Chapter Twenty
“Why is this happening?” Caroline whispered to herself over and over again as she hung her head and stifled useless sobs.
She did her best to remain calm, but every deep, aching cramp of her abdomen released a fresh wave of panic inside of her.
It was too soon. Too soon. The babe would not survive if he came this early.
She and Emily had been blindfolded and transported through London’s streets after being bundled up and spirited away from Lady Night’s.
They’d been shoved to the floorboards of the carriage, cool metal blades pressed to their exposed throats.
Hissed threats to remain silent filled their ears when all they’d wanted to do was scream for help.
Caroline had had to bite her tongue so hard to keep herself from crying out that she tasted blood.
Were she alone, were she not in mortal terror over the health and wellbeing of her unborn child, she might have screamed, regardless—better to fight for her life than allow this to play out.
However, she knew she would never forgive herself if Emily was injured for her actions, and the babe in her belly had already taken a blow.
Please, she continued to pray silently; please be all right. A tiny flutter answered her, no stronger than the wings of a passing bird, but it was there. It gave Caroline hope.
Upon arrival at their destination, she and Emily were shoved down a hallway reeking of lacquer and wood dust, the tang of salt coated the back of her throat, and Caroline knew they were near the water—perhaps the docks.
Soon, they were deposited into a room, their captors sliding a deadbolt home as they left.
As soon as the sound rang out, Caroline ripped the blindfold from her face and blinked into the contrasting darkness of the musty space and the shaft of late afternoon light piercing through the narrow slit of a window some six feet above their heads.
They were in a storeroom of some sort, no larger than the formal dining room at Swanleigh House, but devoid of all furniture and comforts.
The floor was streaked with grime and dust; a single bucket in the corner was the only item in the room.
The exterior walls were made of stacked stone at the base and well-fitted wooden slats the rest of the way to the ceiling.
Emily stood a few feet away, turning in a circle as she, too, examined their surroundings.
Caroline thought they were both a sight with their ripped and stained gowns, hair a matted mess, and tear-streaked faces.
Simultaneously, they ran into one another’s arms, holding tightly and trembling as each held the other up.
They were one another’s support, and neither could waver in this situation, or the other would fall.
They allowed themselves to indulge in their fear and anger for several minutes before—as if through unspoken agreement—they broke apart, dried their eyes, and began searching the room for any weaknesses.
They spent what felt like hours scouring the corners for weapons, eyeing the height of the window, and examining the heavy, windowless door for any flaws, but they came up short.
Their only method of gauging time was the fading light spearing through the narrow window.
Every so often, a pain would band itself around Caroline’s waist, gripping her from back to front, locking her legs and causing her breath to hiss through her teeth.
Emily paused each time and asked her if she was unwell.
Each time, Caroline reassured her and vowed to bite back her reaction whenever the next pain came…
because she knew it would come. She’d given up her hope that the cramping she’d experienced following the altercation on the stairs would subside; now, it was a matter of bracing herself for the time when the next one came.
As near as she could tell, they struck with no regularity or rhythm, which was both a blessing and a curse.
She had learned how a babe was near to birth if the mother’s contractions were consistent and close together, but the irregularity of these also meant they were difficult to predict.
She was worried enough; the last thing she wanted was for Emily to become concerned as well.
They needed as much composure as possible to weather this situation.
Caroline finally gave in and huddled on the floor. She pulled her legs to her chest as best as she could, crossed her arms around her knees, and rested her head there in the cradle they created.
“Why is this happening?” she repeated, her voice breaking in the cavernous room.
“We will be all right,” Emily said as she sat down beside her and adopted a similar position. The tremor in her voice made her words slightly less convincing than they might have been.
Caroline turned her head to face Emily. “Do you have any suspicions about who might be behind this? Why would they have infiltrated Lady Night’s and taken us?”
Emily shook her head. “I’d never seen the man before—the one who came to the apartment under the guise of bringing our tea—and I know everyone who works beneath that roof.”
