A Wicked Conceit by Anna Huber (e novels to read TXT) 📕

had taken but two steps toward the stairs, when suddenly an arm grabbed me from behind. It hauled me backward as I cried out in protest. But it was too late. Less than a second later, Gage crumpled to the ground.

Chapter 27

Terror shot through me and I shrieked. “Let me go! Get your hands off me. Gage!”

But he didn’t move or respond, not even with a groan. Blood began to mat the back of his blond hair, his hat having been knocked off. At first I feared they’d shot him in the head, and a bolt of sickening panic nearly paralyzed me. But then I saw the crude cudgel one of the other men was brandishing. By his hulking size, his brown coat, and the smallpox scars Bonnie Brock had described, I knew him to be the man who had followed us from Lennox’s several days ago. McQueen’s man.

I kicked out, struggling against the man who had my arms pinned behind my back, but in my expectant condition I was awkward and clumsy at best. My Hewson percussion pistol was nestled inside my reticule still attached to my wrist, but I couldn’t reach it with my hands restrained. The door across the corridor cracked open, and the woman who had spied on us the day before peered out. I screamed at her to help, but she merely slammed the door.

“Shut your gob,” the man behind me ordered. “Or I’ll throw ye doon these stairs, and we’ll see how much ye like that.”

Knowing that such an act would likely kill me and the child in my womb, I bit my lip. My eyes darted around us, trying to find some way out of this situation. But without anyone’s help, there was little I could do but obey their commands. The two other men lifted Gage’s body, carrying him unceremoniously down the stairs, while I was hustled after them.

I considered elbowing the man restraining me in the gut and trying to run once we reached the bottom of the stairs, but another contraction ended any such attempt before I could even try it. I stumbled forward, wishing I’d taken the pains more seriously earlier. They were still paced well apart, but if I was truly going into labor, they would only get worse. Much worse. And who knew where these men intended to take us.

Rather than turn right to return to the street where our carriage awaited us, they hustled us to the left along the lane at the base of the hillside to a wider close some one hundred yards farther west. There, an old hackney carriage stood waiting. Gage was tossed into its confines before I was pushed toward its dilapidated step. I wasn’t even certain it would hold my weight. But before I could begin to climb, the man who had restrained me wrenched me back around to face him.

“Noo, just a moment. We was warned ye might be armed.” He yanked my reticule from my wrist, feeling through the velvet the clear indentation of my weapon. His dark eyes glinted with satisfaction before trailing over my pelisse. “Ye got anythin’ else concealed under there?”

I scowled at him to no avail.

“Open it, lass.” He leered, revealing a large gap between his front teeth. “Or I’ll do it for ye.”

I unfastened the buttons in sharp tugs, angry that I was being treated so, and frightened for Gage, myself, and our child. Once I’d parted the claret fabric, his gaze ran over me insultingly before focusing on my neck.

“Noo, what do we have here,” he drawled, reaching for the gold chain draped around my neck. He pulled the amethyst pendant my mother had given me from beneath the bodice of my gown. “Take it off.”

My heart squeezed at the idea of doing so. I wore it so often, not only because it was the most special thing she’d ever given me but also because she’d said it was for my protection. And even though rationally I knew that it wasn’t imbued with any magical powers, I still felt vulnerable and exposed at the thought of not possessing it.

“Take it off,” he repeated sharply, leaving me with no doubt he would rip it from my neck if I didn’t.

I lifted my shaking hands to undo the clasp before passing it to him. He stuffed it into his pocket and then gestured for me to get inside the carriage. Fighting a wave of panic, I did as I was told. Surely our coachman would realize something was wrong when we didn’t return. Surely Heron had heard us being attacked outside his rooms and would go for help. Or maybe the woman peering at us through her door would take pity on us and run for a watchman.

I rearranged Gage’s limp body as best I could, resting his head in my lap. His wound bled profusely, but his skull didn’t seem broken. So I did what I could to stanch the flow of blood with the skirts of my gown while the fingers of my other hand searched the side of his neck for a pulse. I found it beating strong and steady and released a shuddering breath. Then as unobtrusively as possible, I searched the pockets of Gage’s greatcoat but found that his pistol had also been taken.

The gap-toothed man climbed into the carriage and sat across from us, the harsh stench of his person mixing with the acrid smells that had leached into the tattered leather of the hackney and the metallic odor of Gage’s blood. I breathed shallowly through my nose, reminding myself I’d suffered through fouler aromas, but my stomach rebelled nonetheless. So much so that sweat broke out across my brow, and I was forced to swallow repeatedly.

The faded curtains were pulled tightly shut, and I wasn’t allowed to see where we were going, but fortunately our destination was not far.