Belle took a deep breath, set the lamp on the ground at the base of the bridge, and stepped forward. She stood straight and tall, trying to look larger than she was, though the other end of the bridge was quite a distance. She doubted the men would be able to make out many details when they arrived.
If they arrived.
She wished she had a watch so she might check the time. But she had no other way to measure the hour except to wait for the chime of the clock tower. She’d heard it mark the three-quarter hour. That seemed like ages ago. Seconds ticked by as she listened to the wind in the trees, the lap of the water against the bridge, and the occasional splash of a fish. At least she thought it was a fish. She hoped Hew was in position on the other side of the bridge by now.
She took another breath, resisted the urge to look over her shoulder, then gave in. The last thing she needed was for Pennywhistle’s men to sneak up behind her.
The path behind her was dark and empty—she hoped—and when she turned back, four figures stood on the other end of the bridge. She recognized the thin, stooped figure of her father right away, and her heart soared. She’d known he wasn’t dead! She would absolutely rub this in Galloway’s face. She’d told him her father was alive.
“Arundel, that ye?” came a voice. It carried across the bridge, sounding oddly muffled. The abductors were most likely wearing some sort of covering over their faces to disguise themselves.
She’d been warned not to speak, so she raised her hand in answer.
“Let’s make this easy,” the voice said again. “Ye walk this way, and we send the old man that way. Try anything, and we shoot ye both. Agreed?”
Belle raised her hand again.
“Start walking,” the man called.
Belle took another breath and began to walk. On the other side of the bridge, her father stumbled forward.
HEW WATCHED BELLE START across the bridge toward her father. Her shoulders were straight, and she stood tall. Still, he could see she was too short, too slight to be a man. Hew could only hope Pennywhistle’s men saw what they wanted to see.
“Her father is alive,” Galloway whispered. “She’ll never let me live this down.”
“No, she won’t,” Hew said, his heart pounding as he watched Belle take another step.
“I’m glad of it. Let’s just hope he doesn’t do anything to give her away when they pass each other. Once she’s past the three-quarter mark, we go.”
Hew agreed. Will and he wanted to strike before Pennywhistle’s men had Belle in their custody. For that to work, the three abductors had to stay on this side of the bridge. If one of them realized they’d been tricked, they might race across the bridge, and then they could be gone—taking Belle and her father with them—before Hew and Will ever caught up. That was Hew’s worst nightmare. He was trying not to think about it. Trying not to think about watching Belle carried away from him. His life without her. He’d been thinking too much about life without her these past hours.
He needed her with him. Wanted her with him—at his side, in his bed, back in her shop and selling tea. That’s where she should be—not risking her life in the middle of the night
Belle neared the middle of the bridge just as her father looked up. He hadn’t closed as much distance on the bridge as she, but Hew saw the way his step faltered. Keep walking, Hew pleaded. Keep walking.
BELLE SLOWED SLIGHTLY, giving her father a chance to catch up so they might pass the center of the bridge together. She was hungry for the sight of him. Was he moving slower than usual? Did he seem stiff? Bent over? She had to keep her head high and her steps confident. As he approached, she desperately wanted to reach out and take him into her arms, but she knew she must keep walking. He wouldn’t be safe until he was on the other side of the bridge and far, far away from here.
She reached the center of the bridge at almost the same time as her father. Their eyes met, and she saw fear and confusion in his. She knew exactly what he was thinking—why was she meeting him on the bridge? She tried to tell him with her eyes that all would be well. Keep moving. Get to safety. She pleaded silently for him not to try anything now to “save” her. They passed each other, and she held her breath even as she reached between them and groped for his hand. He caught hers and squeezed, and she squeezed back.
There was a world of communication in that squeeze. She told him to trust her. He told her he was well. His hand trembled, and she knew he was as frightened as she. The touch lasted only a moment and then he was behind her, and she was moving toward the abductors on the other side of the bridge.
Hew had given her a hat and angled the brim over her eyes. She tilted her head now to use that same brim to shield her face. If the men realized too soon they had been fooled, all of this would be for nothing.
She had sixty paces left, then fifty-five. Her breath came in short bursts as though fighting through the constriction in her chest. She desperately wanted to peer over her shoulder and see if her father was safe and away, but she clenched her fists and resisted.
Fifty paces.
Dear God, what if Hew and Galloway hadn’t made it to the other side of the Serpentine in time? What if they were still searching for their boat or still rowing across? What if she reached the other side of the bridge and no one came to save her?
Forty paces.
Belle didn’t dare look at the men waiting for her on the other side. She was afraid to see if they suspected her yet. Meeting their gazes would only increase their suspicions, so she kept her face turned aside and shielded by the hat’s brim.
Thirty-five paces. Her feet felt as though they were weighed down by lead.
Thirty paces.
For some reason her mind went to Hew. Of all the things she might think of in her last hours, she never thought she’d be thinking about the grandson of a duke who spent his days gallivanting about the land trying to protect Queen and Country. He didn’t even know the first thing about tea.
