The Rogue (44 page)

She
was fairly sure it was not the same strange, small man who had put
her into the trunk. She sat up clumsily, almost losing her balance.
It was raining, an icy fall of water that dripped onto her face and
hair from the tattered roof over her.

She
was moving, she realized. She was half-lying on a seat, riding in a
two-person surrey that currently lurched down a dark road. The only
light came from the two cheap lanterns attached to the sides of the
surrey. A dingy brown horse pulled them sluggishly, his soaked coat
and slatted ribs showing harshly in the swinging light.

The
small man sat back and smiled grimly at her. "It is about time
you awoke, Jane. I thought perhaps you had died in that trunk."
He didn't sound terribly upset about that possibility.

Jane
pressed herself back against the corner of the seat, clinging to the
jostling surrey frame with one hand. "I—I know you, don't
I?"

The
man didn't bother to look at her again. "Do you?"

"You—"
She peered at him. "You work for my uncle!"

Something
flashed across the small man's face, turning his profile
frighteningly grim for a moment. Then the distant amiability
returned. "Rather, one might say, he worked for me," the
man said cheerfully.

"You?"
Oh, dear. If her uncle had considered her a danger and had threatened
her life, then what might her uncle's superior do with her? Her
stomach chilled as Jane realized that
this
was the mysterious Chimera.

There
was no possibility that he was going to let her live.

"I'm
sure I don't know anything about Uncle Harold's business." It
was a feeble attempt, but worth a try, nonetheless.

Unfortunately,
the small man only snorted. "Please, do not trouble yourself to
deny that you spent your entire visit with your family investigating
your uncle for someone in the British government. Robert has been
giving me every bit of mail that left the household for the past
several months. It was I who had Robert bring that last letter to
your uncle's attention." He slid a look toward her. "What,
no demure protest? No insistence that you were only writing to your
dear old mum?"

"Very
well," Jane said slowly. "I won't deny it."

He
shook his head. "
Mother
.
Do you know, for a time you actually had me believing you were
nothing but another silly debutante?" He pursed his lips.
"Mother… now, who could Mother be, do you think?"

Jane
remained silent. If he didn't know who she worked for then perhaps
she yet had a chance. If she were him, and she had someone who worked
for the other side in her possession—well, someone other than
Ethan, that is.
Ethan,
Ethan, darling, where are you
?—she
would keep them alive and well until she had squeezed every drop of
information out of them that she could before she killed them.

For
a moment, she was distracted by the thought that she might actually
be capable of killing. How dismaying.

The
surrey rocked and jolted, catching her off guard. She fell against
the small man. He shoved her back hard, nearly casting her right out
onto the road. Jane caught herself by the iron handhold on the side
used to pull oneself into the surrey, barely keeping herself from a
spill. Her braid dangled dangerously close to the open chimney of the
carriage lantern. With effort, for her body ached horribly, she
pulled herself upright once more.

A
moment later, she was wondering if perhaps she ought to have let
herself fall. Her bruised body protested as the surrey jolted onward
down this endless, deserted road… Where were they going?

In
the thin light from the carriage lanterns, Jane could make out
nothing but large, featureless, dark buildings set a short way back
from the road. They had large plain doors, like those of a barn.
There was no light anywhere, as if no one lived here.

A
warehouse district, perhaps, like down by the docks. Buildings that
amounted to little more than sturdy walls and roofs to keep the goods
dry until they could be loaded onto the ships…

Oh,
dear. Ships.

Fear
gripped her soundly for the first time. "Where are you taking
me? Why slow yourself down with a—"
Hostage
.
She halted, biting her lip. Best not to give the fellow any ideas.
"With an unwilling companion?"

The
small man made a chucking sound at the horse, which ignored him but
for a defiant swish of its filthy tail. Jane envied the creature its
insouciance. After all, the small man wasn't likely to kill his only
mode of transportation. She only wished she could be so confident of
her own fate.

"I
have a ship to catch—or rather,
we
have a ship to catch. A cabin of our very own all the way to San
Sebastian. There's someone near there who I'm sure would love to meet
you."

Jane's
heart sank. San Sebastián lay on the coast of Spain, nearly on
the border with France.
He
is taking me directly to Napoleon himself
.
The idea of being squeezed for information began to take on a new
shade of horror.

"I've
made considerable mischief in my time here, but I have not achieved
certain goals I was given. I think you'll go some way toward making
up for any shortcomings when we arrive in Paris." He chuckled
dryly, a sound like sand on her nerves. "Do you know, this
particular ship is carrying weapons to the British troops?"

He
smiled at her. "Do you not enjoy the irony?" When she did
not respond, he shrugged. "It required a hefty bribe to get
aboard," the small man said, shifting the reins to one hand in
order to pat his pocket. "I was forced to clean out his
lordship's safe box to buy this passage. Wartime does drive prices up
terribly, doesn't it?"

Jane
didn't like the sound of that. Uncle Harold was as tightfisted as
only a self-indulgent man could be, willing to waste a fortune on
gaming, unwilling to part with a farthing to buy decent shoes for his
daughters. To clean out Lord Maywell's safe box, said Lord Maywell
would have to be quite definitely dead.

