Once he gets the information he wants, he's going to kill me.
Chapter 23
Why in the devil were there so many people moving about on the pavement today? Adam was having a bloody difficult time seeing his wife. It was rather like the crowds at Newmarket cheering on their horses—without the horses and without the cheering. Just a packed mass of humanity.
Emma's height—or lack of it—also contributed to his difficulty in seeing her. Several tall men walking behind her obscured her from his view. He regretted that he'd chosen to ride in the cart at a discreet distance behind her. "Can we not move up a bit more?" he asked the soldier driving the cart.
"If you'd like." The driver flicked the ribbons, and they gained several feet on the pedestrians to their right.
When her ermine bonnet came into view, he sighed with relief, but he didn't like the way the man behind her was pressing so closely against her. "Stay at this pace. I want to keep her in our view."
She began to move to her right. She likely wanted to get away from the rude man behind her.
Adam tensed. The damned man was also moving to the right!
She slipped into an alley.
That man followed her.
Fear knotted inside him. What the hell was she doing? "Stop!"
Adam leapt from the cart. He was knocked to the ground by a horse coming up on their right. "Watch where yer going! You could be killed," the horseman shouted.
Adam got up and tried to race toward the pavement, toward that alley. His blasted knee hurt like the devil. Limping, he pushed through the pedestrians and rounded the corner onto the alley.
His heart stopped.
A dilapidated coach sped down the alley and rounded the corner to the next street.
He started after it, running as fast as he could on the injured knee. He didn't care about the pain. All that mattered was getting her.
One of his own soldiers flew past him. When he reached the point where the carriage had turned, he stopped. Adam caught up with him.
There was no sign of the coach.
He wife had been abducted. Ashburnham would kill her this time.
Adam had to save her.
* * *
Just when Emma’s wrists were starting to heal, the rough rope which bound her hands in front of her cut into the sore flesh. And once again, a thick cloth covered her mouth. She couldn't even ask where she was being taken.
An abduction in broad daylight meant Ashburnham was desperate. He was going to kill her.
I've brought this upon myself. She had offered to be bait. How could a simple clerk have outwitted all those Birmingham soldiers as well as her husband? She'd put too much faith in Adam's abilities. Now she suffered the consequence of her naiveté.
She had imbued her husband with every admirable trait a man could possess. Not only that, she was convinced he was the best in the world at each. Nothing could possibly happen to her when one as perfect as Adam was watching her.
Wherever they were taking her, it wasn't close to Piccadilly. They rode along for nearly an hour. Through a frayed hole in the curtains at the carriage window she could glimpse the narrow streets they sped along, glimpse the even narrower buildings in various stages of decay. This was a section of London she'd not yet seen.
They must be drawing nearer to the Thames because the foghorns sounded closer. The rickety houses gave way to huge warehouses. It was to one of these they took her.
The coach came to a stop. The brute next to her threw open the door, disembarked, and yanked her out. She surveyed her surroundings. Not a soul could be seen. Across the lane was an abandoned building, its windows either missing or broken, part of its roof caved in. The building in front of them also appeared to be abandoned.
Even if her mouth had not been bound, she couldn't have called for help. There was no one to hear her in so isolated a place.
It was just her, her captor, and the man who'd driven the carriage. Both men were fairly youthful, and both looked vaguely familiar. It took her a moment to realize the two bore a strong resemblance to James Ashburnham. They must be his brothers. Kinship produced loyalty. She had no hope of buying them off. Even if she could speak.
A brother got on each side of her, grabbing her upper arms, as they forced her into the building to their front. On the ground floor, crates from the Ceylon Tea Company were stacked—confirmation that James Ashburnham was responsible for her abduction. Would he also be her murderer?
They went up a flight of stairs, careful to avoid boards where the old wood had rotted away.
"Is my husband being kept here?"