"Primrose is mine, you worthless slut."
Coyner grasped her by the hair and yanked her up. Tears of pain welled behind her eyelids, but she refused to cower, kept her gaze steady on her enemy's face. Coyner's eyes had a wild, glazed look. Spittle clung to his lower lip, dripped down the spotty stubble on his jaw. He looked and smelled as if he hadn't bathed in days. A lunatic on the edge.
Could she push him over, gain the upper hand? Pendleton's revelations about Coyner rang in her head. "Why do you want my daughter,Jericho?" she said.
His pupils dilated. "Don't call me that. My name's Coyner. Sir Coyner."
"Do you want a girl… because you can't get it up with a woman?"
"Shut up! Shut up, you whore!"
His hands closed around her throat, yet she gasped out, "Couldn't fuck the tavern wench, could you? Everyone at Eton laughed about it. Everyone knows you're an impotent—"
His grip choked her. Dots danced before her eyes.
"They're here, sir!"
The shout caused Coyner to release her. She fell to her knees, her lungs pulling for air. Through the strands of hair that had fallen over her face, she saw an approaching rowboat. Ambrose was rowing it with only one other boatman, and between them was a small blond head...
"No!" she shouted. "Keep her away, Ambrose—"
Coyner backhanded her. The taste of pain flooded her mouth, and black waves split her vision.
"Gag her," Coyner snarled.
Smythe appeared and, though she struggled, he held her down and wound a length of filthy linen around her mouth. He hauled her back up, and panic clutched her heart: the rowboat had docked at the other end of the pier. Her daughter was within Coyner's grasp.
She prayed that whatever Ambrose had planned would work.
Because she'd die before she let Coyner get hold of Primrose again.
* * *
As the boat bumped against the dock, fear and frustration scalded Ambrose's gut.This is my fault. I let Marianne go. If anything happens to her—Yet his self-directed anger was of no use at the moment. Later, he could berate himself further for his failure to protect Marianne. Right now he had to ensure her and Primrose's safety and to take care of Coyner once and for all.
Coyner had planned this meeting with crazed, desperate genius. The bastard had named this abandoned pier east of London, which had nothing but derelict factories to bear witness to the exchange. His note had been succinct:Bring no authorities, no more than a single boatman, or the bitch dies.
His throat raw, Ambrose looked at Primrose. "You're certain you wish to go through with this, little one?"
"Yes, Mr. Kent." In the light of the boat's lamp, the girl's lips trembled, but she lifted her chin. "I want my mama back."
Her mother's daughter.
"Brave girl." Ambrose cupped her cheek gently. "You remember the plan, then?"
"Yes," she said and hugged her doll to her chest.
Ambrose turned to his waiting waterman. "Johnno?"
"Aye, sir. At your signal," Johnno replied.
Ambrose rapped his knuckles against the boat. "Wait here. I'll go up first."
He stepped onto the planks. His heart pounded at the sight of Marianne standing at the end of the pier. Her hair glowed against the violet sky and the dark waters just beyond. He counted Coyner and six brutes surrounding her. A well-built cutter was anchored behind them. No doubt Coyner meant to make a swift escape through the Thames Estuary once he had his prize. It gave Ambrose a measure of comfort to know that the River Police would be waiting for the villain there—though he had no intention of allowing the blighter to make it that far. Or to lay hands on Primrose. Ambrose clenched his pistol.
"Let Lady Draven go, Coyner." His voice rose above the sound of the waves. "I've come as you asked."
"Show me Primrose," Coyner shouted back.
