A slow, devastating smile creased his face, and a bolt of heat shot through her. "Of course. I always play to win."
It suddenly felt as if the room had grown ten degrees warmer, and Allie barely resisted the urge to dab at her heated face with her linen napkin. "And after defeating your brother at billiards, then what would you do?"
"Well, assuming that the new babe had not yet made his or her appearance, I suppose I'd round up Lady Giggles, Lord Mischief-Maker, and Miss Tickles for a quick game of 'Guess the Number' before their governesses whisked them off to the nursery."
"I take it you're referring to your nieces and nephew?"
"Indeed." His grin widened. "My mother, brothers, and sister are hardly ever whisked away by their governesses anymore."
"And do you assign these nicknames to everyone?"
"I'm afraid so. Bad habit of mine. I'm sure I'll come up with one for you before long. So you'd better be on your best behavior."
"Indeed. I'd hate to end up Miss Falls-in-Mud. Or Lady Trips-over-Tables."
He chuckled, and she very nearly smiled in return, a fact that disturbed her. Dear Lord, it was not easy keeping this man at a distance. After his laughter tapered off, he remarked, "Carters mentioned you ventured to Mr. Fitzmoreland's shop this afternoon. I hope you were able to find what you were looking for."
His casual statement returned reality with a jarring thump, snuffing out her frivolity like water to a flame. She studied his face for signs of a hidden meaning behind his casual comment, but saw nothing save mild curiosity. "Mr. Fitzmoreland was quite helpful."
"You know, you really shouldn't travel about the city in a hired hack, even with a footman in attendance."
She lifted her chin. "As I told you, I have business I need to conduct here."
"Yes, but you must have proper transportation. I shall arrange for a carriage to be at your disposal starting tomorrow morning. And I shall be happy to accompany you on any errands you need to run."
She clenched her hands in her lap. "That is unnecessary. I'm quite accustomed to fending for myself."
His gaze drifted to her black attire, and his eyes filled with sympathy. "I'm only doing what I know Elizabeth would do if she were here. In the note I sent her this afternoon, I gave her my solemn promise to look after you until we reach Bradford Hall." He shook with an exaggerated shiver. "Please accept the carriage. I've no desire for Elizabeth to scold me for the rest of eternity for allowing you to travel about without proper transportation."
Silence stretched between them for several seconds while Allie struggled with the desire to refuse his offer, and the knowledge that not having to pay for hacks would help preserve her meager resources. Finally, practicality won out.
Pushing back her chair, she stood. "In that case, I thank you. And now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to retire. It's been a long and exhausting day."
He instantly rose, his eyes reflecting concern. "Of course. I shall see you tomorrow."
She inclined her head in reply, then strode swiftly from the room, overwhelmed with the need to escape his disturbing presence. She made her way quickly up the stairs, yet even after she'd closed her bedchamber door firmly behind her, she still did not relax.
Pacing around the room, she tried to collect her scattered thoughts. Lord Robert had unsettled her. For a brief moment she'd lowered her guard, and he'd managed to burrow beneath the carefully built fence she'd constructed around herself. And she did not like it one bit. Her defenses were hard-earned, her independence hard-won. She did not require a man to look after her, to arrange transportation for her, to escort her on errands. And she most emphatically did not need a man to smile at her, or play silly duets with her, or look at her in a way that resurrected long-buried feminine yearnings.
She wrapped her arms around her midriff and continued to pace. Dear God, the man was even more charming than David. All devilish grins and teasing blue eyes. Yet in a flash those eyes could convey sympathy and warmth and concern. Still, she'd seen that hint of secrets behind his charm and smiles. And not every smile reached his eyes.
Just like David. And everything with David had been lies.
But she was no longer a naive miss. She would not make the same mistakes again.
She stopped pacing and pressed her fingertips to her temples, where a headache was rapidly forming. Her glance wandered to the large bed, but she instantly rejected the idea of retiring. In spite of the fact that her body ached with weariness, sleep was nowhere in her immediate future. And as she well knew, the only thing to cure this restlessness was fresh air.
