Sebastian pushed her gently into the chair. Gabriella went to Serena and put an arm around her.
“What’s this about two boys?” Rivers demanded.
“Your daughter, in her headstrong ways, saved my cousin’s twins from a dire fate. There was a man after them, but she told the scoundrel they were her children. She then took it upon herself to take them home to Dorchester. En route her carriage suffered a broken wheel when I happened upon her. She didn’t believe the man followed.”
“But how would he have found her?” Rivers picked up the pacing Gabriella had abandoned.
“Any number of ways. There was the notice of their nuptials in the flyers,” Gabriella said. Serena whimpered and Gabriella patted her shoulder. “And today there was a notice announcing the duke and duchess of Ryleigh had been seen in town.”
“God’s teeth. They could be anywhere,” Sebastian said on a strangled breath. “It has to be the same man.”
“Butwhois he?” Gabriella whispered.
“Finch Coswell,” Serena said. She shook her head. “Coswell. Cursel. No. No. That isn’t right. Cromwell.” Her head snapped up. “Yes. Cromwell. That was it. She asked the children about him.” She pierced him with worried eyes. “There is one piece of good news, Your Grace.”
Finch Cromwell was a dead man. But Sebastian required help.
Chilled bumps edged up his spine. “Yes?”
“She has her dagger with her.”
Sebastian tore out of the house.
Twenty-Seven
Rebecca fought for all her worth but the sack over her head and shoulders subdued her efforts. It was critical she held onto her reticule. The more she struggled, the more her assailant tightened the bag about her head. The sensation was one of too much enclosure—like being confined in a pine box with someone throwing dirt atop. She was bodily tossed onto a hard seat just as the hack jerked into motion. The sack was too thick, too difficult to see through, and she was pressed into small breaths lest she run out of air. Concentrating on breathing went far into staving off the panic.
“How pleasant to see ye, milady.”
Rebecca stilled, forcing herself to calm. Her temper would get her killed otherwise. “Mr. Cromwell, I presume.” She hadn’t gotten a good look at her assailant before the attack. He yanked the coverings from her head and in the mayhem, she had the rationale to shove her reticule at her back and adjust her skirts to shield it. With the oxygen came her confidence. The man was a menace, but she could take him. It was a matter of opportunity.
“Ye’ve cost me time and blunt. Where are those miscreants?”
She smoothed her hands over her skirts. “Miscreants?”
“I know there’s two of ’em. I followed ye out of town. Almost had ye till that nob beat me to ye.”
Rebecca swallowed and sent up a silent prayer of thanks that Sebastian had reached them first.
“Ye said they was yer children.”
“I believe there was only one, sir.”
His fist flew out and caught her on the chin, knocking her head against the inner paneling. “That’ll be ’nuff out of ye.”
“You realize my husband is the Duke of Ryleigh?” How satisfying to see him flinch.
“When they drag yer body from the riverifthey find ye, he’ll jes think you were runnin’ from yer ’sponsibilities.”
It was her turn to flinch. That was exactly what Sebastian would believe. Silence hovered in the disgusting hack and the smell of the Thames grew closer and more rank. The hack stopped and Cromwell pushed aside a ratted curtain and looked outside. “We’re ’ere.” He tossed the sack to her. “Put that on and keep quiet.”
She opened her mouth to protest and quickly changed her mind. With the sack over her head, she would be better able to conceal her reticule. She fumbled with the dark covering and just managed to get it over her head and snatch up her bag before the scoundrel grabbed her arm. He would pay, she vowed. In the next instant, she was jerked from the conveyance and sliding on the mud caking her kid slippers.
The sack covering failed in keeping out the stench of the river. She clutched her bag to her chest and stumbled along as he dragged her. Rusted hinges scraped and her stomached dropped. Stifling her panic with her eyes covered was the most difficult thing she’d ever done. They were close to the river, but Cromwell was taking her inside a building. There were many abandoned, dilapidated structures where he could stash her. She eased her dagger out, prepared to defend her honor to the death. If Cromwell had plans to defile her, he’d find himself missing a vital, protruding part to complete the act, she vowed.
Sand gritted beneath her thin slippers, scuffing against wood floors as she was led to who knew where. More rusted hinges sounded, and the villain shoved her inside from the back before jerking the sack from her head. “I’ll be back for ye at dark.” His laugh sent a ripple of icy black chills over her that mingled with outrage.
She tripped over a large lump in the floor but caught her balance and spun about, barely registering the low grunt below her. Aiming her dagger at the blackguard, she charged.
