thump him on top of the head?” Ewan asked.
Neil gave him a wry smile. “Also not helpful.” He placed a hand on Ewan’s shoulder. “Jasper will find her. He always finds his man—or in this case, woman.”
Ewan looked at the sky, a mottled gray through the canopy of branches.
“There’s still time,” Neil said.
“Only a few hours, and we have no rescue plan, no visual on the prisoner’s location.”
“The rescue plan is my mission. I think fast. That’s why you wanted me here. Jasper tracks. That’s why you wanted him. Let us do our jobs.”
Ewan blew out a breath of frustration. Neil was right. But that didn’t stop the clawing panic scratching away inside Ewan’s chest. What if she was injured? What if her captors had abused her or killed her? Yes, the note claimed she hadn’t been hurt, but once the men had the money, there was nothing to stop them from running. Nothing to force them to return Lady Lorraine.
Jasper walked back to where Ewan and Neil stood. “Some cull came through here recently. I don’t know if it was the rogues we’re after, but the odds are strong.”
Odds. Ewan scowled. He didn’t want odds. He wanted Lorraine back in his arms—rather, the arms of her family.
“What’s nearby?” Neil asked. “Where might they be heading?”
Jasper stared into the distance and thought about it. Ewan’s hand itched to thump him—just once—on the head. Maybe he’d think a little faster. As though reading his mind, Neil gave him a narrow-eyed stare.
“There’s an estate about two miles north. I forget what nob it belongs to—an earl, I think. He bled a lot of money on a canal scheme—”
“The Marquess of Wight,” Neil supplied. “He invested all his money in a canal scheme in Birmingham, where he owns property with…” Neil scratched his head. “Was it limestone deposits or some mineral?”
“Iron ore, I thought,” Jasper said.
Ewan growled low in his throat. Jasper gave him an odd look.
“Whatever it was,” Neil said with a warning glance at Ewan, “the locals opposed the canal, and the scheme failed.”
Ewan pointed in the direction Jasper had indicated he saw tracks. “Go.”
Jasper and Neil ignored him.
“He’s been living in Town for the last few years,” Neil said. “Not enough blunt to keep up the country estate.”
“Wight House.”
Neil smiled. “Clever.”
“If he was clever, he wouldn’t have sunk all his yellow boys into a canal scheme.”
“Can we discuss canals later?” Ewan demanded.
“In any case,” Neil said, holding a hand up when Ewan looked like he wanted to interrupt again. “His lack of funds means Wight House has been closed up for some time.”
Impatient for the conversation to cease, Ewan wandered to the patch of leaves that had so interested Jasper. He saw nothing indicating anyone had passed this way.
“A good place to plant yourself if you don’t want to be found,” Jasper said, coming up behind Ewan. He pointed to a broken twig. “There. See it?”
Ewan grunted. It was a broken twig. A fox or a deer or a boar might have broken it.
“And there.” Jasper pointed to a bush, apparently seeing a sign Ewan didn’t. “Some cull came this way. We follow the trail and see if they’re still nearby.”
Finally, someone was talking sense. He walked back to his horse and prepared to mount, but Neil shook his head. “Jasper says the estate is about two miles from here. Better to leave the horses. They make too much noise, and we don’t want anyone to know we’re coming.”
Ewan took a slow breath. Neil had a point, but it would mean hobbling the horses, and that would be yet another delay.
“Since we’ve stopped
, we should pull out the grub,” Jasper suggested.
“No food.”
This time Ewan caught the smile Neil and Jasper exchanged and realized he’d walked right into that one.
As Neil went about unloading the packs from the horses and securing them, he kept up a steady conversation with Jasper, who, despite Ewan’s injunction, had pulled out an apple and munched on it. Ewan ignored them, taking what he’d need for the walk out of his pack.
He stood, arms crossed and booted foot tapping, as Neil took his bloody sweet time. Neil glanced at him once. “Never seen him like this. Have you?”
Jasper glanced at Ewan, and he realized they’d been discussing him.
“Can’t say that I have. I thought he would throw me onto the saddle this morning.”
“Your life has been in danger more than once today,” Neil said. “Do you think he’s that loyal to Ridlington?”
Jasper pretended to consider. Ewan rolled his eyes at the way Jasper rubbed at the stubble on his chin in mock thought. He should have thrown the man over his saddle this morning. Maybe he would have landed on his head and sense would have been knocked into him.
“I don’t think it’s the duke who has him so out of sorts,” Jasper said.
“I am not out of sorts.”
“Well, you’re not…in sorts,” Neil remarked. “Why does no one ever say ‘in sorts’? Wouldn’t that be the converse of out of sorts?”
“The converse would be sorted out,” Jasper declared. “Out of sorts implies a cove is all muddled.”
Ewan started for Jasper. “I’ll muddle you if you don’t bloody lead us on this invisible trail in three seconds.”
“Definitely out of sorts,” Jasper said, then ducked when Ewan threw a punch.
“And discombobulated,” Neil remarked. “There is only one power known to man that inflicts so much disruption.”
Jasper rubbed a hand on his chin again. Ewan wanted to break it. “Volcano?”
“Woman.” Neil raised his brows at Ewan. “I’d wager it’s not the duke Ewan is concerned about, it’s the duke’s daughter.”
“Obviously,” Ewan said. “She’s the one abducted.”