Crossing the room, she pushed aside the forest-green velvet draperies and looked down at a small, square garden surrounded by a tall stone wall. Taking her shawl, but forgoing a bonnet, she slipped from her bedchamber, quickly exiting the dark, quiet house through the rear door.
The instant Allie's lungs filled with the cool night air, her shoulders relaxed. Staying close to the stone wall, she slowly walked around the garden, enjoying the nighttime chirping song of the crickets, the silver slash of moonlight upon the grass, the smell of burning fireplaces mixed with the pungent scent of garden soil. By her third trip about the perimeter, she'd firmly rebuilt her teetering defenses. Thanks to David, she'd learned, albeit too late, about the inner ugliness a handsome exterior could hide. Of course, it was just as possible for an unattractive man to be evil, but unfortunately, she clearly harbored a distressing weakness for beautiful men, a character flaw she refused to fall victim to again. She'd discovered the hard way that the more beautiful they were, the worse they were.
In which case, she needed to avoid Lord Robert as if he harbored the plague.
That decided, she turned to cross the grass to return to the house. Before she'd taken a step, however, strong arms grabbed her from behind. She gasped, and a beefy hand clapped over her mouth.
"Keep quiet," a guttural voice growled in her ear.
Panic along with fury raced through her. She fought against her captor, kicking her legs, trying to disengage his hand from her mouth. She managed to get out a half-cry before he stuffed a foul-smelling rag between her lips. Twisting around, she freed one hand and slashed it down his face, her nails raking his skin. Before she could enjoy her triumph, however, something hard smashed down on her head and her world faded to black.
*******
Robert was halfway back to his rooms when he realized he'd left his walking stick at the town house. He debated whether to return for it, or simply fetch it tomorrow, but decided that as the weather was cool, and the fog had yet to engulf the streets, he could use the extra walk. He certainly had no desire to return to his empty rooms and lie in his empty bed, for he knew damn well that sleep would not come. No, all he would think about was her.
And that was the last thing he wanted to think about.
Her and her big golden-brown eyes. And her silky hair. And the teasing hint of her smile. And what appeared to be an utterly lush figure underneath…
Her mourning clothes.
Disgusted with himself, he purposely turned his thoughts to the tasks he planned to perform tomorrow before calling upon her. The visit to his solicitor. Then perhaps a quick stop at his club.
Taking a shortcut, he slipped into the mews behind the row of Park Lane town houses. His footsteps faltered when what sounded like a muffled cry echoed in the air. Before he could decide if the noise had been a sound of passion or one of distress, or even made by a human, he spied a man with a sack flung over his back entering the mews from-he leaned forward and squinted into the darkness-damn it, from what very well could be Austin 's garden. Bloody hell, what was this about?
Keeping to the shadows, he hunched over and ran swiftly through the mews. The man dashed to a waiting hack, tossed his bundle inside, then clambered in himself. The hack instantly took off, moving swiftly into the darkness.
Straightening, Robert took off at a dead run. He arrived at Austin 's gate several seconds later. His lips tightened into a grim
line. The gate was ajar. After assuring himself that his knife was secured in his boot, he ran after the hack. When it slowed at the corner, he jumped onto the back.
The hack left the fashionable West End, moving east toward the docks. Robert held on tight, deciding that he would avoid confrontation with the bastard who'd stolen from Austin, if possible, but if it were necessary to pound the bloody piss out of the man to regain Austin 's belongings, he would. And he had his knife should he need it.
The hack led him through a labyrinth of alleys, and he knew they were nearing the docks when the smell of rotting fish filled the air. When the vehicle slowed to a crawl, Robert jumped down, quickly hiding in the shadows cast by the brick buildings, and continued to follow on foot. Several minutes later, the hack drew to a stop. Pressing himself into the darkness, Robert watched the burly man exit the vehicle with the bundle thrown over his shoulder, then disappear between two buildings. The hackney flapped the reins, then moved off. The instant he was gone, Robert emerged from the shadows and swiftly entered the alleyway the burly man had entered.
He saw the man not far ahead of him. It appeared as if something fell out of the man's sack before he disappeared, turning into what looked like a doorway. Robert moved ahead cautiously, straining his senses to see or hear anything besides the distant shouting of men and wailing of infants. Bending down, he picked up the article that had fallen from the man's bundle.
