Corey McFadden (44 page)

Slumped over against the door, apparently asleep, was Maude, her face a white blur in the dim flickers of light that the window flap allowed in. Radford could just make out a nasty purpling bruise on her temple. His heart stopped as he strained to see if her chest rose and fell. At last he was rewarded when he heard, rather than saw, her take a deep breath. He could not see her hands. No doubt she was trussed as he was. A glance down showed him that her feet were bound together.

Furiously, his mind began working, anger cutting like a knife through the fog of the chloroform. There were only two people he could think of who would be behind such a plot, and as his sources had informed him that Sommesby was safely ensconced in France, it had to be John Romney. Even as he thought the name, Radford knew he was right. The chloroform would not be the work of Sommesby, who favored a quick and fatal strike in the dark. No, this was too elaborately slow for Sommesby and too desperate. Claire’s detectives must have done their work after all.

While his mind worked through the situation, he lifted his face to catch the cool, wet wind that blew in from the window flap. He pulled at his wrists and noted with some slight satisfaction that the feeling was returning to his hands, which felt like they were being stuck with a thousand pins. He listened. All he could hear was the rattle of the coach and the clip clop of the horses’ hooves, punctuated by an occasional shout of raucous laughter from somewhere in the streets.

Sniffing the air, he could smell city smells, unpleasant, rotting odors, an area unwashed and unclean. He knew that wherever they were it was not in a part of town he wanted to be without his pistols or at least his sword cane, and preferably a similarly armed friend or two. Certainly not tied up like a Christmas goose, his lady bound and unconscious beside him.

The coach gave a sudden lurch, and Maude’s limp body slipped away from the door and down toward the front of the coach, her head coming to rest at an awkward angle. Radford heard several loud shouts then the crack of a whip. He could feel the coach spring forward and heard the voices, now shouting curses, fading behind as the coach gained speed. He muttered a quick prayer that John, or whoever was driving, could handle himself in this foul neighborhood.

In the dim light, part of Maude’s back was now visible and he could see where her wrists were bound behind her. He wiggled his fingers. Good. The feeling was almost back to normal. Now if he could just get his back to hers, he could work at getting her hands untied.

Slowly, and in great pain, he pushed himself against the front wall of the coach, straining to lever himself up onto the seat. At last, his patience was rewarded. Up on the seat finally, he sat back against the squabs, his chest heaving at the exertion, his muscles screaming in disapproval at the grotesque maneuvers he had put them through.

He turned away from Maude and slid backwards up against her rear. He reached out as far as his arms would go and felt against her back. There! His fingers touched hers. They were cold and lifeless and he had to repress a shudder of fear, reminding himself that he had heard her breathing.

With no idea where they were going or how much time he would have before the carriage stopped, he fumbled awkwardly at the knots he could feel but not see. His fingers were stiff and stupid, and he swore at his own clumsiness as he picked blindly at the tight ropes. Finally he felt a small give in one of the knots and he slipped one finger beneath it to work at it some more while pulling at it from the top with his other hand. The position was awkward and painful since his own ropes sliced into his wrists with every movement, but gradually he felt the knot give until at last he was able to pull the rope free of Maude’s hands.

His elation vanished as he saw her hands fall lifeless to her sides. What good would it do him to get her untied if she remained unconscious? When the carriage came to a stop and John came for them, what could he do, still bound as he was? He sat back against the seat, his eyes closed, fighting despair and a pounding pain which stabbed through his head.

Another sudden lurch caused Maude’s limp body to shift again, and she settled further down, now bent over nearly doubled. Fighting against the pain and feeling of hopelessness, Radford eased himself closer to her, angling his body so that his bound hands could grasp one of hers. It felt warmer to the touch, now, he was relieved to feel, as he pulled at her to right her again. She fell against him, her head lolling on his shoulder, with no more awareness than a rag doll.

Sighing, he bent over as far as he could, until he could smell the lilac in her hair and see the way the errant tendrils curled around her sleeping face. With a snarl, he raised his head, staring at the front wall of the coach as if he could send daggers through it to pierce the heart of the coachman. He would not sit here and wait for John Romney to play his hand, not if he tore every tendon in his body getting them free.