“So what might his motive be?” Caroline lifted her head, her eyes going unfocused as she was lost in thought. “Money?” she said suddenly. “Ransom? Perhaps someone knew me to be the Marchioness of Swanleigh and thinks to demand Gideon pay a sum for my safe return?”
Emily bit her lip. “Perhaps…”
“Do you have other suspicions?” She didn’t care for the hesitation before Emily shook her head.
Neither of them openly addressed how, if Caroline was the target of the kidnapping, they would have known she would be at Lady Night’s.
She had never been there before and had made no advanced plans to do so. It was both baffling and terrifying.
Emily only shook her head in silent helplessness.
Caroline closed her eyes and breathed through another squeezing pain, exhaling in relief once it was finished. “How are you feeling?” she croaked out.
“Well enough,” Emily said tremulously.
Caroline reached over and took her hand. “We must remain calm; hysterics will achieve nothing.” The words were as much for Emily as they were for herself.
Emily nodded in agreement and squeezed her fingers back.
“I am trying…only…” Her voice trailed off.
She had to brace herself before she could begin again.
“I haven’t yet had an opportunity to tell Oliver about the baby.
I kept postponing it. The time just never seemed right—I wanted it to be special. ”
Sensing Emily beginning to crumble, Caroline immediately wrapped her in her arms and held her.
Hot tears dampened the front of her bodice, but she held herself together.
“I know, darling. I know,” Caroline murmured.
“But you will.” She closed her eyes, choked back her own tears, and comforted Emily, her mind racing with the desperate need to find a way to escape.
She’d had a nightmare once where she’d been on a small boat adrift in a black ocean of stars with no oar, no sail, no rudder.
She’d screamed for help, but there was no one except the constellations to hear her.
Just as she’d begun to lose all hope, Gideon had appeared beside her.
She’d asked him where he’d come from and he’d replied that he’d always been there, even if she could not see him.
He’d then handed her two oars made of clouds and pointed to the distance.
“Land is that way,” he’d said. “You are strong enough to find your way.”
Caroline clung to that image as her mind grasped at any possibility of hope.
Gideon adjusted the collar of his black woolen greatcoat. It was a tad too long in the sleeves, but its hem was the perfect length, dusting the toes of his borrowed boots. It was lucky that he and Oliver were of such a similar build; it made Gideon’s disguise much easier to pull off.
While explaining his plan, Oliver had rummaged through trunks stored in an unused bedchamber and pulled out several items of clothing. “These should work,” he’d said, eyeing Gideon up and down. The garments were worn and stained, but smelled clean enough after they’d been stored away.
Eager to begin, Gideon had immediately begun untying and unwinding his cravat, stripping all the way down to his smallclothes and donning Oliver’s old clothing.
The fabric was rougher than what he was accustomed to, but it fit well enough.
Standing side-by-side in the mirror, Gideon had to give credit to his half brother.
“We do appear quite similar,” Gideon remarked.
Oliver had also changed his clothing so they were near-perfect copies.
Following his lead, Gideon proceeded to muss his own hair, so it was more similar to Oliver’s.
The length was slightly different, but it would not be noticeable in the gloaming light.
Besides, he doubted anyone would be examining them that closely.
“Take this necktie,” Oliver said without looking up. “As well as these boots.”
“I cannot wear my own boots?”
“Too fine and too polished,” Oliver grunted, still searching in the bottom of the trunk.
The boots felt heavy as Gideon held them up.
He fingered a notch in one of the heels, only to have it separate with a metallic snick to reveal a small, removable blade.
“And yet, they are much fancier than my own footwear,” Gideon remarked with dark amusement, to which Oliver grunted in agreement.
He fiddled the blade back into place and began to work the boots onto his feet.
They were slightly large, but they would do.
Oliver then handed him a series of small blades and instructed him where to place them on his person in various pockets and pouches sewn into the borrowed clothing.
“Won’t these be discovered?”
“It would appear odd if you did not arrive at least slightly armed.”