It was a shoe. A woman's black shoe. A frown yanked his brows downward. It looked like Mrs. Brown's shoe! Could that muffled cry he'd heard have been her?
A noise sounded nearby and he froze. Just as he realized the sound came from behind him, something struck him on the back of the head, and then he felt no more.
Chapter 4
Robert came awake slowly, and quickly regretted doing so. He was lying on his side on the hardest, most uncomfortable bed he'd ever had the misfortune to lie upon. And everything hurt. Arms, legs, shoulders… they all ached as if seized by vicious cramps. Except his hands and feet. He couldn't feel them at all. Nor his arse… it seemed as if his buttocks had somehow fallen off.
But his head… bloody hell, if only it had become detached instead. A gang of demons hammered upon his skull with oversized mallets, and he silently vowed to kill the bastards the moment he found the strength to do so. Good God, whatever liquor he'd overindulged in, he'd never touch again.
He remained perfectly still, breathing slowly, willing the swimming feeling in his head to pass. When it had somewhat abated, he gritted his teeth, pried open one eye, then the other. Complete blackness engulfed him. Where the devil was he? His rooms were never this dark. He tried to turn his head, but instantly abandoned the plan when a shaft of white-hot pain shot outward from his skull. A low moan rumbled in his scratchy, dry throat. Snapping his eyes closed, he concentrated on defeating the waves of nausea rolling through him.
After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably no more than a minute, his insides settled and he drew in a cautiously relieved deep breath. His befuddled senses registered the briny odors of seawater and fish, and his stomach again threatened to rebel.
Another groan rumbled in his throat, but he slowly forced his eyes open. It took a moment for his sight to adjust to the darkness. He couldn't discern very much, other than the outlines of what appeared to be stacked crates. And he wasn't lying on a bed at all, but the rough-hewn planks of a wooden floor.
He frowned, then winced as pain ricocheted behind his eyes. Where the hell was he? This dank place was completely unfamiliar. The fishy odor indicated the river, but why and how had he arrived here? forced himself to concentrate, to try and remember. And suddenly he did.
Someone stealing from Austin. Following the culprit. Near the docks. Picking up a shoe. Then feeling no more. Until now… when body parts he hadn't even known he possessed ached and throbbed.
Picking up a shoe…
The cobwebs rapidly cleared from his brain and he drew in a sharp breath. That shoe… it had fallen from the sack slung over the thief's shoulder… and it looked exactly like Mrs. Brown's shoe. A shoe that had most definitely been attached to her foot when he'd left the town house shortly before returning for his walking stick. Which meant that the brigand hadn't stolen candlesticks and silver… he'd stolen Mrs. Brown!
A host of grisly scenarios regarding her fate flashed in his mind, and a film of cold sweat coated his skin. She might be robbed. Or worse. Raped. Murdered… her body dumped into the Thames… or had:she fallen prey to one of the growing number of grisly thieves who sold corpses for medical study? Outrage and something akin to panic pumped through him. He had to find her. Help her. God only knew what horrible circumstance might hav«e already befallen her while he was unconscious. Don't let me be too late… not again.
Spurred to action, he tried to sit up.
And discovered he couldn't move.
It was as if a weight were attached to him, holding him in place. Gritting his teeth, he tried again. To no avail. He attempted to move his arms, and realized the problem. He was bound.
Although his hands and fingers remained numb, it registered with him that the ache in his wrists was caused by the rough rope digging into his skin, and the pain in his shoulders was from having his arms bound behind him. He tried to move his legs. His ankles were as securely bound as his wrists. Looking down, he saw that ropes crisscrossed his chest and torso.
Damn it all! He had to free himself! He redoubled his efforts, and after what seemed like a decade-long struggle, managed to drag himself into a sitting position. Panting, grunting, and sweating, he fought to catch his breath and prayed for his strength to return. What the hell was tied to his back? It felt like the dead weight of a body…
His blood froze. Turning so swiftly his head swam, he tried to peer over his shoulder, but saw nothing save black. At that instant a low moan came from directly behind him. A soft, feminine-sounding moan. He sucked in a much-needed breath and caught a whiff of her elusive scent… that soft flowery fragrance. It had to be her. Had to be. Tied to him, back-to-back. And if she were groaning, she was alive. Hope surged through him.
