Chapter 19
19
T he wagon jostled over the cobblestones, making Charity’s head pound with every bump. Dear God, these loutish fiends had kidnapped her! She pushed up enough to look through the slats of the cart. How far had they gone and where was she now? The smell of stale fish hung in the air—they must be close to the Thames—close to the fish market for certain.
She was cold and sore. “’elp!” she tried again.
“Shut it.”
“’elp!”
“Do ye reckon this one’s worf the trouble or ought we toss ’im in the river and let ’im drown?”
“’rown!” she garbled. At least she could swim if they threw her in the water. But then, swimming in the midst of winter with her mouth gagged and her wrists bound wouldn’t be wise. She’d most likely succumb to the cold before she reached the shore.
“A few days wifout food and ’e’ll be as docile as a kitten, ’e will.”
From behind, the thunder of horse hooves clattered over the cobblestones, growing nearer and nearer.
“’elp!” Charity cried, straining to see above the slats just as the rider cut off the wagon, making the driver pull up on the reins. Fighting against her bindings, she twisted, struggling to peer above the bench, but the two louts’ backsides blocked her view.
“Hand the boy over to me, and I’ll give you no trouble.”
Harry?
Her heart nearly burst out of her chest.
“’e’s ours. Why should we give ’im to the likes of you?”
A loud click resounded through the night air. “Because I have a pistol pointed at your heart. I’ll shoot the first and beat the life out of the second.”
“By Jehovah, ’tis The Butcher.”
Charity’s heart hammered. Yes, it was Harry Mansfield. She couldn’t believe it. He had actually recognized her. But how had he known she’d been abducted? Had he seen them take her?
“Damn right I’m The Butcher, and hear me loud and clear, I was only warming up on Coombes. Either of you want to go another round with me? I’d be happy to oblige.”
“What is the lad to ye? ’e’s just an urchin.”
“That boy may have stolen away from home, but if you’re caught with your hands on the chap, you’ll face a lifetime in Newgate. Mark me.”
“’e must have kin in ’igh places.”
Charity cringed, praying for a quick change in subject, else they’d be demanding a ransom soon.
“Hand the boy over, and I’ll let the pair of you live,” Harry said, his voice ominous. “Otherwise, I’m finished talking.”
“I reckon?—”
Crack! A shot fired through the dark, as loud as one of Marty’s flintlock rifles.
“Take ’im, take ’im!” shouted the man who’d grabbed her.
“Toss your crop and your reins forward,” Harry growled.
“Anyfing ye say, gov,” the lout said, with a tremor in his voice. “Just don’t kill us!”
By the rocking of the wagon, the scoundrels did as Harry asked.
“You—untie her— him —ah, I mean the boy,” Harry clipped.
“Aye, sir.”
Digger climbed into the back and made quick work of releasing her hands. As soon as the bonds broke, she yanked the gag from her mouth, surged to her feet and searched for Harry. As he rode past, he reached out with one hand and pulled her atop his thighs. She’d barely gained purchase when he slapped his reins, cueing his horse to pick up a canter.
“How did you ken it was me?” she asked, curling against his blessed warmth.
“I knew it was you as soon as I saw your face. Damnation, woman, why is it you cannot stay away from a fight?” Though Harry had one arm wrapped tightly around her, he sounded angry.
She looked up to his eyes, but they were hooded by the brim of his hat and the cuts on his face seemed to glisten with black blood. “Your fights—those are the only ones I care about.”
“Bless it, you cannot disguise yourself as a boy and entertain any reasonable expectation that someone will not realize you are female.”
“Whyever not? Julia did it.”
“Yes, well, Julia doesn’t have hips like yours, or…or…or… Bother!”
Charity glanced to her breasts, which Georgette had done a rather convincing job of binding. “Even with dirt on my face?”
“There isn’t enough dirt in England to make you look masculine.”
“Now I ken you are exaggerating.” Oh, by the saints, this man had ridden to her rescue, and now she clung to him, wanting ever so much to revel in their familiar closeness. It felt like Heaven, and it didn’t matter that he was angry or his face was a wee bit mangled like minced meat at the moment. “I want to thank you for coming to my aid. I do believe those scoundrels had very unsavory plans for me.”
“Men like those two are vultures. You could have been exposed, and then ruined forever.” Even in the dark, she could see a tic twitch at the corner of Harry’s eye. “Your family has already gone to a great deal of trouble to ensure you wouldn’t be ruined in the eyes of society on account of me.”
