Louise would probably have laughed hysterically at that point if she’d been able to do so. Clearly, these men had no concept of how much money this was, besides simply being a lot. Obviously, they imagined her father was clad in gold from head to toe and owned a bottomless coffer with endless supplies of coin at his disposal. They were mad, the both of them, which was no comfort whatsoever. Quite the contrary considering they were armed and had little regard for human life.
“That ought to do it,” Oswald said. “’Eere’s what I’ve got so far: To the ’onorable Earl of Grass Moor. Yer Grace - we ’ave yer daughter and are ’olding ’er captive. If ye want ’er back, we’ll give ’er to ye in exchange for a million pounds.”
“Excellent,” Mitch said while Louise fought the urge to correct her father’s title and the misused form of address. Even though Mitch had stepped away from her again, she chose to keep quiet this time. “Now say something about ’im comin’ to meet us the day after tomorrow at the oak ten miles north of Chipswitch. That ought to give ’im enough time to gather ’is fortune.”
Louise pressed her lips together and tried to ignore the two idiots holding her captive. She’d ridden through Chipswitch that morning and in spite of the terrifying speed at which she’d been travelling, she’d still been able to notice the scenery, which had consisted of many oak trees. And that was without considering the fact that her father would probably bring an army with him, if indeed he himself chose to come and he didn’t just hire some fellow to fetch her home for him. Either way, Mitch and Oswald were delusional if they thought they’d survive a hostage exchange.
She shook her head while they kept plotting and writing. If only she were still in Dorset with Marcus. Her heart ached just thinking of him, gone to Berlin without any clue of the danger she faced. He might already be in France, hundreds of miles from where she was. And if these two imbeciles got their way, she would soon return home. Once that happened she’d be married off to Scarsdale with swift efficiency, that much was certain. Provided her father didn’t murder her first.
God, how had her life become so intolerable?
Truth was, it had always been like this. Her position had never granted her much of a choice in any regard. Her parents had dictated what she did, where she went, and with whom she socialized. They’d forced her to have her eyes couched on multiple occasions, had refused her the treatment of her own choosing, and now intended to stop her from ever being remotely happy.
She took a few steadying breaths to stop the tears that threatened. She’d not cry now. not with Mitch and Oswald as witnesses. But one thing was clear. She could not return home. Not now when she’d gotten this far. Somehow, she’d have to escape, grab a horse, and get to Dover.
Again she tugged on her wrists, contorting her hands and flexing her fingers until the rod she’d stuck up her sleeve started moving. If she could just get it free, maybe the added space would help loosen her bindings.
“Right. I’ll take this to London,” Mitch said after he and Oswald had shared a bite to eat. “Do ye think ye can manage to look after ’er until I get back?”
“Shouldn’t be ’ard,” Oswald said. “She’s tied to a chair after all, so I doubt she’ll be much trouble.”
Mitch snorted. “She’s a woman. Causing trouble is what she’ll do best.”
Refraining from cursing him to perdition, Louise attempted to reach her left wrist with her right fingers. She grazed the tip of the rod and gave it a push, deciding it would be easier for her to move it further up inside her sleeve than to pull it out. It gave way ever so slightly while Mitch stood and prepared to leave. He crossed to the door. She gave the rod another push, ignored the pain she experienced as its sharp tip grazed her arm. She twisted her wrist backward, and forced the rod past the edge of her ropes. It came loose, allowing her more leeway.
“See ye tomorrow then,” Mitch told Oswald. “And if she tells ye she needs the necessary, don’t let ’er use it.”
Even though Mitch was just a fuzzy shape to her, she still sent him an angry glare.
The door opened and closed as he left. Oswald blew out a breath and had almost returned to his seat when the loud crack of pistol fire chopped the air in half.
“What the ’ell?” Oswald ran to the window and looked out while Louise continued to work her way free from the rope. “’e’s not moving! God’s teeth, I think ’e’s dead!”
Before Louise had a chance to ponder how this had happened or who Mitch’s attacker might be, Oswald was upon her, hauling her up and out of her chair.
“What ’ave ye done?” he screamed.
“Nothing. In case you didn’t notice, I’ve not had a chance to speak with anyone since you took me.”
“Ye think ye’re so clever, don’t ye, what with yer fancy clothes and proper way of talkin’. Must be nice to be born into wealth and privilege.” He yanked her forward by her arm, the sneer in his voice now telling her that he was just as bad as Mitch. Whatever nicety he’d been willing to show her before was gone.
“You in there,” a wonderfully familiar voice shouted from outside. Louise had no idea how Marcus could be here, but somehow he was. “Bring her ladyship outside so I know she’s unharmed. If she’s not, or if anything bad happens to her from this moment on, you’ll meet the same fate as your friend.”
“Bloody toff,” Oswald growled.
He snatched an object from the table. The click it made informed Louise that it was a pistol and that he’d just pulled back the hammer. Thankfully, he was too distracted to notice she’d managed to get herself free from the rope. The rod slid down through her sleeve and landed in the palm of her hand. She clutched the blunt end and waited. Unlike Mitch, she wasn’t keen on killing a man unless she was left with no choice.
“I’ve a better idea,” Oswald shouted back. He dragged Louise forward, positioned her in front of him like a shield, and opened the door a smidgen. “’ow about if ye come in ’ere for a chat?”
“Don’t,” Louise cried as soon as she spotted Marcus’s fuzzy shape. “He’ll kill you!”
Something hard struck the side of her head. Pain spliced her skull and a whimper escaped up her throat. The barrel of his pistol came to rest against her temple. “One more word and ye’ll be joining Mitch. Is that clear?”
Louise said nothing. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to stay upright when all her body wanted was to collapse in a heap. Aware of how useless that would be, she tightened her grip on the rod. It was a miracle she hadn’t dropped it when she’d been hit.
“All right,” Marcus called back. “Just step away from the door.”
“I will, once ye drop yer pistol.”