"Oh,
poor Aunt Lottie," Jane murmured.

The
small man laughed nastily. "She's better off and I'll wager she
knows it."

That
reminded Jane. All the members of the family must have seen the small
man at some point. Horror rippled through her. "You haven't hurt
them, have you? Aunt Lottie and the girls?" Suddenly Jane felt
more than capable of murder. She found that bleakly reassuring.

But
the small man only snorted. "Why would I? Bloody lot of work,
when they'll never be able to recall more than the fact that I wasn't
tall, or handsome, or particularly well dressed."

Unfortunately,
Jane knew her cousins would say precisely that. If a fellow wasn't
viable prey in the husband-hunt, he might as well not fully exist to
them.

"The
British aristocracy are fools," the man went on. He hunched his
shoulders and put a peevish look on his face. Instantly, he was
transformed into a young fellow not yet twenty, with the sullen
attitude to match. "Whot you lookin' at?"

It
was very eerie. He looked nothing like the ordinary middle-aged
solicitor Jane had first seen in the halls of Maywell House. Then he
straightened, peered down his nose at her, and spoke in cultured
tones. "Is there something amiss, my lady?"

Jane
blinked. Put him in the proper clothing and he could pass in the
finest ballroom as a member of Society.

The
man relaxed, letting the lordly demeanor slide from him like an
unwanted cape. He sent her a bland look, once again the chilling,
unemotional kidnapper.

No
wonder he wasn't worried about being recognized by the ladies of
Maywell House. It was just as well for them, for that obliviousness
had saved their lives.

It
was not, however, such a good thing for Jane, for how could Ethan
find her if he didn't know who had taken her?

She
sat back, considering her options carefully. There was no one about
to hear her call for help, there was no way to leave a clue about
what ship she was on, or even that she'd been carried off English
shores at all! She would simply disappear, leaving Ethan to wonder
forever.

She
was afraid yet again, she realized. It was a familiar sensation.
She'd been frightened for a great deal of her life—frightened
of what would become of her and her mother, frightened of discovery
while in London, frightened of Bedlam, of her uncle, of dying in the
trunk…

The
anger, on the other hand, was something new. It erupted within her
like a long-dormant volcano, looking for any fissure to vent through.

Slowly,
Jane turned to stare at the man sitting beside her on the seat of the
surrey. Yes, she found the idea of killing rather easy to contemplate
at the moment She turned back to stare at the dark buildings around
her without awareness, for her entire attention was focused on her
outside hand.

She
felt her way along the side of the surrey to the rusted fixture that
held the lantern. The heat rising from the sooty glass shield
scorched her bare hand and the loop of wire handle above it seared
her fingers and palm as she gripped it.

She
made no noise, only maintaining her vacant stare, as if she had given
up, as if she had let all the fear of her lifetime wear her down to
helplessness.

The
rusted catch of the fixture resisted her. Her fingers were burning as
she twisted the wire against the stubborn catch. She slid a glance
toward her captor, then pressed her free hand to her belly and
groaned.

He
shifted his attention to her. "What is it?" he snapped.

Jane
shook her head wildly, then clapped her hand over her mouth and
twisted convulsively to lean over the side of the surrey. She was
distantly proud of her own realistic vomiting noises.

"Oh,
for pity's sake," her captor said scornfully behind her. "If
you're the seasick sort, I might just have to kill you right now."

Jane
ignored him and continued retching spasmodically as she fumbled with
the carriage lantern clasp with seared fingers. At last, it came
free.

With
all the strength left in her battered body, Jane swung the oil-filled
lantern in a two-handed arc directly at the small man's face.

He
was too quick for her. He ducked away swiftly, leaving the lantern to
smash harmlessly against the back of the seat. It bounced, slipping
from Jane's grip to fly forward. In a burst of fury, the small man
had Jane by the throat. "I think I
will
kill—"

The
horse screamed in alarm. Both Jane and her captor froze, turning
their heads to see the horse's tail aflame from the leaking lantern
that had struck it. The hapless nag reared and hopped in its traces,
sending Jane and the small man jolting wildly on the seat. Then, with
another fearful scream, the horse bolted.

Her
captor released Jane to grab for the reins that now flapped wildly
behind the horse. A part of Jane urged her to grab the side of the
surrey and hold on—but the fury that swept her made her turn on
her captor with all the pent-up rage of being beaten, kidnapped,
crated, and jostled until she simply couldn't bear one more moment.
She flew at him with teeth bared, clawing at his face and neck,
nearly throwing both of them from the wildly racing surrey.

He
beat her back mercilessly, until her ears rang and she tasted blood
in her mouth, but she could not stop. She struck him with fists and
open hands, without design or even thought. Only her rage fueled her,
rage at being made afraid one too many times.

The
out-of-control surrey careened wildly, rising up on one wheel, then
slamming back down. Jane was thrown back against the seat back. Her
captor took the opportunity to deal her a brutal blow, stunning her
nearly unconscious. She slid away from him, barely aware that he now
scrabbled frantically for the loosed reins.

The
chance came too late, for the surrey began to overturn. With a cry,
the man sprang free. Jane could not react quickly enough. The world
spun over and over, until her head came in contact with the cobbles
and all went black.