by Alyson Chase
She grasped the bucket. “Shall I just follow my nose to the cows?”
“Come on.” Bob pushed open the door and jerked his head. “Follow me.”
Netta examined the bucket as she trailed after him. The other man followed behind, leaving her little room to flee. The bucket was large and unwieldy, but she didn’t think it had enough heft to do any lasting damage. Perhaps if she hit a nose it would break.
But the men never stood within arm reach. They led her to a stable lined with cattle in their stalls and told her to pick one.
“Pick a cow?” All the cow faces looked the same. Black and white and staring at the trio with mild curiosity.
“The one that looks like it has the most milk.” Bob waved her forwards. “I thought you’d done this before.”
“Of course.” She held the bucket tight to her belly. “Many times.” She peeked over several stall doors, pretending to examine the animals. She nodded at the cow in the last pen. “This one.”
Roger opened the stall door and thumped a low stool next to the cow.
“Thank you.” Netta gently settled herself on the stool and stared at the swollen udder swinging from the animal. This couldn’t be difficult. Children performed the task in the country. Step one was to place the bucket under the cow, and that was easily done. The animal seemed not to care that three humans invaded its space. It probably wanted to get back to sleep.
Roger hooked his elbows over the gate. “I heard you’re moving,” he said to Bob.
“Yeah.” Bob slid his fingers into the top of his trousers. He rocked up onto his toes. “Me and Sally got ourselves a bigger house.”
“Jesus, don’t tell the boss that,” Roger said. “He’ll try to fob more cats on you.”
They both shuddered.
Bob looked down at her. “Where’s the milk?”
“Right.” Netta rubbed her hands together as best she could. “One pail of milk coming up.” She stared at the udder and kept rubbing her hands.
“Get on with it.” Bob nudged her shoulder. “You do know what you’re doing?”
She scowled over her shoulder. “Obviously I’m warming my hands so as not to startle the poor animal when I touch her.”
Roger tittered. “Too right. No female likes her udders touched with cold hands. I can attest to that.”
Bob guffawed with him.
Netta chafed her hands harder. Perhaps after she filled the bucket, she could turn it over their heads. Or maybe cause the cow to charge, knock the men down.
While the men still laughed at their insipid joke, Netta flattened her hands and brought them down sharply on the cow’s side.
The animal didn’t even blink, much less charge.
“Oy, what was that for?” Bob asked.
“Uh, slapping their sides help stimulate the milk production.”
Roger nudged Bob. “Another way in which women are like cows. My Sally likes herself a good—”
“What a charming story.”
The deep voice made the hair on the back of her neck raise. She twisted, knowing who she was going to see but still unprepared for the cold chills that swamped her when she locked eyes with Sudworth.
His gaze flicked over her body, making her feel naked even though her gown covered everything. “Miss Muffet, Miss Muffet, sat on her tuffet.” He showed all his teeth with his grin.
Why did everyone think Miss Muffet milked a cow? Was there a second stanza to the rhyme she was forgetting? Or was Sudworth as poorly versed in children’s literature as she?
He cocked his arm on the stall door. “I guess that makes me your spider.”
She swallowed.
She really hated that nursery rhyme.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Netta stood, stumbling back until her shoulders pressed against the wall. “Why?”
She couldn’t think of anything else to say. It made no sense why he’d taken her. There had never been affection for her on his part. He’d married and buried a wife in the passing years. She was no longer young enough to capture his perverse interest.
There could only be one reason for his actions. He wanted Eleanor. Netta raised her chin, keeping her expression hard. She would die before she agreed to deliver her sister to the bastard.
Sudworth flicked his fingers at her, and Bob grabbed her arm.
Netta planted her feet, but he dragged her through the straw covering the floor. He gripped the back of her neck and shoved her close to his employer.
Sudworth tugged off one glove and traced the lump on her forehead.
Netta jerked her head back, wincing at the throb of pain.