He wriggled his shoulders. "Mrs. Brown," he said in an urgent whisper. "Can you hear me?"
Another soft groan filled the air and relief nearly rendered him light-headed. Jiggling his shoulders more firmly, he repeated, "Mrs. Brown? 'Tis I, Robert Jamison. Can you hear me? Please, speak to me."
An urgent-sounding voice filtered through Allie's mind, a tide expanding and receding in a deep, echoing cave. Can you hear me? Please… speak to me. Slowly, painfully, she emerged from the black abyss she'd fallen into. She hurt everywhere. Her head felt as if it had exploded and was preparing to erupt again. The world tilted behind her closed eyes, a sickening kaleidoscope of swirling colors that turned her stomach over. Her head fell forward on her limp neck, and sweat blanketed her skin. A long moan rumbled in her dry, sore throat.
‘Tis I, Robert Jamison. Can you hear me? Please, speak to me. Confusion spilled through her addled senses. Lord Robert? He sounded so close… close enough to touch. She forced her eyes open. Blackness surrounded her. Pain sizzled through her head, and she gasped, squeezing her eyes closed. Where was she? Surely not the drawing room or her bedchamber at the Bradford town house. How had she gotten here… wherever here was? And why did she hurt so much? She licked her parched lips and grimaced at the foul taste coating her mouth. That awful taste. How-?
Memory flooded back as if a dam had burst in her mind. Walking in the garden… accosted by a man… that dreadful rag stuffed in her mouth. Then darkness. The truth hit her like a bucket of icy water, reviving her from her stupor. Someone had tried to abduct her. No, someone had abducted her. And had left her in this awful, stinking darkness.
Fear seized her, snatching her breath. She tried to move, and discovered she was bound. Fear threatened to turn into panic. Who had done this? Who wished her harm? Why? Why? This incident could not be passed off as an accident. But right now, she had t
o-
"Mrs. Brown, can you hear me? Please wake up."
A layer of relief tempered her fear. She hadn't imagined his voice. She licked her parched lips. "Lord Robert?" Her voice came out in a cracked whisper. "Where are you?"
A rush of air that sounded like a heartfelt sigh of relief brushed by her ear. "Thank God you're awake. I'm here. Right behind you. We're bound together." He jiggled his shoulders, arrowing a shaft of pain up the back of her head.
"Where are we?"
"I'm not certain, but I think we're near the docks. This seems to be some sort of warehouse."
She felt him squirm behind her, and realized that the warm, solid mass pressing against her from shoulder to waist was his broad back. She swallowed, then asked, "How did we get here?"
"I returned to the town house for my walking stick and saw someone sneaking out of Austin 's garden, carrying a sack. I followed, hoping to retrieve his stolen goods, never imagining you were what was stolen. I'd no sooner realized it when I was coshed from behind, and now here we are." He shifted again. "I've no wish to alarm you, Mrs. Brown, and I've plenty of questions myself, but they'll have to wait. We must free ourselves and get away from here before whoever put us here returns. How do you feel? Are you injured?"
She experimentally moved her bound legs and flexed as much as the tight bindings confining her chest and midriff allowed. "A bit sore all around, but nothing broken as far as I can tell. How are you?"
"Judging by the colossal pounding in my head, I'd say I have an egg-sized lump on my noggin, but otherwise I'm fine." He shifted a bit and grunted. "These ropes are secure. I can't move them." Another series of grunts and what sounded like a muffled obscenity escaped him. "Of course, the fact that my fingers have gone numb doesn't help. How are your hands?"
She wriggled her fingers and they brushed against his. "Cramped, but not numb."
"Excellent. I have a knife in my boot, or at least I did… one moment…" She felt him shifting. "It's still there," came his triumphant whisper several seconds later. "I can see the tip of the hilt."
Whirlwind Affair Page 5
