“I’ll do my best,” he promised as Sundenbury set about cutting his bindings.
In truth, all he cared about was saving Caro.
To the devil with himself.
Chapter 14
Going to Jeremiah Jones had proven a dreadful, terrible mistake. Caro acknowledged it to herself as she stood, bound and miserable, in the corner of the shabby rooms where he had taken her the night before. Their meeting in the private rooms of the Beggar’s Purse had quickly proven disastrous, and largely because she had forgotten the cardinal Sutton rule.
She had been unarmed. The endless span of hours she’d been forced to spend alone, wondering what would befall her, had turned into an equally endless round of self-chastisement. One which continued now, as the morning waned into afternoon and she remained tied and alone, cold, tired, and hungry.
Stupid, stupid Caro. You reckless, witless fool.
She’d gone in search of Jeremiah Jones without preparation and without proper thought, so desperate had she been to keep Gavin from fighting the man. She’d had no knife, no pistol hidden in her reticule, nothing but Randall awaiting her outside. And even that attempt at protecting herself had proven fruitless when Jones had extracted a small, lethal-looking pistol from his coat and ordered her to leave the tavern through a rear entrance.
She’d had no other choice, she reminded herself.
But that did not mean she had not spent the sleepless night berating herself for what she had done. She had gone to Jeremiah Jones thinking the money she had to offer would have been sufficient lure to keep him from facing Gavin in the match. But a swift change had overtaken him during her explanation. Sensing the danger in the air, she’d begun creeping steadily toward the door. That had been when Jones had withdrawn his pistol and told her he had a different idea in mind for her.
You just may be useful to me, Miss Caroline Sutton, he’d said, before telling her he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot her if she cried out for help or tried to run. He’d forced her into a hack, and she’d spent their trip to his dingy rooms frantically plotting a means of escape. But Jones had been a step ahead. He’d made certain to threaten the hackney driver and a young child and his mother they passed on the street. Rather than take the risk he would attempt to hurt another or her, Caro had gone.
When they were within his rooms, she had frantically seized upon a pitcher, attempting to strike him with it. But Jones had been faster. He’d knocked the pitcher from her hand, sending it to the floor where it smashed into hundreds of jagged porcelain shards. And then he had slapped her with biting force.
The blow had been enough to make dark stars speckle her vision and to stun her sufficiently that he’d had her wrists bound with a soiled neckcloth before she could so much as fight him off. She’d been no match for Jones’ intimidating size and beast-like strength.
But the mystery of what he intended to do with her, and why, remained. It had been looming in all the hours since his disappearance. The more time that passed, the more heightened her worry became. She had been pacing the chamber for what must have been hours as daylight grew increasingly brighter through the lone window. Her search of the room had yielded nothing thus far that would enable her to cut herself free of the binding.
But surely, surely, there must be something, somewhere. A weapon. Something sharp…
That was when she noticed it, a jagged shard of white porcelain peeking from beneath the bed. Jones had swept up the broken pitcher before leaving, but apparently, he had missed a piece.
With a cry of sheer relief, she fell to her knees on the stained carpets and seized the broken piece of crockery. Holding it carefully between her wrists, she began sawing at the neckcloth. Her fingers, cramping from the tightness of her bonds, made her drop the shard to the floor. Taking a deep, calming breath, she picked it back up and began again.
Her heart was pounding, her hands trembling. In the hall beyond the door, she heard voices and footsteps and she tried to work faster, praying it was not him, and that she would have enough time to free herself and escape before Jones returned.
But just as she was beginning to make progress, her tormentor appeared on the threshold, a pistol once more pointed directly at her heart. The shard of porcelain fell from her fingers in defeat. She did her best to hide it with her gown, to feign nonchalance so that he would not notice she had been trying to escape her binding.
“Time to come with me, Caroline Sutton,” he drawled. “I’m taking you to your brother, and after that I’ll be taking Gavin Winter to Rothisbone.”
Cold, hard dread filled her stomach.
* * *
Gavin was doinghis damnedest to remain calm, but it certainly wasn’t easy. He was out of his mind with worry for Caro, and he was scared as hell that Jones had harmed her or worse. If he had, nothing and no one would stop Gavin from beating the bastard to death.
“Calm yourself, Winter,” Jasper Sutton told him. “You’re going to wear a goddamn hole in my carpets and I’ve just had them replaced.”
He stalked the length of Sutton’s office and pinned Caro’s brother with a glare. Sutton had arranged for the meeting with Jeremiah Jones to occur at The Sinner’s Palace. Neutral territory. In true Winter fashion, Gavin’s siblings had not been content to keep their beaks out of the situation.
They’d initially demanded Jones come to The Devil’s Spawn until Sutton had correctly pointed out such a meeting place would only serve to make Jones suspicious. As it was, Sutton had replied to Jones’ note confirming he now had Gavin Winter in his custody at The Sinner’s Palace and he was ready to make a trade. If their plan of battle was to work, they needed Jones to believe Sutton was willing to surrender Gavin in exchange for Caro’s safe return.
“How am I to be calm when that rotter has Caro?” he snarled, though he knew Sutton was not wrong in this, the jibe about the carpets aside.
Demon was at his side, planting a calming hand on his shoulder. “Try to remain calm, brother. I know this is deuced difficult, but you’ve got to stay strong.”
“Trying,” he bit out.
Trying and failing.
