“Oi. Be careful, will ye?”
“Sorry,” she muttered while using the opportunity to reach out and slide her hand over a nearby table. Her fingers traced an uneven shape and she grabbed it, tucking it neatly against her wrist as she righted herself and kept moving.
“Tie ’er up before she causes more trouble,” Mitch said.
“It’s not like she’ll give us much trouble when she can’t see,” Oswald said.
“She’ll be trouble enough if she keeps banging into things,” Mitch countered, “and with a good piece of rope, we’ll know where we’ve got ’er.”
Louise quickly shoved the item she’d grabbed - a short metal rod of some sort - up her sleeve while Oswald guided her to a chair.
“Sit,” he commanded.
Louise did as she was told, her knee bumping the table in front of her. Oswald shuffled ’round to her back and pulled her wrists together behind her.
“’Ere,” Mitch said. “Use this.”
A rough piece of rope scraped her skin. She winced in the hope Oswald might ease his grip. He didn’t. Instead he pulled the rope tighter. “There. That ought to do.”
“Are ye done?” Mitch asked. “Come ’ere then. Yer penmanship’s better than mine.”
Oswald crossed to the opposite side of the table and dropped into a chair beside his friend. Louise shifted in her seat and attempted to gauge her chance of escaping her bindings. It seemed to be slim to none. She huffed in frustration.
“Shut up,” Mitch told her. “Now write the bloody ransom note, Oswald, so we can be done with this chit for good.”
“Where should I tell the viscount to meet us?” Oswald asked moments later.
Louise rolled her eyes. “He’s an earl, not a viscount.”
“If we want yer opinion we’ll ask for it,” Mitch said. “Go on, Oswald, cross out the viscount part and put earl instead.”
Good lord. Louise wasn’t sure which one was daftest. “If you like, I can dictate it for you.”
Mitch stood and was suddenly pulling her head back so roughly she feared he’d remove a fist full of her hair. “What? So ye can put some secret message in it? Ye must think we’re stupid.”
“I’m only trying to help myself. If the ransom is well written, Papa will be far more likely to take notice.”
“Oh, ’e’ll take notice all right. Oswald, ’and me that knife over there.”
“Can’t ye get it yerself? I’m tryin’ to write the letter.”
“Oswald.” Mitch’s voice held a very distinct note of warning. “Give me the bloody knife this instant.”
Oswald muttered a curse but did as asked. Louise tracked his movements while pressing her feet into the floorboards. Her heart pounded hard against her breast as a cool sweat broke out at the base of her neck. He handed the knife to Mitch and returned to his seat.
Mitch leaned in closer to her. A menacing chuckle curdled her insides. His stench, a combination of sweat and stale breath, turned her stomach. She was going to die here because of this madman. He’d already killed the coachman without a moment’s pause, and while she’d initially thought he’d need her alive in order to press her father for money, he might try to trick him instead.Afterkilling her.
The blade settled firmly against her throat, the sharp edge nicking her flesh just enough to keep her from breathing.
“Now then,” Mitch said, “just so we’re clear. Yer life is in my ’ands.”
“Our ’ands,” Oswald corrected.
“Just write the damn letter,” Mitch ordered his friend. He pressed the blade harder against Louise. “One more word out of ye and I’ll cut ye wide open. Is that clear?”
“We need ’er,” Oswald said. “’Er father will want to see ’er before ’e gives us the money. ’Ow much should I ask for, by the way?”
There was a pause, and then, “ ‘Ow much do ye reckon she’s worth? One million pounds?”
