Chapter 42
Ramsay had better fear my wrath if I ever chance to meet him again. Because of his foolishness, I have become a veritable prisoner in my own home. I’m not allowed to step even a toe across the threshold without at least two of my brothers tagging along.
And if it weren’t for the nights, I would have Harry to myself, either.
––––––––
The frigid joviality of the greeting drenched Fiona in dread, and she reluctantly turned with some hope of her own that what she knew to be true might not be.
Like Harry, it seemed she was doomed to disappointment.
A knot formed in her throat, and Fiona almost choked while trying to swallow it back. “Lord Ramsay.”
Yes, it was he, though Ramsay was almost unrecognizable under the bruises on his jaw, swollen nose, and blackened eye. Her brothers had indeed done a job on him. A far more thorough one than Aylesbury had been treated to...or rather, Aylesbury had defended himself better.
But not enough of one, it seemed. How had he escaped the authorities? When? What was he doing here in Aylesbury? How long had he been following her? Had he never stopped?
“Haven’t you had enough?” Thankfully, her voice was calm and even disdainful. “You can’t think to have your plan succeed now. I won’t marry you. You have to know that. Even if you forced me, my brothers and Aylesbury would make me a widow before the ink was dry in the register.”
“But darling, who says I want to marry you any longer?” He sneered, his lip curling. “I have other plans for you now. I’m going to make you pay dearly for what you’ve put me through. I will show you every ounce of pain that was dealt me.”
He reached for her, but Fiona danced back. “I’ll cut off every finger that touches me. I’m warning you!”
Despite the warning, his hand clasping hard over her arm, his fingers digging in with bruising strength.
Yanking her toward him until they were practically nose-to-nose, he added with a snarl of hatred, “I intend to leave this behind with every part of me intact. You might not be so lucky. When I am done with you, I will make your brothers pay as well.”
Two men leapt down from the driver’s perch of a carriage not far away, one sporting two black eyes and carrying a cudgel she recognized all too well. He didn’t look any happier to see her than she was to see him. “’Ello, poppet.”
She parted her lips to scream Harry’s name, but her cry emerged choked, almost silenced by the sudden fear that gripped her—fear that Ramsay alone hadn’t been able to inspire. From the look in Crumpky’s eye, Ramsay wasn’t the only one who wanted vengeance.
Ramsay threw back his head and laughed devilishly at her shock.
The sound was so maniacal that Fiona feared he had truly gone insane and felt real panic churning in her gut.
Then Ramsay pulled an all-too-familiar-looking piece of white cloth from his pocket, and Fiona vividly recalled the sick, sweet smell.
The darkness and the loss of her ability to fight back were enough for her to find her voice.
“Harry!”
* * *
Aylesbury skidded to a halt when Fiona called his name, but oddly enough, the young woman he’d been chasing heard it as well, looking curiously over her shoulder. Her eyes locked with his, and even from the distance, Aylesbury could identify the vibrant blue, so much like his own.
“Piper,” he whispered and shook his head in disbelief.
All the times he had thought he’d seen her only to be disappointed, Aylesbury realized he’d never expected to find her. Was it his imagination now, or was it her after all this time? He took another step toward her.
“HARRY!”
The terror in Fiona’s scream was unlike anything he’d ever thought to hear from her. She was no coward. No, if anything, she was incessantly confident. That she would ever scream like that...
Aylesbury whipped around to see Fiona being half-dragged, half-carried away by Ramsay, struggling with all she was worth.
There was only the briefest flash of indecisiveness.
Casting a regretful glance at what may have been his sister now walking away from him, Aylesbury ran back the way he had come.
Back to Fiona.
She was striking Ramsay repeatedly with her free hand, landing some impressive blows while she rained a stream of even more impressive curses down on her kidnapper as Aylesbury sprinted to her aid.
To his disgust, a few high-class bystanders were nearby gawking at the spectacle, but none seemed inclined to come to her aid.
“Let her go, Ramsay,” he yelled as he neared. “You won’t get away with this!”
Ramsay paused to look over his shoulder before waving a hand, signaling to the two other men Aylesbury had failed to notice.
Ramsay’s henchmen.
He recognized them both. The smaller fellow with the bandaged ear was the one who had tried to take Fiona from Wimbledon. The other, slapping a cudgel against the palm of his hand, Aylesbury had even a closer acquaintance of.
Old Crumpky. He’d be looking for his ounce of revenge.
Aylesbury cursed the fact that he wasn’t carrying a weapon with him. No, he had left his pistol in the carriage, sure that he had nothing to fear in his hometown. There was no other choice but to fight for her.
The golf course hatchet was grinning now, flexing his fingers in an age-old invitation to fight, and he wasn’t about to disappoint.
Rather than slowing as he neared the pair, he ran even faster, lowering his shoulder and tackling the man around the midsection before his eyes could even round with surprise.
