Chapter Nineteen
Althea looked backto where Flynn stood on the driveway raising his hand in farewell. She tamped down her frustration at being bundled off like a bag of washing and waved back.
As the carriage turned onto the road, Mrs. Peebles seated opposite began fussing with her shawl and arranging an odd assortment of parcels around her. Satisfied everything was in place, she sat back and clutched her reticule in her lap. “It’s a sad day, my lady.”
“It’s for the best, Mrs. Peebles. At least until the house is made safe.”
“You did explain that the house was unsound, my lady. But I never saw any evidence of it.”
“It’s in the woodwork, an insect infestation,” Althea flushed. How easily she lied. “His Lordship will have the problem fixed in no time. While it is done, you shall be comfortable in Mayfair.”
“I certainly can’t complain about that, my lady. You are always so very good to the servants.”
Althea wished Jet would stop glowering at her through the rungs of his basket.
The village behind them, they traveled toward London on the toll road. An hour passed. Mrs. Peebles’ eyes closed and her chin sank to her chest. Jet had ceased complaining although his green eyes still watched Althea. She imagined she saw hurt and rage in them and looked away at the drab scene dotted with limestone farmhouses beyond the window. They were held up for a drover to clear his flock of sheep. The roadside was crowded with those on foot, itinerant laborers, tinkers, and a preacher in his black cassock amongst them.
Althea attempted to ease the tension in her neck. It hadn’t been her plan to be thrown into an exciting adventure with a man she became increasingly attracted to. She still wished to be back there facing adversity at his side. It exasperated her that he didn’t trust her. Did he think her bird-witted? She scowled and folded her arms.
The busy road grew quiet when the carriage entered a densely wooded area. Although she leaned back against the squabs and closed her eyes, her mind remained on Owltree. What was happening there? Crowthorne’s men planned to seize their chance once the house was empty. And when they met with opposition, it could become perilous. She prayed Flynn wouldn’t be hurt.
Suddenly with a shout, Ben heaved on the reins and the carriage rocked to a standstill, the horses rearing. Mrs. Peebles woke with a snort. “What was that, my lady?”
Althea’s hand flew to her chest. “I’m not sure.” She pulled down the window.
“Here’s the little lady.” Two highwaymen on horseback, the lower half of their faces obscured by mufflers, had stopped the carriage. One man held Ben at gunpoint.
The other rode up to her window. “Get out of the carriage, miss.”
“We’re being robbed,” Mrs. Peebles cried, gathering her parcels around her.
“Nonsense. We have nothing of value.” Althea swallowed the lump of fear in her throat, afraid they would shoot Ben if she didn’t obey.
“Oh, but you do.” The man sniggered. “Your duenna will stay in the coach.”
“Oh, don’t leave me alone with these beasts, my lady,” Mrs. Peebles cried.
“Out!” the man commanded, edging his horse closer.
Althea glared at him. “Put down the steps, then.”
He pulled open the door. “Jump and make it quick.”
She leapt down onto the hard packed earth, jarring her ankle, then backed away from him. In an instant, his horse was beside her, heading her off when she turned to run. She darted the other way, but he was upon her again. He leaned down and scooped her up. As she yelled and kicked, he dragged her across his saddle, her head hanging down along the horse’s flank. Althea screamed. The saddle dug cruelly into her stomach, squeezing the wind from her lungs. She dragged in a harsh breath. “You scoundrel! Put me down at once!”
His horse turned into trees, along a woodland trail. He kicked the horse’s flank and rode at a fast pace. Mrs. Peebles’ shrieks faded into the distance. “If you don’t stop, you’ll be hunted by Bow Street and thrown into Newgate Prison!”
Her words had no effect on him. She considered biting his leg through his trousers, but ingrained dirt and body odor repelled her. She pinched him hard on the leg above his boot.
“Little termagant!” He slapped her so hard on her derriere, her eyes watered. “I’d advise you to be quiet, or I’ll shut you up, permanently.”
Chilled, her words strangled in her throat. As the dank rotting smells of the forest floor stirred up by the horse’s hooves stifled her, she feared she would choke. Bushes brushed against her, a branch knocked off her hat and pulled her hair. He kept up the pace, the animal huffing, taking them deeper into the woods. Apart from the rhythmic pounding of the horse’s hooves and the cries of disturbed birds, it was so quiet she felt cut adrift, desperately alone. The carriage was now far behind them. Althea’s hopes faded with each rocking gait. Where did he take her?
The blood had run to Althea’s head when he slowed the horse to a walk. They left the narrow trail and broke out of the underbrush onto a deserted forest road. A fine carriage stood waiting, the coachman at the horses’ heads.
The man jumped to the ground, unceremoniously dragging her with him. Althea staggered dizzily, trying to pull away from his big hands digging into her waist.
“Devil!” Once she’d gained her balance, outrage vanquished her fear. She turned in his arms, flailing her fisted hands. Her fingers caught in his mask and almost dislodged it, grazing her knuckles on his bristled chin.
