“I would not have noticed, except I was outside preparing one of the carriages. William had already come for Duke, he had, when I spotted a gent run into the garden.”
Heart skittering into madness, William strained against the arms holding him back. He already knew before Isaac finished.
“It was Lahrd Livingstone.”
CHAPTER 17
Trapped.The word jolted through her semi-consciousness, but she didn’t squint open her eyes. She worked to keep her breathing measured. Perhaps they would not suspect she had awakened.
Whoevertheywere.
She tried to think, to remember, but nothing was clear to her. The back of her head throbbed, as if someone had driven pegs into the base of her skull.Trapped. Trapped.Over and over that same word shuddered through her.
She was aware of so much. Too much to comprehend.
Someone’s arms were around her, closing her in, and they rode by horse. Coarse, itchy rope bound her hands. She smelled brisk air and peppermint comfits and—
Peppermint.She nearly choked.Lord Livingstone.
As if sensing she was awake, the horse beneath them halted. “I trust you have slept well, Miss Gresham?”
Her skin prickled. His tone was so familiar, so unaltered, that she tried to derive comfort from the voice. This was a mistake. She had been injured, but perhaps he—
A rough blow thudded into her shoulder and slung her from the horse. She landed on her back, air whooshing from her, and stifled back a cry.
“Come now, Miss Gresham. It is morning. Must I beg you to open those beautiful eyes of yours?”
She had not realized she was squeezing them shut so tightly. Struggling up on one elbow, she glanced up. Foamy, grey-dappled horse legs. Shiny Hessian boots. Dusty breeches, a tailcoat made for a ball, and … a face that had proposed to her only hours before.
Behind Lord Livingstone, a stranger she’d never seen grinned from his mount—his clothes ratty, face swarthy, head bald and veiny.
Lord Livingstone’s mouth twitched, as if with satisfaction. “Do meet an acquaintance of mine. Pike, give the lady your salutations.”
The man chuckled through rotting teeth but said nothing.
Limbs shaking, she staggered to her feet and outstretched her bound wrists. “What is this?” She had not meant to divulge her panic, but it shrilled her voice. “What have you done? How could you—”
“This is not Sharottewood Manor.” Lord Livingstone dismounted. “I fear you have not the same power here as your doting Father permitted you at home.”
Frantic, she glanced about. The road was long and empty, devoid of carriage wheel tracks or other travelers. Trees towered, hiding cottages or farms from sight, if there were any. How far had they gone since she’d lost consciousness at the garden? Where was he taking her?
“I daresay, Miss Gresham, you seem rather out of sorts.” He pressed his face into hers, breathed peppermint against her, dipped his lips to hers.
She hit her hands against the side of his face and darted—
He swiveled her back around. Grabbed fistfuls of her hair. Claimed her mouth in a harsh, brutalizing kiss, then slapped her face. “Only one person has the power out here, Miss Gresham, and it is no longer you.”
A thousand fears numbed her body and soul.
“I do not wager you remember, but I always attain what I wish.” He threw her back atop the horse then climbed on behind her. “If it is not given to me, I take it.”
“Are ya hurt, sir?” Isaac stood beside William at the front of the stable, the burn of the morning sun setting his auburn hair on fire.
“No.” William flicked off the last dry blood from underneath his nose then accepted the rag Isaac handed him. He wiped his entire face, the coolness a stark contrast to the heat still roiling beneath his skin.
“I did a fair bit of wrong, didn’t I?” Isaac slumped against the stables. Around them, military officers prepared their horses, secured their knapsacks to their saddles, or huddled together and spoke in low tones with a few gentlemen not in uniform.
Lord Gresham, nearer to the manor, shouted louder at Colonel Nagel.