Knowing he had only seconds before Ramsay’s other lackey would be upon him with that wicked cudgel, Aylesbury wrapped his hands around his prey'’ head, lifting it and sending it forcefully back down to the pavement before he rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the assault being aimed at the back of his head by Crumpky.
The momentum the bludgeon-wielding brute carried with the blow wasn’t to be denied.
Without Aylesbury’s head to halt its course, the club continued downward, striking the dazed, supine man moaning on the sidewalk in the sternum and nearly taking Crumpky right off his feet.
The smaller man groaned in pain as both Aylesbury and Crumpky jumped to their feet, facing each other, each with a reason to be wary of the other.
The thug had a weapon on his side, but Aylesbury possessed the confidence of a victory already won between them.
Risking a moment to check on Fiona, Aylesbury found her fighting admirably against Ramsay, who was trying to throw her his shoulder with little success. Her brothers had taught her well, he thought proudly.
Grinning, Aylesbury turned back to his own fight, using his previous experience with the henchman’s preference to swing with his right to throw out a left uppercut followed by a quick jab, then another and another, forcing Crumpky to do little more than block Aylesbury’s blows over and over.
Aylesbury changed it up then, taking the man off guard with a powerful right hook that sent him stumbling back.
Crumpky staggered dizzily, tripping over his still-prone cohort and falling to the ground.
He didn’t rise immediately but tossed away the cudgel and began searching his pockets angrily.
Bloody hell, Aylesbury realized. The fiend was armed with something more deadly than a billy club.
“Come, Fiona,” he urged, rushing to her side. “Time to go now.”
“Just...a...” Fiona doubled up her fist and walloped Ramsay in the throat, leaving him gasping for air. “...moment,” she finished, digging her thumb into his blackened eye socket until he dropped her. Fast as lightning, she brought up her knee, taking Ramsay hard between the legs.
He curled over his groin with a hoarse cry, but Aylesbury didn’t leave Fiona a moment to gloat over her victim. Grabbing her hand, he tugged her away. “Let’s go now.”
Fiona nodded and let him lead her away, running hand in hand down the street. Casting a glance back over her shoulder, she shook her head with a snort of dismay. “I hate to be an alarmist, Harry, but they are following.”
Aylesbury looked back as well to see Ramsay and the once cudgel-wielding but now lamentably gun-toting brute stumbling after them while the third man struggled to his feet.
He was just about to look away when he saw that the two men in pursuit weren’t running after them at all but.
.. “Bugger it. They’ve got a horse,” he muttered grimly.
Fiona winced but nodded. “And a carriage as well.”
Of course they did, Aylesbury grimaced. They would have had a way to transport Fiona when they took her.
If the two men pursued them on horseback, Aylesbury knew he would have no chance of out-running them and getting Fiona to safety.
His only choice would be to take them on as he had before, and while he was confident he could take them, Aylesbury knew he could not risk Fiona’s welfare if he failed.
Scrambling for a solution, he took note of the numerous conveyances on the road.
The hackneys, Hansom cabs or coachmen-driven carriages wouldn’t do.
He dismissed the possibilities there straight away.
Their pursuers would be on them before Aylesbury might either pay off or dispose of the driver.
A dilapidated produce wagon pulled by a sway-backed nag wouldn’t carry them any faster than their own feet.
Aylesbury saw their opportunity then. A spindle-wheeled phaeton parked on their side of the street, its dandified driver on the sidewalk handing down a fashionably dressed lady.
Tugging Fiona behind him, he accelerated. “There,” he pointed. “That one.”
His clever girl knew what he was about right off and followed him willingly enough, though Fiona being Fiona, she couldn’t help but offer her opinion. “The team is facing this way. We’ll be heading in the wrong direction.”
Yes, they would be running straight toward Ramsay and his henchmen, but it was their only chance. “You ready to jump?”
Fiona nodded, and they skidded to a halt next to the phaeton.
In a fluid motion, Fiona used her momentum, turning and pushing off from his shoulders while he grasped her around the waist and tossed her up into the lofty vehicle.
Aylesbury leapt up after her, ignoring the outraged protests of its owner.
Gathering up the reins, he whipped the horses into motion.
As he expected, the pair of spirited high-steppers pulling the fashionable conveyance were more than eager for a run.
They leapt into motion, throwing him and Fiona back against the seat as they charged forward, propelling Aylesbury and Fiona back the way they had come.
Crumpky, on horseback, was already reining in and preparing to turn in pursuit.
The carriage, with Ramsay at the reins, would be slower to change directions.
He hoped, Aylesbury thought, flicking the whip over the horses’ backs as they sped past horse, carriage, and their cohort standing at the curb, rubbing both his head and chest. Down the street they streaked, weaving the phaeton through the traffic to the shouts and protests of the few drivers around them.
The bodyguard Glenrothes had hired stood on the sidewalk with an ice cream in his hand and a look of gaping incredulity on his face as they sped past, leaving him behind.