He lunged, knocking her to the ground, the candle spinning out of her grasp, its light dying, plunging them into darkness. But not before she saw his leer, a demon with revenge reflected in his eyes. She twisted wildly under his weight, her nails seeking skin to gouge. A scream died in her throat, and she choked and gagged when he stuffed a handkerchief into her open mouth.
She bucked, thrashing at him with her arms. He grunted and grabbed her hands, holding them out from her sides. He lowered his face to within inches of her own.
“I shall enjoy taming you as we wait and see if that fine husband of yours is willing to pay for your return.” His breath was redolent of porter and overripe cheese. Elizabeth turned her head away from the smell. He laughed, pressing the outline of his swollen member tightly against her body.
He looked up at Atheridge. “The rope, you idiot! Help me tie her up.”
Quaking, Atheridge dropped to his knees, handing him the rope. “D-did you get a carriage?”
He knotted the rope about her wrists, pulling it cruelly tight when she attempted to flail at him. “From the stable,” he answered shortly.
“Here? Her own carriage? If Thomas finds it missing—” he trailed off miserably.
“That’s why you’ll have to come with me to see it’s brought back before he’s about.” Tunning grunted as he deflected a kick.
“Me!”'
“Know anyone else whose neck threatens to be stretched if he don’t?” He quickly captured the errant leg and bound the twotogether. He sat back on his heels and studied her bound figure. “Are you sure you don’t want a tumble?” he asked Atheridge.
He laughed at Atheridge’s choked denial. “Well, help me get her out of here.”
Elizabeth shuddered as they grabbed her, squeezing her eyes shut to close out his gloating image. She was terrified, but knew she must master her terror if she was to have a chance to escape.
“Oh,Thomas, quit now. Mind your manners,” Ivy said, playfully batting at the grinning youth nuzzling her neck.
“It’s you I’d rather mind, in all manner,” he mumbled into her soft skin.
“To be sure, you rascal,” she said, pulling away and adopting a prim mien as she straightened her clothes.
Thomas sat back, laughing. “You’re a saucy miss. It would serve you right if I left you to those London wolves.”
He stood up and stretched. “Speakin’ of London reminds me, I’ve a harness to mend afore morning. Be a pet and walk me to the door.”
“Walk you to the door? Get on with you now,” she said pertly.
“’Tis a cold, cold night; I could use a kiss at the door to warm me,” he said glibly.
“You do tell a tale,” she protested. “Well, come on now, if that’s your payment, let’s be about. My lady’s fired to patch things with my lord and would be mighty unhappy if we couldn’t be off first light. But let’s go quiet like, I don’t fancy runnin’ across Atheridge or that hatchet faced wife o’ his.”
He nodded his understanding as he grabbed his coat off the peg and opened the door to his room. They stood listening at the doorway then slowly stepped into the hall, grimacing asa floorboard creaked. They exchanged quick, warning glances. Thomas grabbed Ivy’s hand and led her stealthily toward the back stairs and down two flights to the butler’s pantry.
“What was that?” Ivy tugged on Thomas’s arm to halt him. “Listen!” she hissed. She crept toward the dining room, then on through to peek out its open doors into the foyer hall.
She nearly gasped aloud, quickly clamping a hand across her lips to still any sound. She beckoned urgently for Thomas to come look.
Mrs. Atheridge stood by the front door, holding a small lantern while Atheridge and Mr. Tunning, hunched over, descended the stairs. They appeared to be carrying something between them. Thomas squeezed Ivy’s shoulder when they saw the dark bundle move.
Tunning laughed softly. “Your struggling just fires my blood. Think that fine husband of yours will take back soiled goods?”
“Sh-h—” hissed Mrs. Atheridge, glancing about the hall.
Thomas and Ivy ducked out of sight. Ivy, biting her lip, looked up at Thomas anxiously, silently asking him if they should intercede. Slowly he shook his head. The devil was in Tunning, right enough, and no telling what he was liable to do if they rushed to save the Viscountess. Tentatively he looked into the hall again, in time to see Tunning sling her over his shoulder while Atheridge opened the door and his wife held the lantern high to guide their steps.
In the wavering lantern light, the Viscountess’s face was ashe,n yet bore resolute courage. Thomas knew she would not submit easily to Tunning. Through the open door he saw the horse and carriage from the stable. A silent whistle passed his lips at the kidnappers’ audacity. He smiled suddenly when he remembered the worn harness. In the hands of a driver like Tunning, it wouldn’t last long.
He pulled Ivy back into the butler’s pantry and on into the kitchen.
“What are we going to do?” wailed Ivy softly, clutching at his sleeve.