Sudworth frowned. “That wasn’t supposed to happen. All punishments belong to me.”
“Punishments?” She released a shuddering breath. She had the feeling that Sudworth’s punishments were something best avoided at all costs.
He caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers. “You didn’t think I would forget the insult, did you?” He gripped her jaw, and squeezed. “I never forget. I will take what is mine.”
The first streaks of daybreak brightened the high windows of the stables. The light caught in his eyes, making them shimmer, like he was a beast from hell.
Netta tried to jerk her head from his grip, but he only tightened his fingers until she could feel them dig into her gums.
He was mad. Only an insane man could think that he could buy girls. Hurt them on his whim. That he could get away with such behavior.
He dragged his hand down her neck and squeezed her windpipe. He allowed her just enough air to stay conscious, but not enough to keep her lungs from burning.
Netta closed her eyes, gasping. He wouldn’t get away with it. Whatever he did to her, he would pay. Sudworth’s vengeance might have lain rotting and twisted for six years, but John’s would be swift.
He loved her; this she knew. The feeling had come on so gradually it was hard to pinpoint when she knew. But she understood the look in his eyes when he gazed upon her. It mirrored her own. And when John cared for someone, he wouldn’t let anything stop him from meting out justice on their behalf.
She only wished she would be alive to see it.
He pressed his cheek to hers and whispered in her ear. “After I fuck you in every hole you have, I’m going to find your sister and do the same to her.”
She lashed out, swinging her arms as hard as she could.
He chuckled at the impact.
She kicked and clawed, knowing how pointless it was to struggle but doing it regardless.
He squeezed harder, blocking her air entirely.
She tried to scream, but no sound emerged. Dark spots danced in her eyes. Her ears rang. Her lungs burned. The faint popping sounds must have been the bones in her neck finally giving way.
“What the hell?” Sudworth dropped her to the ground.
She landed hard on her shoulder, but barely noticed the pain as sweet air scraped past her raw throat into her lungs. The pungent odor of the cows didn’t even smell bad to her grateful nose. She drew in another deep breath.
A new scent followed that of dung.
“Fire!” one of the men yelled. He ran past her, his legs indistinct in the smoke.
Netta pulled herself to the corner and sat up. She blinked, but the smoke only grew thicker. Only…it didn’t smell of burning wood. And it didn’t hurt to breathe, though it did make her eyes water like the dickens.
A figure loomed from the darkness, reaching for her. Sudworth’s fingers clawed along her shoulder, and she rolled away.
He grabbed her leg, feeling his way up her body, until suddenly, he was gone.
His curses ended with a pained shriek.
Netta waved the air in front of her, trying to clear it, but she could see nothing.
But she knew instantly it was John when he slid his arms around her back and under her knees, lifting her against his chest. “I have you.” She felt the words rumble f
rom his chest. “Don’t let go.”
She looped her bound wrists around his neck. The tears rolling down her cheek weren’t just from the smoke. Silly man. Don’t let go? Didn’t he know he was well and truly stuck with her? He’d found her. She was never letting go again.
An eerie silence descended as he carried her from the stables. As the smoke thinned, she saw why. Bob and Roger knelt on the dirt outside, four pistols drawn on them. Each of John’s friends stood sentinel, cloth-wrapped goggles covering their eyes.
Netta blinked. The goggles were an odd accessory for the aristocrats.
Netta turned to John to ask, and a startled ‘eep’ slipped past her lips at his own owlish gaze.
He set her on her feet and swept off the goggles. “Something I made for my work with chemicals. To protect the eyes.”
She looked from them, to the smoke drifting through the open doors. “It isn’t a fire, is it?”
“No. A mixture I developed that clouds the vision.” He made quick work of the rope at her wrists, gently chaffing them after tossing the bindings to the ground. “Useful when you’re the only one who can see.”
