Beautiful Tempest(22)

Another loud thud came from behind her, which she guessed was Jeremy being tossed into the boat as well. They wouldn't bring him along if he was dead, would they? Small hope, but hope nonetheless. Then the boat swayed alarmingly as the others got into it and took up the oars.

Not much had been said during the entire kidnapping other than shouted curses, groans, and what Bastard had said there at the end. The thugs remained silent as the longer rowboat was maneuvered about and swiftly rowed away from shore. She faced the riverbank now and saw other men being carried or helped down the stairs to that other longboat. She couldn't see Percy's coach, but she could just make out the top of Jeremy's chaise beyond the low wall at the top of the stairs, and the bigger coach behind it. Had it followed them all the way from Berkeley Square?

Were the coaches going to be abandoned there? Someone would find the vehicles, but they wouldn't know whom they belonged to unless some of Jeremy's men escaped-if any of them were still alive. But then she saw the coach behind the chaise turn about and head back the way they'd come, and Percy's was close behind it. So the coaches were going to be disposed of? Oh, God, the bodies, too? And the continued silence was telling. Only the one order had been given, making her realize how well planned this abduction must have been.

And then a sack was placed over her head-again. Why? She knew who had her this time, so what was the point of blindfolding her? Unless it was to cover her face? He'd done that before, kept her completely isolated from his men. Did he not want the pirates to get a good look at her?

A damned small sack had been tugged down over her head and now pressed tightly against her nose. Small compensation that it blocked most of the stink of the river, a smell she was actually familiar with, as many times as her family had come down to the docks to bid one of her five Anderson uncles good-bye before he sailed.

She knew their destination had been reached when the boat rocked against one of the ships. She was picked up, twisted about, and hefted over a shoulder for the climb up the ladder. If that sack hadn't been so tight, it might have fallen off with her head halfway down the man's back.

The deck was crossed, a door was opened, and she heard more than one set of footsteps entering the room behind her. She was startled when someone said, "I think he broke my bloody jaw."


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A chuckle. "If it's broke, you wouldn't be saying it's broke, now would you, mate?"

Neither voice belonged to Bastard, but a grunt was the response. Then Jack was dropped on something soft low to the floor. Whoever had carried her aboard had at least bent over to do it, so the landing didn't quite knock the breath from her. Bastard? She didn't know if he had carried her or was even in the room.

But she wasn't untied. Her boots were pulled off instead, though she got in a good kick to someone's chest before the last boot was confiscated. Her dagger clattered on the floor when it fell out of one. One of the men snickered. But they hadn't yet found the pistol in her pocket, and she turned over to lie on it, not very comfortable, but she wasn't about to make it easy for them to find it.

But they weren't looking for more weapons; they were binding her feet together. Once that was done, she heard a marching away and the door was closed. But one of them might still be in there, unmoving. Bastard. And she wouldn't know if he was there unless he moved or said something because they hadn't removed the sack from her head!





Chapter Ten




SHE WAS LEFT ALONE too long, giving her too much time to think. It was such an elaborate plan, charming her at a ball, the notes, the roses. If he had picked anywhere else in London for this final rendezvous, it would never have occurred to her that it was Bastard pulling these strings. She still found it hard to believe he'd actually been her mystery man, and maybe he wasn't. He had arranged it, certainly, had even used the disguise tonight until she got close enough for him to spring his trap. But it took finesse to pull off the role of a gentleman, so it was far more likely that he'd hired an actor to charm and intrigue her at the ball. The man had been English. His diction had been cultured. He'd been everything Bastard wasn't!

Frustrated by their utter failure, still worried about Jeremy's condition, still lying uncomfortably on her pistol to keep it hidden beneath her, she closed her eyes to wait out this ordeal. Before much longer, she heard the door open and close, then a single set of footsteps moving toward her and stopping near her back.

"Your brother isn't dead-if you were wondering."