“In the alley—now.”
She glanced around, frantically searching for Annie, but the girl had vanished from sight. The crowd still jostled about, the horde yammering about the thief and what had been stolen, craning their necks to see. The knife dug harder, enough for her to feel it even through her corset.
“Now. Or I can kill you right here. No one would even notice.” He gave a tug, and she had no choice but to take a step backward. The crowd shifted around her, no one realizing that the man was slowly guiding her away from the safety of other people.
“What do you want?” she murmured. “I have no money.”
“Shut your mouth,” he snarled. “I want you to come with me. And keep that tongue silent. I wouldn’t want to have to cut it out.”
The utter certainty—glee, nearly—in his tone made her realize he might well do it. Silently willing Annie to come looking for her, she had no choice but to allow the ruffian to back her away from the crowd and around the corner of the building. There, he abruptly spun her around and a dark, narrow alley stretched before her, the sun blocked by the huddled buildings. “Walk,” he commanded, and gave her a shove.
She walked, knowing with each step she might never leave this alley alive. One step, two. Then she stumbled, surprising him, and gripped the wall for support as he muttered a curse.
“Damn it, you troublesome sow!” He grabbed her around the neck, making her whimper as the ribbons of her bonnet dug into her flesh, and tugged her head back with his arm beneath her chin to expose her throat. Cold steel pressed against her pulse. “One more stupid move like that and I’ll cut you right here.”
“I—I tripped,” she rasped.
“Useless tart!” With one slice he slashed the ribbon of her bonnet, then threw the expensive piece of millinery up in the air. It landed on the roof of a nearby shed, only the ribbons dangling within sight. He clenched a fist in her hair, tilting her head back again until her spine could not curve anymore, and once more laid the blade just beneath her ear. “If I chose it, you would be dead in seconds and no one would ever know.”
“What do you want?” she whispered.
“To give you a message. Now walk down this alley so I can give it to you proper.” With a nasty chuckle that made her heart scream with fear, he urged her down the alley ahead of them.
With a soft nudge of her foot, she edged the reticule she had dropped a bit farther into the shadows, then allowed him to push her along, praying she had not just hidden too well the only clue someone might use to find her.
“They’ll never find that ’un,” Annie said with a chuckle, turning away from the scene where the little thief had effectively lost his pursuers. She looked around, searching for Miranda. But even as the crowd began to disperse, she did not see her.
The carriage was still stopped in front of the linen-draper’s, since the coachman had not been able to move the team with all the spectators clogging the streets. She hurried over and grabbed the footman as he started to climb back onto the carriage. “Where is Miss Fontaine?”
The footman tugged away his arm. “I thought she was with you.”
“I lost her in the crowd.”
“Is she in the shop?”
“I didn’t look.”
“I will. You stay by the carriage.” The young man darted into the shop, easily slipping between the wealthy patrons with their rich clothing and layers of skirts, disappearing from sight.
“Where can she have gone?” Annie said to herself. “We were both standing right here.” She turned in a slow circle. Now that the excitement was over, the spectators had returned to their normal routines. Well-dressed gentry ambled along the street, trailed by servants. Horses and carriages hurried by, the low rumble of the wheels on the road nearly drowning out the calls of the street vendors. Nothing appeared to be amiss. But she had seen and heard enough in her twenty-two years to know that a normal scene could hide beneath it a twisted skeleton.
The footman emerged from the shop, his crestfallen expression conveying his defeat.
“She’s not inside?” Annie asked.
He shook his head. “How can we have lost our mistress in so short a time? We will all be discharged!”
The coachman leaned down. “Here now, Thomas. You and Annie walk down the street a piece to see if maybe Miss Fontaine went into another shop during all the hullabaloo. I’ve got to be moving the rig.”
Thomas nodded. “Perhaps she did. Maybe the crowd—”
“What’s that?” Annie darted toward the alley at the side of the shop. “Ho there! Wait a moment!”
A thin girl—barely more than a child—jerked her head up from the blue reticule she was examining. Clenching her fingers around her prize, she spun and ran in the opposite direction.
“That’s Miss Miranda’s purse!” Annie called to the men, and raced after the child.
“Wait! Wait!” Thomas the footman pounded after her and grabbed her arm.
“What are you doing?” Annie shook off his hold. “That little mite will be gone in a thrice!”
“She came out of the alley,” Thomas said. He pointed back the way they had come. “Shouldn’t that be where we start?”
Annie hesitated. Her blood demanded she pursue the little thief, but her real goal was to find Miranda. She gave a nod and whirled on her heel, heading back toward the alley at a trot. Stolid Thomas followed, easily keeping pace.
“What happened?” John the coachman asked as they approached. “Did you catch her?”
“We’re looking down there.” Thomas pointed at the alley. “Have you your pistol, John?”
“I do.” Grim-faced, the coachman reached beneath his seat and withdrew the weapon. “Have a care. ’Tis loaded.”
“Good.” Gripping the pistol, Thomas met Annie’s gaze. “Stay behind me, Annie.”
“I won’t,” she snapped, both irked and flattered, then charged for the alley.
