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MacNaby raised his free hand to swipe at his forehead with a handkerchief, evidence of his nerves. “I am here to finish my … work.”

“Oh.”

“But now that you are here, I am thinking it would be better to lure Mr. Scott out than to enter the house.”

“What do you mean?”

“Stand up, Miss Carter. We have a journey to take.”

Molly complied, and MacNaby gestured her along. She tried walking slowly in the hopes Miss Dubois might arrive, but he grabbed her by the arm and hurried her through the back garden gateway. Leading her to a narrow corridor that ran alongside the mews, he used his free hand to remove a key from his pocket and unlock a recessed door to the alley.

Molly realized she was being removed from the property, but she was not sure what to do about it, and for the very first time, she longed to hear the poodle approaching, but she had thwarted her own safety by tricking Miss Dubois to go away.

Once in the alley, he tugged her along and Molly peered about, looking for an opportunity to escape, but they were surrounded by high walls and no one was in sight. Not to mention, he still had the pistol trained on her with his finger resting near the trigger. If she tried to run, he might panic and shoot her.

They entered a street where she saw a small cart tethered with a single horse and finally noticed he was dressed as a workman in a large overcoat with his hat pulled low. He must have rented the wagon with the coin that Nicholas had mentioned had been given to him by Lady Blackwood to fulfill her quest.

Molly was in trouble, fear eroding her composure. MacNaby was going to make her vanish without a trace. She could only hope that Miss Dubois would sound the alarm, but that might take some time, because her chaperon would believe she had merely run off to escape her company.

Molly hesitated, but felt the stock of the pistol jammed against her ribs.

“Do not think about causing any trouble.”

“No trouble, Mr. MacNaby. Would you like me to drive the wagon for you?”

The butler’s brows arched, taken aback by her offer. But Molly had decided her wits were her one defense against the man. Offering to take the reins might help coax him out of his agitated state. If she could calm him while reminding him that she was a real person with hopes and dreams, perhaps she might be able to reason with him.

Would Lady Blackwood’s vile corruption of his mind relent in the face of persuasive logic?

“So you can hold your pistol steady. We do not want it to accidentally fire, do we?”