He wasn’t wrong, but so far, nothing had gone as she’d planned this evening. “I didna expect to be exposed—not dressed as a newspaper lad.”
“Didn’t expect? Good God, woman, do you not have a care for your station? For your sisters? For Modesty? The sister of the Duke of Dunscaby can ill afford to be dressed as a boy and attending a boxing match of a man who nearly ruined her.”
“But you didna ruin me. And things are different now?—”
“Nothing has changed,” he barked as if he were still fighting with Harvey Coombes. “Your family has plans for you, and according to Lord Andrew, your fate was carved in stone on the day of your birth.”
He grabbed her wrist and urged her slide to the ground. “What are you doing?” she asked, suddenly feeling the cold night air pierce through her clothing.
Harry’s face looked venomous. Though shadowed by the brim of his hat his expression was hard as if he were about to face the most brutal contender of his life. “In case you haven’t noticed, this is the mews behind your family’s town house. I trust you have worked out a strategy to spirit inside.”
She looked back to the darkened door and recognized it at once.
“You do have a plan, do you not?” he asked, his tone softening a bit. “I can attest that your brother ought to be celebrating for a few hours yet.”
“Georgette is waiting in the kitchens. And you? You should celebrate—after you’ve seen to your face, of course. If you would come into the kitchens, I’d be happy to cleanse your wounds.”
“You cannot tend me, and I cannot afford to allow it. Keep in mind henceforth what I do is not your concern, my lady,” he said, his expression growing hard and unfeeling as he tapped his heels to the horse’s barrel.
“Wait!” Charity ran after him. “We need to discuss Huntly Manor!”
But Harry didn’t wait. He didn’t even turn around.
She followed him all the way to the corner, but the man just kept on riding.
“M’lady?”
Charity snapped ramrod straight. “Georgette? What are you doing out here?”
“It is such a pleasant night, I was sitting in the courtyard watching the stars. Then when I heard voices, I thought it might be you.”
“Aye, thank you for watching out for me.” Charity looked again for Harry, praying he might come back just so they might part on kinder words. But he was gone. She looped her arm through Georgette’s elbow and together they strolled back to the mews and slipped through the rear entry of the town house. “Is all well? Mama hasna returned from Northbourne Seminary for Young Ladies, has she?”
“Nay, nothing has changed, but we’d best use the servant’s stairs so you’re not seen wearing Andrew’s coat and breeches.” Georgette opened the kitchen door. “Who was the man on the horse?”
“Mr. Mansfield.”
“Oh my heavens, did he strike you?”
“Nay.” Charity licked the dried blood from the cut at the corner of her mouth—the one she’d received from being walloped by Digger.
A chill coursed through her blood. To think she’d not only been abducted, her identity had come far too close to being revealed by a pair of St. Giles’ worst blackguards.
Thank the stars that Harry had acted the hero once again. But then he raced away without hearing what she’d risked so much to talk to him about. At the time, she’d been so overwhelmed with relief, she’d forgotten the most important reason for donning her disguise. Aye, with her body pressed against Harry’s, his arm around her waist, she hadn’t given Huntly Manor a moment’s thought. She was naught but a mindless imp. Now how was she going to gain an audience with the man?
“If he didna strike you, what happened?” asked Georgette.
Charity glanced at her lady’s maid. If she dared admit to being abducted, the lass might feel obligated to report it to Andrew, or worse, to Mama. “I had a wee altercation with an overzealous boxing fanatic.”
“I kent you shouldna have gone.”
Charity removed the stableboy’s bonnet and headed up the servant’s stairs. Perhaps she was nothing but a fool. “I didna even have the chance to speak to Brixham about Huntly Manor.”
“No? Then why was he here if you didna talk to him?”
“We spoke of?—”
“Of?” Georgette persisted.
“Well, his face was bleeding and he needed to tend it, and then he said goodbye. It all happened so fast, and now I’ll never be able to discuss Huntly with him.” Or tell him I would not be overly disappointed if he asked for my hand. “Unless…”
Charity hastened into her bedchamber and headed directly for her writing table. “I’ll need you to have Tearlach take this to Lady Northampton directly.”
“This evening?”
Charity glanced at the mantel clock. “It is only quarter past nine—I doubt Her Ladyship will be abed yet.”
She wrote quickly:
Dear Sophia,
I would be ever so grateful if you would please join me for midmorning tea on the morrow. There’s an urgent matter that we must discuss…