Steel glinted in the dawn. “Useful, but not foolproof.” Sudworth stepped from the shadows and pointed his pistol at Netta’s head. “You should have made sure I stayed down.”
John didn’t take his eyes off her face. He gave her a small, secret smile. “A circumstance that will soon be remedied.”
Sudworth swiveled to aim at John.
“Don’t!” Netta stepped forwards, ignoring John’s raised hand. The muzzle of the gun was inches from his head. Too close to miss. “Don’t hurt him. I’ll…I’ll go with you. Let us away and no one need be hurt.”
John’s gaze flicked upwards and he sighed. “Darling, do you truly—” He ducked his head and spun, slamming his shoulder into Sudworth’s midsection. The gun fired, a chip of wood from the stables splintering from the bullet’s impact, and Netta clapped her hands over her ringing ears.
The men hit the ground. John bent Sudworth’s arm back over his head, forcing him to drop his weapon, and pressed a knife against the man’s throat.
Netta leaned against the wall of the building, her legs weak. Between one breath and the next, John had ended the threat.
The Duke of Montague strolled over and leveled his own pistol at Sudworth. “I don’t believe I’ve seen that move before. You’ll have to show it to me next time we’re at Gentleman Jack’s.”
Slowly, John rolled off of his opponent. His eyes found Netta’s, a wildness she seldom saw in them fading. “—think that I would allow you to go off with him?” he finished as though an assault hadn’t just taken place between the first and second part of his sentence. “I’m wounded. I thought you knew me better than that.”
Netta pushed off the wall and launched herself at him. Nothing had ever felt so good as his body pressed against hers. Even the jeweled cravat pin jabbing into her breast didn’t lessen the pleasure of feeling wrapped safely in her arms.
“I love you,” she said between kisses to his face, “more than you can ever know.”
“All the women I rescue say such.” But he gripped her closer.
She slapped his arm. “Do not play with me now. You could have died. I could have died. This whole wonderful jumble you’ve brought to my life could have been over.”
He cupped her face between his hands, his thumbs wiping away her tears. “I wouldn’t let that happen. There are still too many games in our future, poppet.”
“You think you’ve won.” Even lying on his back, Sudworth managed to look condescending. “Liverpool and I have reached an agreement. He won’t try me for any crimes. You might have saved Miss Evered today, but I won’t be out of your lives anytime soon. Don’t get too comfortable with your whore; you won’t have her around for long.”
Netta shuddered.
John kissed her forehead. “I need you to go with my friends now. They’ll take you home to your sister.”
He stepped away and peeled out of his jacket.
She frowned. “What are you talking about? I’m not leaving you.”
“You’ll see me soon enough.” He winked.
She crossed her arms over her chest. She didn’t care how charming he was, she wasn’t budging. When she let the infuriating man out of her sight, bad things tended to happen.
“Dunkeld!” John called.
The burly Scotsman lumbered towards them.
“Give the man your knife, will you? I know you carry a great big one on your person.” He flipped his own knife in his hands, the blade glinting in the early sun. “Never let it be said this wasn’t a fair fight.”
Realization dawned. “No. You aren’t doing this. This isn’t happening.”
Montague slid his pistol into the front of his breeches. “I’ll stay. Just in case.”
“Thank you.” John motioned for Sudworth to come to his feet.
Dunkeld tossed an eight-inch blade to the dirt in front of the man.
“Do you hear me, John?” Netta out-and-out stamped her foot. This was absurd. They had just barely escaped with their lives; it made no sense to risk his again. “I won’t allow it.”
“Dunkeld, another favor?” John pointed to her.
“Sorry, miss.” Dunkeld shrugged, then placed his hands on her waist and tossed her over his shoulder.
She pounded the man’s back. “Put me down!”
He hefted her higher.
Pressing her palms into his coat, she pushed up. John was facing off with Sudworth, Montague standing off to the side. Rothchild and Sutton each prodded their prisoners to their feet and followed after Netta and Dunkeld.
