Adrian stared down the length of the table, then told them all grimly, “Finn O’Leary took my wife, so my plan is simple. I’m going to kill the bastard.”
20
The blindfold Samantha was forced to wear during her abduction had been removed. Her wrists, however, were still bound behind her back. The leather cord digging into her flesh restricted her movements. It prevented her from grabbing the blade that was strapped to her thigh or the hairpins placed in her coiffure. She’d already tried numerous times but to no avail.
Exhausted from the futile efforts, she relaxed against the backrest of the chair in which she sat — the only seat the room had to offer. Her mouth and throat were horribly dry. A drink would be welcome, though she wouldn’t dare swallow anything she received from her captors.
Bloody bastards, the lot of them.
Annoyed with herself for becoming a victim, she pulled on her restraints once more, this time with increased force, and winced in response to the sting from a now-open wound. Panting lightly, she studied her dim surroundings and uttered a groan of frustration.
This shouldn’t have happened.
She should not be here and yet she was, exactly as O’Leary no doubt intended. And Murry…
She dared not wonder what had happened to him.
She should not have let Murry leave her side. Whatever slim chance they’d had of avoiding capture, it had been lost the moment he’d gone to face their attackers alone. A mistake that might have cost him his life.
The thought made her heart burn with rage. Not only at O’Leary but also at herself. She’d had her hairpins after all, along with the pistol she kept in her reticule.
But she hadn’t been thinking of the possible danger to either herself or Murry just then, not with Adrian facing a new murder to solve. And she’d extracted her pistol too late. Squeezing her eyes shut, her mind filled with the recollection of what had occurred in the moments that followed.
The carriage doors had swung open, revealing two men. One was the same hulking thug who’d blocked her escape when she’d met Finn O’Leary for the first time. The other had been shorter, though equally stocky. Both had aimed their pistols toward her, assuring her she would be shot if she tried anything.
Despair had prevailed, not because she’d feared for herself, but rather because she’d feared for Murry. Adrian’s loyal valet was nowhere in sight.
“What have you done with him?” she’d asked while her heart thumped wildly against her breast. “Where’s my servant?”
All she’d received in response were some arrogant smirks.
She squeezed her eyes tighter and shivered at the reminder of those men placing their hands upon her. Their pawing fingers connecting with hers when they’d wrenched her pistol from her grasp made her stomach turn with disgust. A wave of nausea hit her, forcing her to gulp down air in an effort to fight it off.
“Where is my servant?” She’d repeated the question even as they blindfolded her. Again when they dragged her from her carriage and shoved her into another. “What have you done with him and my coachman?”
One of the men had knocked on the carriage ceiling, prompting it to take off. “Both were sent off on foot.”
Having heard no shots, Samantha had no reason to think this wasn’t the case. In all likelihood, their purpose would be to let Adrian know what had happened.
She clung to this possibility as she studied her current surroundings. The paint on the walls of the room was peeling, the floorboards stained with dark splotches, lending an overall sense of squalidness to the space.
The stench of filth and the general gloom that hung in the air when she’d finally stepped from the carriage reminded her of St. Giles. No doubt she was in some sort of slum, though it could be any. They’d driven around for what she would estimate being a good half hour. St. Giles wasn’t too far from Mayfair. Jacob’s Island was slightly farther.
Wherever they were, it did not matter. Adrian would tear London apart to find her.
She glanced toward the only window the room had to offer. Covered in grime, it concealed the view. What was the chance she could escape through it? When she’d arrived here, she’d had to climb stairs, so there might be a direct drop on the opposite side of the blacked-out pane.
Wrists bound and dressed as she was in a ballgown, attempting to leap from this height could lead to a dangerous fall. Plus, the moment she broke the glass she’d have to be swift or the men would surely catch her. Had she not been with child she might have risked it. In her current condition, however, she did not dare.
This left her with no other choice but to wait and see how the situation unfolded. Finn O’Leary had captured her for a reason.
He wanted to see Adrian destroyed and clearly meant to use her to this end. How, she’d no idea, but at least she still lived. And as long as this was the case she’d gather whatever information might aid her later.
Approaching footsteps drew her attention. She straightened her spine and stared at the door, heard a bolt sliding sideways, then the sound of a key being turned.
The door creaked open and Finn O’Leary’s sleek figure appeared. Hands in his pockets, he entered the room and kicked the door shut behind him. He gave no orders for one of his men to stand guard. No one even bothered to slide the bolt back into place.
Samantha stood and met his pale blue gaze. A satisfied smirk tugged at his lips. He was just as handsome as she remembered, though in that chilling way that froze the blood in her veins. This was the sort of man who’d make love to a woman, then slit her throat when she failed to compliment his efforts.
