The road was getting rougher, and the buildings were giving way to a muddled darkness that seemed to indicate they were reaching the outskirts of Town. She felt her captor shift, his muscles tensing.
“Start to make a ruckus,” he said. “Though I would prefer that you smack the seat rather than me.”
It startled her to think he might have a sense of humor.
“I’m going to shout at the driver to stop and help me get you out of the carriage, as you’re about to be sick,” he explained. “Stay slumped, and for God’s sake, don’t get in my way.”
The question of whether to trust him flashed through her still-aching head. But as he seemed the lesser of two evils, she decided to play along. Pounding her fists against the leather seat, she filled her lungs and began to wail.
Flinging open the door, her captor jumped down and reached back to grasp her arm.
“Damnation! Come help me with this hellbitch,” he called.
“Hell’s teeth, she’s a bloody nuisance.” The driver, a big bear of a man, lumbered over to join the fray. “Shouldn’t we just twist her neck and be done with it?” He looked around at the scrubby hedgerows and glade of trees. “It’s deserted enough—”
Before the driver could finish, her captor smashed the butt of a pistol against the man’s skull. Quick as a cobra, he then wrapped an arm around the driver’s throat and then tightened his hold.
A gurgle gave way to silence . . . followed by a thud as the body hit the hardscrabble road.
“Is he dead?” queried Charlotte.
“He’ll awake in an hour or two, though he won’t be feeling terribly well,” answered her captor. “How is your head?”
“It feels as though a regiment of the Royal Household Cavalry has ridden roughshod over it.” Charlotte winced as she fingered the lump above her right temple. “But I daresay I’ll survive.”
He reached into his coat and extracted a flask. “Perhaps a nip of brandy would help?”
“Bless you,” she murmured. “Are you going to remove that rag around your face so that I may thank you properly, sir?”
A chuckle. “It would be ungentlemanly of me to refuse.”
Charlotte watched in growing dismay as the man’s face was revealed. “You!”
She expelled a grudging sigh. “Much as it pains me to say it, I owe you a debt of gratitude, Mr. Kurlansky.” A pause. “Though I can’t help but wonder whether you staged all this just to annoy me.”
‘EvenIam not that devious, milady.” His smile thinned to a grim line. “It was pure luck that I happened to be watching Taviot’s house.”
“Which begs the question of why you were there.”
“Explanations can wait. Right now, I would rather return you to your home before your husband comes looking for you.” Kurlansky grimaced. “And cuts my liver into mincemeat before I have a chance to convince him that I’m not the enemy.”
The brandy had helped clear the cobwebs from Charlotte’s head, and at the mention of the wordenemya spurt of panic suddenly rose in her throat. “Alison!” she cried.
Kurlansky appeared nonplussed. “The dowager was attending the soiree?”
“Y-Yes!”
“I saw no sign of her being a captive,” he said. “I think it likely that she simply left the gathering along with the other guests and went home.”
“No, no,” protested Charlotte. “Alison would never have taken her leave without me.” Steadying herself against the side of the carriage, she sucked in a breath and began to climb back in.
“I hope you are a dab hand at driving, sir. Because we need to fly like a bat out of hell to Berkeley Square.”
CHAPTER 27
“Wrex!” called Tyler as he and Raven rushed into the earl’s workroom.
Wrexford pushed aside the notes he had been scribbling and shot up from his desk chair.