Leaving John to fight for his life.
“You sorry, whey-faced, unfeeling cur!” She resumed her useless beating. “Stop at once. We can’t just leave him!”
Dunkeld carefully placed her inside a carriage and climbed in after her. He blocked her easily when she lunged for the door. “I’m sorry. But some things aren’t fit for a woman to see.”
She scrambled for the opposite door, but it stood firm against her attempts to open it. She wrenched the window down and the first full light of day fell on her face.
Dunkeld grabbed the back of her dress and pulled her back. “Please, don’t make me restrain you. I would like to remain friends after today.”
She gaped at him. “Friends? Isn’t John your friend? How can you let him do this?” Either John would die or he would kill. And she wasn’t certain this killing could be legally justified.
The man tugged at his auburn queue before pushing it back over his shoulder. “What else can he do? Sudworth has made a direct threat against you. If he hadn’t, we might have persuaded John to follow another path. But as it is…” He shrugged. “If the government won’t prosecute him for his crimes, justice is only to be found in one way.”
She dug her fingers into the fabric of her skirts. They still trembled. What he said made sense. Sudworth would remain a danger against her, against John. Against her sister.
Netta closed her eyes as the tremors spread to the rest of her body.
John was going to kill a man. And that was the best outcome she could hope for.
Dunkeld pounded on the ceiling. “Driver!”
Her eyes flew open. “Wait!” She grabbed his sleeve. “Please. Let us wait here. I want to know…need to know, as soon as possible, that John hasn’t been…”
Dunkeld squeezed her hand, the heat from his skin doing little to warm her chilled flesh. “All right,” he said quietly. “We’ll wait. Stand down,” he yelled to the driver.
Netta strained her ears, terrified of what she might hear, but becoming even more frightened at the silence. Had they decided not to fight? Could Sudworth have been convinced to leave them be?
Minutes passed. Netta’s foot bobbed. Her hands clenched and unclenched. Her body felt ready to burst with the need to escape the carriage, fly to John.
She waited until she wanted to scream. And then she waited some more.
The door was wrenched open. John’s gaze fell hungrily on her, the haunted shadows vanishing when she tumbled into his arms, her knees wrapping about his hips.
She held him tight, her breath not evening out until she was assured that the heartbeat pounding against hers was strong and steady.
She threaded her fingers into his hair, loving the silky caress of it against her skin. She yanked his head back and scowled down at him. “Mark my words. You will pay for putting me through that.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
John climbed into his landau and adjusted his top hat. He kicked his boot onto the opposite seat and watched as the front door to Netta’s apartments eased closed.
He sniffed. Another lovely night and even better morning. He’d worried that Eleanor’s presence might interfere with his and Netta’s relationship after she’d officially become Netta’s ward, but the chit had turned out to be surprisingly pleasant company.
No, he and Netta could no longer play one of their games in the parlor or any other public room, but keeping their bed sport in the bedroom hadn’t diminished the heat between them.
Everything was turning out the way he wanted. He crossed his arms and dropped his chin to his chest. So why did he feel more and more disgruntled each time he left her?
“Sir?” Wil turned from the driver’s seat.
“What?”
“Your club?” Wil bobbed his head at the door to Simon’s. “You did want to come here after Miss Evered’s.”
John scowled. He still hadn’t become used to the sound of the name Evered. Netta LeBlanc didn’t sound much better, though infinitely preferable to Pickle. “I know what I want.” He kicked open the door and jumped down. The sneaking suspicion that he had no clue what he wanted only angered him more.
“Come, have a drink with me,” he told Wil.
His friend set the brake and climbed down. “Don’t want to be alone with your thoughts?”
John knocked his shoulder into the man as he passed. He hated when his friends were right. He hated even more that he couldn’t pinpoint why he’d been feeling so out of sorts lately. He was the man who could examine a situation from all sides. Look at a problem dispassionately, analyze all the factors.