“Bollocks,” Thomas muttered and hurried after her.
“What do you want?” Miranda whispered, willing her voice not to shake.
“Well, now, that’s a question.” Her assailant grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back against him. He smelled of stale beer and garlic, and his breath reeked enough to choke her when he leaned close to her ear. “What will you offer for your life?”
“Since I am not a fool, I will offer whatever you will take.”
“And if I want to ‘take’ you?” He ground his hips against her bottom, and she realized he was aroused. Bile rose in her throat but she struggled to keep her head.
“You have a knife. I cannot stop you.”
“That’s right.” He trailed the flat edge of the blade along her cheek. “And you’re going to tell me how much you like it or else I’ll cut that pretty face.”
Her limbs began to tremble and she forced herself to breathe. “Why are you doing this? Robbery? Rape? What do you want with me?”
“Someone hired me. Said to snatch you and give you a message.”
“You said that before.” She could not suppress a shudder of revulsion as he slid the edge of the knife along her breast. “What message? From whom?”
“Leave London or die. That’s the message.” He rubbed the back of his hand against her breast, still clutching the knife. “You’ve got nice teats for a little thing. I always wanted to stick it to a lady, see what you’ve got that’s so special under those skirts that other trollops ain’t got.”
She ignored the vulgarity and focused on the matter at hand. “Who sent you?”
“I don’t know—I spoke to a servant. But I was told they don’t care what happens to you, so long as you get out of London.” He snickered. “Or die.”
His obvious enjoyment of her fear nearly paralyzed her. There was no Lettie nearby with a chamber pot to save her this time. She would need to depend on her own wits.
“There is a busy street only a few yards away,” she reminded him.
“I guess we’ll just have to be qu
iet.” He chuckled again, rubbing his groin against her bottom.
“I can assure you I will not be quiet. I will scream as loudly as I can.”
“Then I’ll kill ye.” He lifted the knife to just beneath her chin.
“That will spoil your other plans for me, will it not? How will you have your way with me if I am dead?” She paused. “Unless you are one of those men who enjoys grave robbing for such a purpose?”
“Bloody hell!” He shoved her away. “What kind o’ lady talks o’ that? I don’t dally with the dead!”
She shrugged, weighing her chances of bolting. “I am just trying to understand what you want from me.”
“You’re planning on screeching, are ye?” He grabbed her by the hair, arching her head back with a painful jerk. “Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen. This way we both get what we want.”
He thrust her down on her knees, stuck the knife between his teeth, then began to unfasten his breeches.
Well aware of what he intended, she grabbed his coat with both hands and used his body as leverage to surge to her feet. The unexpected move sent him stumbling backward. Eyes blazing with fury, he bellowed with rage. The knife fell from between his teeth and clattered to the ground.
She jerked her skirts to her calves and bolted, streaking like lightning toward the sunshine at the end of the alley.
Two forms suddenly appeared, blocking that glorious sunshine—and her route of escape. But she did not even hesitate. Whoever they were, they could either let her through or get trampled.
Then she realized that one of them wore skirts. She could not let another woman fall into the trap she had just left behind.
“Run!” she screamed. “He has a knife! Call the watch!”
“Miss Miranda?”
Annie’s voice. Her legs nearly buckled beneath her, but she did not slow her pace. Annie started running toward her, followed by a man.
“Annie, no, go back! He is right behind me!”
“I’ll see to him. Annie, get the mistress.” Before Miranda could identify the young man who spoke, he raced past her, a pistol clutched in his hand. She caught a glimpse of her own household’s livery.
“Miss Miranda, what happened?” Annie reached her and grabbed her by the arms, jerking her to a stop.
Miranda clutched at her, gasping for breath. Her dratted corset just would not allow enough air to get into her lungs! “A man grabbed me, threatened to kill me.”
“In full daylight? A cheeky bastard to be certain!”
Miranda gave a half laugh, all her tight laces would allow. “We must discuss your language at some other time, Annie, but I must say I agree with you.”
“Hang my language, miss. You were nearly murdered right on Bond Street! What will His Grace say about that?”
“Nothing.” She met Annie’s gaze, held it. “You will not tell him about this, Annie.”
“But—”
“I am not his responsibility. Please remember that.”
Annie pursed her lips, eyes narrowed. “You live in his house and it’s his footman who is chasing after the blackguard right now. How can we not tell him?”
Miranda closed her eyes, unable to maintain her bravado another moment. Her legs trembled so much they could very well fold beneath her at any moment. “Which footman?” she asked, trying to change the subject.
“Thomas. He’s a good lad, just a bit too quick with ordering a body about. Come back to the carriage now.”
Miranda gratefully accepted Annie’s arm around her shoulders as the maid began to lead her toward the street, only paces away. The terror of her ordeal was starting to take its toll. “I thought the brigand was right behind me.”
“Perhaps Thomas stopped him.”
“Perhaps.” Miranda halted just before stepping into the patch of daylight that would bring her back to safety. “But I did not hear the pistol, and this fellow had a knife.”
Annie met her gaze, the concern Miranda shared mirrored in her eyes. “Should we go back and look for him?”
