“I see we have awoken,” he said in a drunken slur. “Your duke should have paid the monies the first time around, then you would not be here as my prisoner.” Now he stood beside her.
His liquor-laden breath nearly made her vomit, and her skin chilled with dread.
“If I take this rag out of your mouth, do you promise not to scream?” His mouth curled into a sadistic grin. “But even if you do, there is no one around to hear you.”
The horrible man pulled the rag out of Emma’s mouth, and she coughed to clear the horrendous taste. “May I please have some water?”
It killed her to beg for water. She cringed when he removed a flask from his coat pocket and brought it to her lips to pour the fiery liquid down her throat.
Emma tried not to gag. But between the taste of cheap brandy and knowing his mouth had touched it, her reflexes had her spitting the stuff out into his face.
Emma never saw it coming until the slap numbed her cheek and lip and the cracking sound split her ears.
Blood. She tasted her own blood. Then the numbness ended and pain set in. Never in her life had anyone hit her. Not even when she was kidnapped as a child. They had actually treated her well.
If the look in her captor’s eyes were any indication, she would have to tread very carefully, because this man looked as though he could and would commit murder.
Ignoring the pounding in her head and her breathlessness, she choked out, “I am sorry. I did not mean to do that.” Would her apology appease the man standing beside her?
“See if I give you another drink.” His hand snaked out and he ran it down her uninjured cheek, down her throat, and across the exposed breast. No, no, no. But his filthy hand curled around her breast and squeezed painfully. Lice would be more welcome then his vile touch. Emma shrank from him, her body vibrating with disgust as sweat broke out on her skin.
“What a lovely piece you are. It is too bad you are already married and no longer a virgin. I really prefer the innocent ones. But maybe in your case I will make an exception.” The dreadful man backed away toward the door. “Let us hope, for your sake, your duke comes through for you.”
Never in all her life had Emma thought one could die of fright. After what she’d just experienced, she realized anything was possible. “Oh, dear Lord in Heaven,” she whispered. The man had touched her intimately. And he had hit her.
Her insides trembled as well as her outsides as she remembered the look of pure evil she glimpsed in his black soulless eyes. Eyes she believed belonged to the devil himself.
And then it hit Emma, and her heart sank to the back of her chest. Would her husband think she ran away to America and not even look for her? No, that was not right; hadn’t she heard the vile man say he expected to be paid for her? Yes, that was what he’d said. Surely her beloved Thomas would do and pay anything to get her back. She fought back the sob rising up her chest.
What if Thomas decided he’d had enough of her?
What if he decided she was too much trouble and not worth the money?
No matter what scenario Emma’s mind conjured up, in her heart she knew Thomas would do anything for her. He loved her. Surely he would not have married her if he didn’t love her. Hadn’t he insisted his siblings marry for love and not for convenience?
Surely that went for him as well?
***
Thomas was beside himself. He wanted nothing more than to pay the ransom to free Emma. Smythe, however, advised against it. His exact words were, “He will probably kill her anyway and run away with the funds. The only thing we can do to ensure the duchess’s safe return is find them.”
Indeed, but how exactly did they find them?
Smythe assured Thomas he and his men were on it. Not to worry, they would have her returned to him by nightfall. Not bloody likely. Thomas wouldn’t let them go without him. So when the Bow Street Runner and three of his trusted men left his home, he, Myles, and Amesbury followed behind them.
Thomas was stupid to think the three of them would not be found out. Any Runner worth his weight in salt would know they were being followed. But he did not care.
Thomas needed to see Emma for himself. Needed to reassure himself that she was unharmed. Needed to know the vilest creature on earth had not touched one hair on her head.
Because if he had, the pistol he carried would put a bullet right between the man’s eyes.
“Wentworth.” Amesbury’s voice startled him.
“What?”
“You are not going to do something stupid, are you?”
The sick laughter that bubbled out of Thomas’s mouth surely did not come from him. “I certainly hope not. But if I do, can I count on you two to have my back. The last thing I want is to be hanged for murder.”