But before he could open it, Joan heard the sound of footsteps. Many footsteps. Surrounding the carriage on all sides.
And then a voice—smooth, cultured, and utterly cold.
“Come out now, Miss Sinclair. There’s nowhere left to run.”
Julian Hawthorne.
Joan felt Victoria go rigid beside her, felt her sister’s fingers dig into her arm hard enough to bruise.
Through the small window, Joan could see shapes moving in the dim light. Men. At least six of them, maybe more. They had surrounded the carriage completely.
Another carriage, Joan realized with sinking dread. They had another carriage waiting at the back. They knew we would try to run.
“Miss Sinclair,” Julian’s voice came again, closer now. Right outside their door. “I know you can hear me. You have two choices. You can come out peacefully, or my men can drag you out. I assure you, the latter option will be far less pleasant.”
Joan looked at Damian, whose face had gone white with fury. His hand moved toward his coat—where he kept a pistol, Joan remembered suddenly.
“Don’t,” she whispered urgently. “Damian, don’t. There are too many of them.”
“I won’t let him take her,” Damian hissed back.
“You won’t be able to stop him if you’re dead,” Joan shot back.
Victoria had begun to cry—silent tears streaming down her face as she pressed herself against Joan’s side.
The carriage door handle rattled. “My patience is wearing thin, Miss Sinclair. I’m going to count to ten. If you haven’t emerged by then, my men will break down this door and remove you by force.”
Julian began counting. His voice almost bored.
“One.”
Joan’s mind raced frantically. They were trapped. Surrounded. “Two.”
She looked at Victoria’s terrified face and felt something harden in her chest.
“Three.”
No, she thought fiercely.I will not let him have her. I won’t.
“Four.”
But what choice did they have? If they tried to fight, someone would get hurt. Maybe killed. And Julian would take Victoria anyway.
“Five.”
Unless…
“Six.”
An idea formed—desperate, reckless, but perhaps their only chance.
“Seven.”
Joan squeezed Victoria’s hand tightly, then turned to meet Damian’s eyes.
“Eight.”
“Trust me,” she whispered.
