“Actually, if you could package them, I’ll try them on at home. We’re in a hurry to return to our son.”
“Of course. Just a moment, and I’ll have them ready for your footman.” Mrs. Wilson bustled to the back, leaving Marina alone.
She idly browsed the ribbons, debating whether to add a few to her purchase—until a sound from the back room caught her ear. A muffled cry.
Marina stiffened. “Mrs. Wilson?”
No answer.
Her pulse kicked up as she called again, stepping toward the door. Just as she reached for the handle, a shadow loomed.
“Not so fast,” a man sneered, leveling a pistol at her chest.
He was older—perhaps in his fifties—his gut straining against his waistcoat, his hooked nose casting a sharp silhouette under the brim of his low-slung hat. Though she couldn’t see his eyes, the deep scowl twisting his face dripped with malice.
Marina’s fingers twitched toward her reticule, but the man stepped closer, his gun never wavering. Sliding past her, he locked the door with an audible click.
“There we go. Can’t have that idiot husband of yours spoiling the plan, can we?”
She forced her back to straighten. “What do you want?”
He laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. “Did you think you could send my cousin away and live happily ever after? With that meddlesome husband of yours? Raising your little urchin?”
Her breath came in quick beats, but she held his gaze, refusing to let him see her fear. She needed her pistol in her grip.
“What have you done with Mrs. Wilson?”
“She’s alive. For now.” He tilted his head mockingly. “But you? You’re coming with me.”
No. She couldn’t let that happen. Not again.
“I won’t.”
“Fair enough,” he said and lunged, grabbing her arm. “We’ll see if you are content with your choice.”
Marina wrenched back, fighting to free herself, but his grip was like iron. Just then, the rumble of wheels sounded outside—the carriage. Evan. He’d know something was wrong. He’d break in and this would all be over.
Before she could reach for her pistol, the brute shoved her backward into a dark space. The door slammed and the lock clicked into place.
“Let me out!” She pounded against the wood.
Laughter echoed from the other side. Then the footsteps retreated.
A rustling sound came from the darkness behind her. Marina reached out blindly and grasped a pair of trembling hands—bound hands. “Mrs. Wilson?”
She worked quickly, untying the knots. As soon as the woman was freed, soft sobs filled the space.
“He gagged me,” Mrs. Wilson choked out. “Tied me up. What is he going to do to us?”
Marina swallowed, gripping her pistol inside her reticule. “I don’t know,” she admitted. But she wouldn’t go down without a fight.
The door would open again. When it did, she’d be ready. She held her pistol out in front of her, ready to take her shot.
A pungent scent suddenly filled her nostrils. Smoke.
Her stomach twisted so hard, she almost fell to her knees.
“My lady,” the man’s voice called in a singsong lilt. “I hope you weren’t expecting to see the light of day again. It’s going to get a bit hot in there.” A cruel chuckle followed. “Farewell.”