Dropping with an inelegant thud to the floor of the coach, Radford worked himself around so that his hands could reach the ropes at Maude’s ankles. Slowly, painstakingly, he worked blindly at the knots, pleased to find that these were not tied so tightly as had been the bonds at her wrists.

As he worked, he listened and sniffed the air. All was silent, save for the sounds of the coach and horses. There were no city sounds, and no city smells either. All he could smell now was the rain on a country road and the lingering evil of the chloroform. Gone now, too, was the flickering light afforded by occasional street lamps. It was nearly pitch black inside the coach and Radford had to strain to make out anything at all.

Finally, he felt the last of the knots give under his fingers and he pulled the rope free. He rubbed at Maude’s ankles for a moment to restore the circulation, furious when through her silk stockings he felt the wheals left by the ropes.

Maude was now free, for all the good it would do them. She lay like a stone against the squabs, but her chest still rose and fell with regularity. Radford eyed the window next to her head. If he could just pull the flap open, she would get cold air and rain in her face and that might be enough to waken her. Unless...but, no, he would not even consider the ugly purple lump on the side of her head. It had to be the chloroform that kept her unconscious. If John had dosed them each with the same amount, it stood to reason that Maude would have been much more heavily affected than the much larger Radford.

Sliding over to the window, Radford leaned toward the flap and took the catch in his teeth, working at it with his tongue and front teeth until he pulled it forward, then thrust it back through the grommet, freeing the flap. A blast of wind and rain caught him in the face and he sat back with a satisfied smile as he saw the water splatter on Maude’s face and the gusts blow at her curls. He pushed his face against her ear and whispered to her, murmuring endearments and blandishments for her to awaken. This close to her, he could smell the chloroform lingering on her skin. That bastard. He would die for this.

Her skin felt warm as he nuzzled her, and through the chloroform, he could smell the lilacs. She was so beautiful. When this was over... He heard a faint moan. Sitting up abruptly, he stared, hardly daring to hope that she had stirred. There, he could just make out the flicker of her lashes.

“Maude! Maude! Wake up,” he called out as loudly as he dared, lest he be heard by the coachman.

She moaned again and this time her head moved, lolling away from the window. With his face against hers, he pushed her back so that the wind and rain came directly in on her face again. She began to sputter and moan and he could have sworn he heard a tone of aggravation in it. He watched expectantly and soon enough her eyes flickered open. They were vacant and unseeing, and his heart stopped beating as he recalled without wanting to what permanent damage a well-placed head wound could do. As he watched her in the dim light, her eyes focused and she stared at his face, as if wondering who he was. She moved her head slightly, as if to see better and winced, apparently in pain.

“Hush, my love, don’t move yet,” Radford murmured, his voice caressing her the way his hands could not. Her eyes roamed over his face. A soft light came into them and she smiled up at him.

“Where—where are we?” she croaked, then surprised at the weakness in her own voice, asked, “what’s wrong with me?”

“Hush a minute, Maude, don’t talk.” Radford turned his head to the window and listened. He heard nothing but the sound of the coach and horses as before. He turned back to her and forced himself to smile reassuringly.

“We are in a coach, we’ve been abducted. Now don’t say anything,” he added quickly as he saw her eyes widen. “I believe it’s your cousin, John, or his henchman, but I can’t be sure yet, and he is taking us out of the city, I don’t know where.”

Maude struggled to sit up, wincing again at the obvious pain it caused her. She sat back against the seat and closed her eyes, as if the struggle to reason it out was too much. “I feel absolutely foul and I can hardly think,” she said weakly. “All I remember is being summoned to you. You were hurt in a carriage accident. You didn’t send for me?”

“No, and no doubt you did not send for me either. Although I received a charming little note from you.”

Maude gazed at him, the pain and confusion evident in her eyes.

“I don’t remember any note, but I can’t seem to make much sense out of any of this. What makes you think we are being abducted?”

“Well, to begin with, my dear, we were both bound hand and foot,” he said drily. “Then there is the matter of the chloroform.”

