“Will you move yer arse? He weighs more than an ox,” a grunting man complained.
Her heart sank. They had Beckett.
The coach door was yanked open. One of the attackers propped it open with his shoulder as he adjusted his hold on a bound and gagged Beckett. “Come on, shove ’im in.”
“Shove ’im? He’s not a sausage. He’s deadweight. You’ll have to do some guidin’,” the other complained.
With a growl of impatience, the man at the door climbed in and shoved Gwendolyn over, and they unceremoniously pushed and pulled Beckett into the coach. He was a large man, a long and heavy one. Carrying him must have been hard work. His hatless head hit the doorframe.
They didn’t even give a care to Gwendolyn, so she ended up with the weight of Beckett’s bound feet resting on hers. They bent his torso so he was propped on the seat across from her.
The man by the door caught her watching them and gave a toothy grin. “Yer a lovely one.”
“Mouser, stop flirting.”
“I kinna help it. I like ’em dark.”
“Shut the door.”
Before obeying, Mouser reached out and cupped Gwendolyn’s left breast. Shocked, she tried to turn away from him. He laughed and gave it a hard squeeze before sighing. “’Tis a pity.” He let go and shut the door.
Gwendolyn was furious. His fingers seemed to have left an imprint on her skin even through her clothes. If she hadn’t had this gag in her mouth, she would have scorched him with her tongue. It would have been the last time he ever touched a woman uninvited.
The surge of anger did her good. Her spirits revived.
She was done with waiting. As soon as Mr. Steele regained consciousness, their two kidnappers would pay for their crimes—
The coach leaned as the heavy men climbed up into the driver’s box. Then it lurched to roll forward.
She bent so she could see Beck in the coach’s shadows. He was so still, she started to worry that he was dead, and then reason told her they wouldn’t have bound him if he was. For whatever reason, they had kept them both alive.
That thought gave her hope.
She lifted her feet under his, wanting to nudge him to consciousness. He didn’t stir.
That didn’t stop her from repeating the effort until her legs hurt with the strain. Evening gave way to nighttime. She worried about where their kidnappers were taking them. She worried she would fail Beckett.
They seemed to have been driving for hours, but perhaps it was no more than an hour or so. Every minute seemed an eternity. The road was sometimes smooth and then full of ruts so she bounced around uncomfortably.
She could no longer make out Beckett in the darkness. The kidnappers had not bothered with lighting the coach lamps. They certainly didn’t wish anyone to catch them transporting people trussed up.
The coach rolled to a stop. The brake was set. She braced herself for the door to open. It didn’t.
What was happening? She listened hard and thought she caught the sound of water lapping the shore.
Gwendolyn tried not to think of the murdered marchioness. Drowning was not a way she wished to die. She knew how to swim, but bound as she was, she’d sink.
The thought of her sisters learning of her death brought the sting of tears to her eyes. She blinked them back angrily. She was not going to let herself be murdered. Or Beckett either. She would save them both—
Someone shouted, “Halloooo?”
He was answered by one of her kidnappers. “O’er here.”
She heard the creak and soft swoosh of a paddle through water. They were near the river. She could smell the dankness of the water even through the walls of the coach.
“You have the cargo?”
“We do. We will need help liftin’ one out.”
