Planting his fist into the closest man’s face, he didn’t linger to watch the man crumple to the ground, but cracked his fist into another man’s jaw, Owen’s head rearing back when a third man managed to land a punch before he grabbed hold of the man’s shirt and tossed him aside.
A yell from Camilla had him spinning around and bolting toward the house, rage immediately coursing through him when he saw that a man had her slung over his shoulder and was running down the steps, obviously intent on getting her to the carriage that was now racing down Zane Street.
Owen lowered his head and charged for the man, his progress coming to a rapid end when he felt a sharp pain explode in the back of his head. Everything immediately began turning black as he plummeted to the ground, the shadowy sight of Camilla being hauled away the last thing he saw before darkness claimed him.
Twenty-Nine
As far as abductions went, not that Camilla had ever actuallybeenabducted before, this one wasn’t exactly horrible, not when the men who’d snatched her had treated her with kid gloves throughout the train ride back to New York.
Granted, they’d not exactly been willing conversationalists. In fact, they’d not spoken to her at all, but after they’d tossed her into a private Pullman car, they’d then taken shifts watching over her while providing her with meals that had clearly been created by a chef, and a talented chef at that.
She was relatively certain that few, if any, abductees warranted travel in Pullman cars, let alone being served meals that any member of the Four Hundred would have deemed impressive.
Truth be told, the only trepidation she currently had centered around what was in store for her once they reached their final destination, which was rapidly approaching now that she’d been transferred from the Pullman car to a carriage, one that had black curtains obscuring the windows.
Frankly, all she could do now was hope a ransom had been delivered to her father, which she knew he’d pay, and then hopefully she’d be set free. Her first order of business after gaining her freedom would be, of course, to immediately set off to find Owen.
She was relatively certain that he hadn’t been seriously injured since she hadn’t overheard anything from her guards suggesting otherwise, but until she actually saw for herself, she couldn’t help but worry.
She also couldn’t help but wonder, given that they’d almost kissed again, and she’d gotten the impression he hadn’t been opposed to traveling alone together, even though the consequences of that could have led to an immediate marriage, if Owen had come around to the idea that Beulah might have been right after all and they were, indeed, well-matched.
Pushing aside her thoughts about Owen as best she could when the carriage rolled to a stop, she lifted her chin, bracing herself for whatever was in store for her next.
The carriage door opened a moment later, and without saying a word, a man helped her out, keeping a firm grip on her arm as he led her through a courtyard that was surrounded by derelict buildings, the salty scent of the ocean tickling her nose and lending her the impression they might very well be down near the Battery.
Unfortunately, before she had a chance to determine exactly where she was, the man ushered her through a heavy door that looked as if it had been chosen to withstand an attack. A moment later, she found herself in an entranceway that certainly didn’t match the exterior of the building she’d entered.
Walls papered in muted-green silk captured her attention before her gaze traveled over a crystal chandelier, marble floors, and a large bronze sculpture of a horse that would have been at home in any house on Fifth Avenue.
Another man, this one dressed in black, a holster slung low on his hips, strode up and presented her with a bow. “If you’ll follow me, Miss Pierpont, I’ll see you to your accommodations.”
Since she certainly didn’t have a choice in the matter, Camilla trailed behind the man down the long marble hallway, through a dining room, and then stopped when the man paused in front of a doorway. He removed a key from his pocket, unlocked thedoor, then pushed it open before he stepped aside and gestured her forward.
Wondering why the door had been locked, which suggested someone else might be locked in the room she was about to enter, which seemed somewhat ominous, Camilla forced herself to step into the room, all but stumbling to a stop when her gaze settled on a man standing beside the fireplace, a man who took that moment to turn around to face her.
She blinked, just once, before she squared her shoulders and marched farther into the room, temper roiling through her because the man now staring at her with narrowed eyes was not Victor Malvado or any other criminal boss, but none other than George Sherrington, Lord of Shrewsbury—and absolutely the last man on earth Camilla had ever wanted to see again.
“What in the world are you doing here, George?” she demanded, stopping a few feet away from him and crossing her arms over her chest.
George set aside the crystal wine goblet he’d been holding and returned his attention to her, his brows drawing together as his gaze swept the length of her, lingering on the housedress Cora Beth had given her. “I think a more pressing question would be ... what are you wearing?”
Her toe began tapping against the floor. “Is that really the first thing you think you should be asking me right now?”
George gave himself a bit of a shake and was smiling a second later as he closed the short distance separating them and grasped her hand, which he promptly raised to his lips and kissed.
“You’re right, of course, my darling,” he began, keeping hold of her hand and giving it another kiss, which left her with the distinct urge to jerk her hand away from him, something she was prevented from doing because he had what almost amounted to a death grip on her fingers. “I fear the sight of you had me quite losing my head for a second, although I must add that I’m not sure I like what you’ve done with the hair on your head. If memoryserves me correctly, it used to be a vibrant gold, but now it seems to be a somewhat mousy shade of blond.”
“I believe that’s because it’s long overdue for a wash.”
His smile slid from his face. “May I assume you’ve suffered from some type of mishap that is responsible for you abandoning expected grooming practices?”
“I was abducted, George. I would think the answer to that is obvious.”
He gave her hand a pat, a tic appearing on his forehead when she finally pried her hand away from him. “You used to enjoy when I held your hand.”
“It’s amazing how things change with time.”
His lips curved into another smile. “Ah, I understand now. You’re still wounded because I was forced to marry another woman. However, I’m sure you’ll be delighted to learn that I have every intention of making up for that regrettable circumstance. Believe me when I tell you that I’ve pined for you for years, dreaming of the day I’d finally be able to see you again.”