“Chloroform?” Maude said quietly. “Yes, you are right. Aunt Claire always has chloroform about. She says it is good for a toothache but I cannot abide the stuff.” She held up her hands. “I am not bound now, but my hands and feet certainly hurt. How did we get untied?”

He smiled at her. “Well, there’s where I could use some help from you, Maude. Frankly, I thought you’d never wake up.”

He leaned forward and she could see that his hands were still bound behind him. “Oh, Edward! Why didn’t you say something sooner? Here, let me help you.”

She reached forward and felt at his wrists, fumbling in the dark at the ropes. He sat patiently, grinning as she swore at the stubborn knots.

“Umm, Maude?” he ventured.

“What? Damnation!” she bit off, concentrating on a knot that had just torn one of her nails below the quick.

“When you are the Countess of Radford, you won’t use those sorts of expressions in public, will you?”

“Only when something aggravates me, my love.” The knot gave under her relentless fingers.

“Well, that certainly relieves my mind.”

Gradually, the knot was worked loose until finally the rope fell to the seat. Radford pulled his arms forward, wincing at the stab of pain through his shoulders. Maude rubbed at his hands and wrists.

“They are raw where the ropes have cut you,” she exclaimed. “See, here, I feel blood.”

“No matter, love. What’s important is that I’m untied. See what you can do for my feet, will you?”

“Oh mercy!” she cried, diving for the floor. “I forgot about your feet.” Kneeling on the floor, she worked the ropes up to the top of his boots. “There, now I have more slack to work with. And at least the boots have kept the rope from tearing at you.”

For a moment she worked in silence as the knots came loose more easily than had the ones at his wrists. Finally, he felt the rope pull free and she held it up in triumph. As she moved to put it down on the floor, he heard her sharp intake of breath.

“What is it?” he cried, sitting forward, suddenly alert. “Did you hear anything?”

“No, it’s not that,” Maude said sitting up, her face wreathed in fury. “See here, what’s on the floor. My father’s bag. See, it’s got his initials on it, PLR, Peter Lewis Romney. I remember this bag from when I was little. I haven’t seen it since—” her voice broke and she took a deep breath. “How dare the bastard take my father’s things?” she cried, and threw it onto the seat. “I shall burn it now that he has soiled it with his filthy touch!” She crumpled to the seat with a sob and buried her head in her hands.

He took her in his arms, well aware that her emotions were no match for the evening’s events. “Hush, love, don’t cry about it now. He will pay for all of this, don’t you worry.” He rocked her softly while she cried.

Finally, she pulled away from him and sat up. He took out his handkerchief and mopped inexpertly at her eyes and nose, making her laugh. She turned to gaze with longing at the bag. “I don’t think I can burn it, anyway,” she said with a slight hiccup. “Papa used to take that bag with him when he’d go overnight to London with Mama and leave me behind.” She fingered the initials lovingly. “I remember packing myself in this bag once. I got in and crouched down, and I was so sure Papa wouldn’t see me and I could go with them to London.”

She smiled warmly. “And of course he played along. He threw a pile of shirts in on top of me and made as if the bag was so full he couldn’t lift it. Let me see, there’s an inside pocket with a catch and I tore my dress on it.”

Maude opened the bag wide and peered in, pushing the garments to one side. Suddenly she stopped, a look of confusion on her face quickly replaced by one of joy. “Oh, I can’t believe what an utter fool the man is,” she crowed. “Look what he has left for us!” In triumph, she held up a pistol.

Radford gazed at it stunned and incredulous, then he broke into a laugh and seized her in a great hug. “Oh, Maude, you’ve just saved our lives. Let me see it. Is it loaded?”

He took it from her, and a frown creased her brow. While he checked to make sure the pistol was loaded, Maude pawed through the bag again. “Oh,” she said, leaning back, disappointment and worry lining her face. “I don’t mean to worry you, but this pistol is one of a pair. There’s another and it’s not here in the bag.”

“It really doesn’t matter, Maude. He probably has it with him now. You see, we know he has it, but he doesn’t know we have the other one. In fact, I don’t plan for him to know we’re awake and untied at all. Not until I’m ready to spring at him.” He gazed with appreciation at the pistol. “This is a fine piece of work. It’s old, isn’t it?” He fingered it lovingly.