Miss White chuckled as Madelina was made to shuffle away across the thick carpet. When she and the man holding her chain reached the far door, he pulled free a set of keys. Grunting, he knelt to unfasten her shackles, then stood and unlocked the manacles. He jumped back with the chains, as if Madelina were a viper.
Madelina reached for the door, hoping this wasn’t some strange trick. She pushed.
A fair sized, candlelit chamber met her seeking gaze. The room within must indeed be for bathing, as tile covered the floor and clad the walls, not a square interrupted by another exit. A large, filled, steaming tub stood in the center of the room. Candles, set on a chair rail, ringed the space. Their presence confirmed that Madelina’s guards had never apprised Miss White of her attempted escape. Madelina stepped in and closed the door. A key slid into the lock and clicked behind her.
Aside from the tub, the room held a small dressing table and chair. Only towels and a comb rested on the tabletop. There was no mirror, but a pile of clothing draped the chair, slippers on the floor below.
Madelina washed her hands, then went through the clothing one piece at a time. She found nothing of use. Nor did the slippers offer any hope. She piled the ensemble on the dressing table and wedged the chair against the door, then went to the far corner to strip off her grimy clothes.
Possibly, she should take some action other than bathing. There might be something she could do to further her cause. Quietly break up the chair to create weapons. Stand on the dressing table and try to scratch a hole through the plaster ceiling. Something. In truth, though, she couldn’t resist the allure of the warm tub of water. Not after weeks locked in that cell, coated with soot and bits of straw.
She washed her hair first, then the rest of her. The task wasn’t quickly completed, but no one disturbed her. After toweling off, she combed out her wet locks, then dressed quickly. Her hair lay damp against her back, but no ribbons or hairpins were in evidence. Her lips twitched in a mirthless smile. Apparently, she was too dangerous to be given hairpins. She pulled the few she’d been wearing the day they took her from the bodice of her ruined gown, rinsed them, and tucked them away in her dress.
She eyed the chair. Could she break free any of the legs without them hearing? She crossed the room and slid the chair away from the door, then turned it over to examine the construction.
A knock sounded. “Miss, we’re coming in. We’re out of time.”
Madelina flipped the chair over and slid it into place before the dressing table as the lock clicked back. The door opened. An array of pistols pointed at her. Beyond the men, the room appeared empty.
“Hold your arms behind you,” the spokesman ordered.
Madelina stared at the pistol barrels. Eight in all. Would they ever let their guard down? Possibly, once Jasper and Miss White were married.
Pain lanced through Madelina at the thought, but she turned her back and held her arms out behind her. The man with the chains, who didn’t have a pistol in evidence, came forward and manacled her hands. He knelt and shackled her ankles, then took up the lead chain.
“Follow me,” he ordered.
The others formed up around them as they headed across the room, but none came too close. No one blindfolded her as they made their way through an elegantly appointed townhome. They went up another flight of steps, then down a long hall to the last door, centered at the end. The leader opened it, revealing a lovely rose and silver sitting room. He crossed to a set of tall curtains and flung them open to expose balcony doors. They led Madelina out.
After so long indoors and blindfolded, the sunlight brought stinging tears to her eyes. She blinked rapidly, fighting to clear her vision. The wind, too, needled, light though it was.
As her vision cleared, she realized the house stood at the end of a long street. Down its length, at the other end, rose a lovely church. On the steps stood two figures, Miss White and…Jasper.
He spun to face her, somehow aware she’d appeared. One arm lifting, as if he reached for her, he descended a step in her direction.
Miss White reached out and grabbed his arm. She leaned forward and spoke to him, the distance far too great for Madelina to hope to hear, or even interpret the movement of her lips.
He shook off her hand, the gesture sharp with anger. She grabbed him again, mouth near his ear as she spoke. The wind lifted Madelina’s locks, floating those that had already dried about her head.
Miss White tugged harder, mouth moving. With her other arm, she made an angry gesture in Madelina’s direction. The chain yanked. Madelina stumbled backward into the sitting room. A cry tore from her throat when the curtains fell into place, concealing Jasper from sight.
She jerked forward. The chain yanked backward. Madelina leapt away from the balcony and slammed the back of her head into the man’s face. His nose gave a satisfying crunch, audible even over his yowl. She sprang back to the door, ducked through the curtains.
The tail of Jasper’s coat, a last glimpse of his blond curls, met her desperate gaze. The church doors closed behind him.
“No,” she yelled, fruitless as she knew it to be. “Jasper, don’t. Don’t marry her.”
On the street below, heads tilted. Faces looked up. A strong pull to the chain dragged Madelina back inside.
“Shut that door,” the leader barked.
A man walked around her, headed for the balcony door. She jumped sideways to collide with him, but the chain tugged her back. They converged on her. Hands pinned her arms to her sides. Chain wrapped about her thrashing form. Together, two of them lifted her from her feet.
“Get her back to the bathing room,” the leader growled. “We’ll lock her in. If anything interrupts that wedding, we’re all dead.”
Madelina struggled, but too many hands held her. The chains were too strong. They bit into her. Bruised her. The men carried her away. She fought on, writhing against the image of Jasper and Miss White saying their vows.
Chapter Eighteen
