“This way to find out, Your Grace.”
“I’m not going with you anywhere until I know she is all right.” Because if she wasn’t, Matt was going to murder the man.
“Oh, she is fine—for now. Lovely thing she is, Your Grace. A tasty bit. Mr. Hardesty has buyers for her. He hoped you would listen to reason but if not, there won’t be any slack for us.”
Matt closed his hand over the curl. He wanted to pound the man into the ground. “How did you take her?”
The blackguard grinned. He was missing two front teeth. Matt had an urge to knock the rest of his teeth down his throat. “We nabbed her from her bed, right there in your big house. We are so good, no one even knows she is gone, except you and me. Are you coming, Your Grace? Or is she mine?”
So Willa had come home to him. She’d been waiting for him.
Or the man was lying.
“You tell Hardesty he’s a bastard.”
“You can tell him yourself, Your Grace. But first, you must come with me.”
“Lead the way.” Matt could be walking into a trap... but his every instinct said the man was speaking the truth. Hardesty had Willa.
He followed the brute back behind the houses to an alley. Two small horses were tied up there. “Take your pick, Your Grace.” He was growing cocky. Matt would relish the moment when he changed the tables on them.
His horse groaned when he climbed on top of it. The saddle was too small, and Matt had to let down the stirrups.
“Be careful with my animal,” the man ordered. “I value that horse.”
“As much as you value my wife’s life?” Matt didn’t hide his disdain.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass what becomes of her, Your Grace. I’m paid to do a job, and I do it.”
On those words, Hardesty’s man put his heel to horse, and off he went. If Matt believed Willa was in their clutches, then he’d best follow.
He followed.
Willa’s assailants had bound her arms, wrists, and legs, and had carried her out of her house as if she was little more than a rug. She’d tried to struggle, but she’d been overpowered.
No one had stopped them. No cry had gone up. They’d taken the servants’ entrance and then carried her through the back garden. She’d heard the back gate open right before they’d thrown her onto the floor of what seemed to be a post chaise.
Then they had cut a piece of her hair.
“Ross, you know where to meet me?” one of them had asked. He sounded like one of the dockworkers.
The other man had answered, “Aye, Donel, I know.” Willa had listened for clues. She now knew Ross was Irish. Donel was their leader. They had known the layout of the house.
There came the snap of reins, and the chaise began moving with her on the floor inside.
The ride had been uncomfortable. She hated the gag and swore to herself that once she could spit it out, she’d give her captors a tongue lashing they would not forget.
But first, she had to free herself.
She squirmed and twisted, her efforts making her bonds tighter. She changed her focus. Her goal became the liberation of one finger, then two. It took concentration and a patience her fear threatened to overthrow.
Minutes seemed like hours as she worked, and then, to her surprise, she managed, with a great deal of pain and effort, to slide her right thumb underneath one of the rough ropes.
It gave her hope, and she set to work to free her index finger.
And when she escaped her bonds? What would she do then? She didn’t know.
She couldn’t even understand their game. Did they plan to hold her for ransom? A few months ago, the papers had stories of a young woman abducted from her home. She was never seen or heard from again, even though her family had searched and searched.
