Page 26 of A Kiss Gone Wylde
The maid curtsied again and then darted off to see to her assigned task. Within a quarter hour, they were exiting the front door of Number Twelve and heading east along Upper Brook Street. Rather than simply crossing the street and walking the few houses down to her aunt’s home, Number Thirty Seven, Benny wanted to stretch her legs.And maximize the time spent away from her mother-in-law’s venomous disapproval and her husband’s disinterest.To that end, they were walking the opposite direction of her aunt’s home, toward Grosvenor Square. They would circle through the gardens and then come back down the other side.
It was a sound plan. One that offered her a great amount of relief from the conflict that seemed to dog her incessantly in the presence of her husband’s mother. Then the rain started. And it wasn’t simply any rain. It was bitterly cold and stinging. Each drop hit her like she was being peppered with small stones. Rolling thunder sounded overhead, the city suddenly quiet enough for such a sound to be heard. It was followed immediately by the crack of lightning slicing through the gray, afternoon sky. A quick glance showed her they were far closer to the garden than they were to Number Twelve and certainly closer than they were to Number Thirty Seven.
“Ada, head straight for the gardens and we can shelter in one of the follies there until the rain lets up,” she instructed.
The maid nodded, taking off in that direction. Benny followed right behind her. Being short often had disadvantages. In this instance the length of her stride was one of them. The maid was several meters ahead of her within only a moment. And as they passed in front of the Blackburn Mews, a coach came barreling out of that narrow space. Benny stopped, her feet sliding on the wet stones until she fell on her bottom. Her hip connected painfully with the hard pavers beneath her. Before she could even register the pain of that, a pair of men dressed entirely in black hopped off the back of the coach and hauled her up roughly.
Ada, who had turned at the sound of Benny’s shout of alarm was rushing back toward her even as those men tossed her into a carriage. She could hear the maid’s shouts of alarm as the carriage sped away.
From the shadowy corner of the carriage came an all too familiar voice. “Hello, kitten.”
Wainwright.
15
Payne had gone riding for the second time that day. It was the best way to burn off his temper without having to make anyone else suffer the unpleasantness of it. Now, he was in Hyde Park, sheltering beneath a tree and waiting for the worst of the rain to pass. Then he heard someone call his name.
Squinting through the deluge, he saw a rider approaching him. Dressed in dark colors and wearing a tall beaver hat, it was impossible to discern the identity of the individual.At first.The closer the man came the more dreadful recognition seeped in. Viscount Gordon.
They were not friends. They had attended school together but there had always been a certain degree of animosity between them. Competitiveness at school had carried over into adult life. They were civil to one another at social functions, but no one had ever mistaken their mutual disdain for one another.
“Davenport,” Gordon said, as he neared him. “It’s Wainwright.”
Payne’s blood ran cold. “What about Wainwright?”
“He’s taken her… your wife. He’s abducted her.”
“How do you know this?” Payne demanded.
“I saw it happen. I knew he planned to do something… I encountered him at the club two days past and he was brooding about her and plotting,” the man explained.
“And he told you he planned to abduct her?”
“No,” Gordon denied quickly, wiping rain from his face. “He told me only that he planned to get even with her… how that was to happen was never specified. I was on Upper Brook Street heading for your house to warn you about his schemes and I saw it happen. I was too far away to intervene. The maid who had been accompanying her ladyship informed me you were riding in Hyde Park. I came at once.”
Payne questioned it, but only for a split second. While he and Gordon had their differences, the man, to his knowledge, had never harmed a woman. “Where is he taking her?”
“He keeps rooms. Albany, naturally, but they’d never let him inside with her. And I sincerely doubt she would remain quiet in order for him to sneak her in… But there’s an inn, near Hampstead, that I know he favors,” the man replied, his expression darkening and a muscle working in his jaw.
Payne knew the place. He knew it all too well. It was the very site of Anne’s disgrace. “How do you know?”
Gordon’s answer was flat, with no inflection at all, but it was no less chilling for that. “She would not be the first woman he took there to force himself upon. There is a pattern if one knows how to follow it.”
How Gordon knew that, he had no idea. But Payne didn’t ask any further questions. If there was one thing implicitly understood with no further need to speak of it—time was of the essence. The longer Benny was alone with Wainwright, the more likely it would be that he would do something truly unthinkable to her. The very thought of it made him furious. But it also terrified him.
The sorts of violence that a man like Wainwright could inflict on a woman did more than simply leave bruises or scars. It altered them to the very fabric of their being. Anne had been proof of that.
Mounting his horse and exiting the park, Payne was galloping down Upper Brook Street. He didn’t question that Gordon was riding hell bent for leather beside him. Whatever had prompted the man to offer his aid, despite their long-standing disdain for one another, he would gladly take all the help he could find in that moment. Benny’s very life might depend upon it.
With that thought spurring him on, he nudged the horse to a faster gallop. It was a reckless speed through London’s streets, but the cold rain had cleared the pedestrian traffic, leaving only carts and the occasional carriage or hack to deal with. One thought remained upper most in his mind. He had to get to her before it was too late. No matter the cost.
* * *
Benny felt his gaze on her. She couldn’t see him very well most of the time. He’d torn away the window shade next to her seat, but his own remained deeply shadowed. Even without seeing him, the weight of his gaze was heavy, leaving a trail of muck in its wake. But she would not be cowed by him. She’d made that decision the moment he’d had her dragged into the carriage.
“You are an unnatural woman,” he snapped at her.
“And you are a wretched excuse for a man,” she replied coolly. The derision in her tone could not have been clearer.