“I want to.” Miranda cast a glance behind her into the shadows. “But at the same time…”
“We will send someone to fetch him,” Annie decided. “For now we must get you home.”
“I do not want to leave him—”
“Someone is coming!” Annie dragged her toward the sunlight. “Hurry, in case it is your attacker!”
“Annie!” Thomas’s voice accompanied the sound of his running feet. He was panting as he reached them. “The bounder got away. Darted down a crack between the buildings, and I couldn’t see to get a shot. But he’s gone now.”
But he’s gone now. The footman’s words seemed to release something inside her. Miranda’s knees finally turned to water, and Annie caught her as she stumbled.
“That’s the end of it. Let’s take her home.” Annie offered her shoulder, and together the two servants assisted Miranda to the carriage and away from the scene.
Chapter 13
Wyldehaven thumped on the door of Miranda’s home with his gloved fist. The door opened, but rather than the butler, he found himself facing Annie. “How is she?” he demanded, striding into the house.
Annie closed the door behind him. “A bit rattled is all. The villain didn’t hurt her none, just scared her.”
“How can such a thing have happened, and on Bond Street no less?”
“Well, Your Grace, I’m thinking it wasn’t just some snatch and grab. She says he was supposed to give her a message.”
“What message?”
A servant appeared to take Wylde’s hat and gloves. Glancing at the fellow, Annie said, “Perhaps we had better talk about this in the parlor.”
“Indeed.” Appreciating her sense of discretion, Wylde handed his hat to the servant. “Lead the way, Annie.”
Once in the parlor, Annie closed the doors and took a piece of paper from her pocket. “Miss Miranda asked me not to say anything to you about what’s been happening, but I found this in her things as I was putting away her clothing. And then the incident today…”
Wylde took the paper and read it. “Curse her! Why did she not tell me of this?”
“I don’t know when she got it, but the bloke who grabbed her today told her the same message. Leave London or die.”
“She is new to London. How can she have enemies?” He looked at Annie. “Where is she?”
“In the nursery with little James. Says he calms her.”
“This cannot be allowed to go on.” He crushed the note in his fist. “By heaven, does she not realize that I can protect her?”
Annie pursed her lips. “I said the very same thing to her, Your Grace, but she said she’s not your responsibility and I shouldn’t tell you about this. I figure she’s just too stubborn to know when to ask for help. Some of the girls at Ball’s were the same way.”
Wylde’s mouth quirked. “I am glad you had more sense, Annie.”
She shrugged. “Like you said, this gig is easier than whoring. And I haven’t forgotten who took me away from that.”
He shoved the crumpled note into his coat pocket. “Where is the nursery?”
“This way.” Annie opened the parlor doors and led him toward the stairs.
Miranda cuddled little James in her arms, tickling his chin with her finger. After the harrowing events on Bond Street, she had changed her clothing and immediately made for the nursery. Looking down on James’s innocent face made the entire distasteful episode seem far away.
But even the calming influence of the baby’s presence could not completely stop her mind from puzzling over recent events. Who had sent the brigand after her? Who wanted her gone so badly? Obviously whomever hired that thug had also sent her the anonymous note. At first she had thought it was Wyldehaven, but now she completely dismissed that notion.
Which meant that she had some unknown enemy who wanted her gone—perhaps even dead.
The thought chilled her. She had given a brief thought to bringing the issue to Wy
lde but stopped herself from taking such a foolish step. It was bad enough she was living in his house, bad enough that he now paid for the very bread that went into her mouth. But on the heels of the intimacies they had shared in the breakfast room…
No, the moment she started bringing her problems to his doorstep, he would take over. And then the next thing she knew, she would be in his bed. Under his control. And most probably in love with him.
That could not happen. She had been managing her own life since long before her mother died. The child of a drunkard learned early to hide her coins and stay out of the range of an angry hand, to do whatever she had to in order to survive. She had been successful at that; she would succeed here, too.
And even more so since Annie had told her of Wylde’s problems with the imposter. With those tales had come the realization that Wylde could not be the cad who abandoned Lettie in her hour of need. Clearly the responsible party had been this look-alike who also committed the other misdeeds in his name. That said, how could she continue making Wylde pay for another man’s mistake?
It was time to go. As soon as she completed the performances she currently had scheduled, she would take whatever money she’d earned and disappear to the country with James. Initially she had intended to stay in London, but that was when she thought Wylde was James’s father, which was not the case now. The country was more affordable, and she would be able to live on her earnings as the contessa until she acquired some other sort of employment. It was better this way.
Especially for her heart.
The door to the nursery opened, but she did not look away from the baby. He was the focus of her life now, and she would do her best by him.
“A moment longer, Mrs. Cooper. I believe he is nearly asleep.”
“Excellent. I will wait.”
She jerked her head up at the deep voice. A thrill shot through her at the sight of the sophisticated Wyldehaven standing in the doorway of the domestic setting of the nursery. For some reason, she found the image more pleasing than seemed reasonable. “Your Grace, what are you doing here?”
To Ruin the Duke Page 16
