Althea had spentmost of the afternoon pacing the drawing room. Her thoughts dwelt on Montsimon and his word of warning more often than she cared for. Life with Brookwood had been grim, but nothing of late brought her much joy either. She fiddled with the top button on her bodice, wondering when she would hear from her solicitor. Not until then would she know what action would be available to her. She was determined to continue to live as she had planned while keeping her distance from Sir Horace Crowthorne. She had read in the newspaper that Crowthorne had berated Lord Canning in Parliament over some bill. Reassured that he would not be invited, she had accepted the Canning’s invitation to their dinner party. It would prove a perfect distraction.
For the occasion, she dressed in a flattering celestial blue silk gown with a deep scooped neckline. White satin and lace decorated the hem and sleeves, the same edging on the tight bodice was a perfect foil for her pearls. Her pearl and diamond earrings adorned her ears, the matching bracelet on her wrist. Her hair was dressed in loose curls with pearl ornaments and ostrich feathers. She picked up her beaded reticule, pulled the sable-lined hood of her cape carefully over her hair, smoothed her gloves, and ventured outdoors.
The crisp air greeted her. Wisps of clouds shrouded the moon in a star-studded sky. Assisted into the hackney coach, Althea pulled her cloak closer, glad of the heated brick at her feet. The carriage lurched forward, and she watched the shadowy streets pass by.
They were nearing the exclusive square in which the Cannings resided when a horseman rode past them. Moments later, the carriage rocked violently and shuddered to a stop.
A broken axle? More vexed than alarmed, Althea pulled down the window. “What has happened?” she called to the jarvie.
A man appeared from the front of the vehicle leading his horse, muffled against the cold, his hat obscuring his face. He stood in the shadows. “I’m afraid your jarvie is indisposed, madam,” he said in a low gruff voice. “A malaise of some description.”
“Poor man,” Althea said briskly, hiding her misgivings. They could hardly accost her here in St. Audley Street, a hare’s breath from Grosvenor Square. “Please put down the steps; I may be able to help.”
She leant forward to open the door.
“No need for that,” he said. “I have offered to drive you to your destination.”
Althea struggled with the handle. “This door appears to be stuck. Open it, if you please, and I shall see for myself.”
She spluttered in outrage as the man coolly dismissed her request. He relinquished the reins of his horse to another fellow before disappearing out of sight. The carriage rocked as he mounted the box. They set off again, passing the jarvie who, looking well enough, stood on the pavement studying something in his hand.
With the crack of a whip, the carriage juddered as it gained speed. Althea gasped. They were traveling away from the Canning’s home.
“Go back! That’s not the right way!” Panic strangling her breath, Althea banged on the carriage roof.
No one answered, nor did the driver slow the horses. Who was he? Althea shivered, her stomach churning. Was Sir Horace behind this abduction? Where were they taking her?
The coach traveled on. They soon reached the outskirts of the city, continuing at a harrowing pace. Althea sniffed, tears clinging to her eyelashes. She was unable to do anything other than listen to the drum of horses’ hooves on the road and hang on to the strap as the carriage rocked. London’s lighted streets disappeared behind them.
They drove through the deep purple darkness of the countryside. The clouds drifted away to expose a luminous pearl of a moon which cast violet shadows over the landscape. Althea still had no clue as to where they were going.
Another hour passed. She’d fallen back against the squabs exhausted, considering her fate, when the carriage stopped. “Where on earth are we?” She peered from the window, her body tense as a harp string. No lighted buildings in sight, only the silhouette of a copse of trees growing close to the road.
She felt around on the floor and grasped the wrapped brick, which had cooled long before. She held the reassuring weight on her lap under her cloak and waited. A man moved beyond her sight and lit the carriage lamps, which formed an arc of light over the ground, beyond which was impenetrable blackness.
In the distance, the thunder of hooves erupted into the still air. The carriage rocked as the driver jumped down, the horses stamping and whickering.
A lone horseman galloped up to the carriage. He passed Althea’s window. Althea opened the window and a blast of cold air rushed in. She blinked and pulled the hood of her cloak over her head while trying to decipher their low voices. “Who are you?” she yelled with little expectation of a response. “Show yourselves, you cowards!”
The door suddenly whipped open, and the man with the scarf climbed inside. Althea raised the brick, hoping to strike him before he gained his balance. But it was heavy and made a difficult weapon to wield. And he was so tall.
Lightning fast, he wrestled the brick from her grasp before she could get it high enough to bring it down on his head. He tossed it out of the open door. “I think not, my lady,” he said in a genial tone.
She knew of only one mellow-voiced Irishman. “Lord Montsimon?” she shrieked, disbelieving her own ears.
He unraveled the scarf and smiled. “We must continue our journey, Lady Brookwood. Allow me to assist you from the carriage.”
“I’ll go nowhere with you… you…” Further words deserted her when her breath seemed caught in her throat. She glared at him, drawing gulps of air.
Her apparent distress failed to move him. “Will you consent to come with me peaceably?” he asked in a cool tone, nodding toward the door. “Or shall it be necessary to remove you by force?”
“I declare you should be incarcerated,” she yelled. “Go where?” She squinted at him in the gloom. She couldn’t smell drink. “You must be mad.” What on earth did he want with her? Surely, he wouldn’t go to all this trouble just to have his way with her. She doubted he wanted to, the way he looked at her was anything but lover like. She admitted to being a little relieved that he wasn’t Crowthorne. “If you take me back to London at once, we shall keep your outrageous behavior between us.”
“If I appear mad, Lady Brookwood, it’s you who has driven me to it,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I’ve an appointment in Canterbury. I would like you to join me. Never fear, I shall return you to your home afterward, safe and sound.”
“Why take me there?” She stared into his handsome face. He might have been asking her to take a turn around the room at a soiree! She glared at him. If Montsimon wished to carry her off to Gretna Green, he might ask her first. Even though she would refuse him. Though why he should wish to take her anywhere against her will eluded her. “I demand to know why you abducted me in this fashion.”
“I told you to leave London, Lady Brookwood. And you would not listen.”
