Finch’s jaw tightened. “No.”
From below came a surge of sound as laughter, music, and anticipation rose to a new pitch. With it came the sickening certainty of what was about to happen.
“They’re coming for them,” Finch said grimly. “They will not find what they expect. When they don’t?—”
“—all hell will break loose.” The realization landed like a blow. “Go with your men. Get the women to the barges.”
“The hell I will. We need to find Lady Rosalynd.”
“I can do that. I will do that.”
“Not by yourself you won’t.”
Before I could answer, footsteps sounded in the corridor. More than one set. We pointed our weapons at the open door and waited for what was sure to come.
“What the bloody hell?” A masculine voice. He must have caught sight of the unconscious guard.
A man lurched into the doorway, eyes bloodshot, his movements loose. Obviously drunk. Several women stood behind him. None of them were masked. None wore fancy dress.
Understanding struck at once. The women were not guests. They had been hired to handle the young women. To feed them, dress them, drug them. And tonight, they would put them up for bidding.
I crossed the room in three strides and pressed the muzzle of my gun beneath the man’s chin.
“Where is she?”
He blinked, confused, then scoffed weakly. “They’re gone, man. Can’t you see?”
I leaned in, lowering my voice. “Where is the lady in the red cape? What have you done with her?”
His gaze slid past me toward the emptied room, genuine confusion overtaking his bravado. “Haven’t the foggiest what you’re on about,” he said. “I haven’t seen a woman in a red cape.”
I pressed the muzzle harder beneath his chin, my finger tightening on the trigger. “Your life will be forfeit if you don’t tell me,” I said. “Now.”
His eyes bulged as the sour stench of fear rose from him.
A hand closed on my arm. Finch’s. His voice was calm, steady. “He doesn’t know. Look at him.”
I forced myself to see the panic on the man’s face. He was telling the truth.
A voice spoke from behind him. One of the women. “She was taken away.”
She stood near the door, her face pale but intent. “The lady in the red cape,” she said. “She was taken away.”
“Where to?” I demanded.
The woman did not answer at once. She glanced at the two women beside her, then back toward me. For a brief moment of time, she measured me before she spoke again. “I will tell you what I know, Your Grace, in exchange for you letting us go.” She indicated the other women with a slight tilt of her head.
I turned fully toward her, anger sharpening my focus. “You know me?”
“I knew your father,” she replied. Her gaze searched my face with unsettling familiarity. “The resemblance is remarkable.”
With barely controlled fury, I demanded, “Where is she?”
“Promise first,” she said evenly. “There will be no retribution against us. None. Are we agreed?”
My thoughts raced. These women were procurers. Gaolers. They had kept the girls imprisoned and drugged while they waited to be sold. Every instinct I possessed recoiled at the notion of letting them walk free.
But there was no choice. If damnation was the price of Rosalynd’s safety, I would pay it without hesitation.
