Page 80 of From Duke Till Dawn
Cassandra approached. “If you’ll calm down, sir—”
“Stay out of this, missus,” the man shouted, andshovedher toward the street.
Red fury clouded Alex’s vision. He grabbed the man by his grimy neckcloth. The man’s eyes bulged as Alex tightened his grip, cutting off his air. “By God, I’ll beat you to pulp,” Alex snarled.
He barely noticed the carriage pulling up right beside Cassandra. Without stopping, the vehicle’s door slammed open. Another man appeared from inside the carriage, crouching on the floor. He reached out and seized Cassandra, then hauled her inside the still-moving vehicle.
She screamed in fury as she was pulled into the carriage.
Alex moved to grab her, but the damned laborer blocked his path and the vehicle sped away with Cassandra inside.
Alex grappled with the laborer. The other man was stronger, but Alex had speed. Alex ducked a punch, then swung his walking stick at the man’s knee. When he buckled in pain, Alex threw his fist into his attacker’s jaw. The laborer sprawled backward, dazed.
Alex didn’t spare him another thought. Moving purely on instinct, he raced toward a boy holding a horse’s reins outside a boot shop. Alex flung coins at the boy before snatching away the lead, then vaulted up into the saddle. He kicked the horse into motion, and it sprang forward.
He took off in the direction of the carriage. He sped down the street, heedless of whomever was in his way. Just ahead, he thought he could make out the vehicle’s form, half-hidden by traffic. It turned a corner, and he followed.
Several carts rolled into the street, blocking his path. There were too many obstacles to vault over them.
“Get these out of the way,” Alex roared.
The carts’ owners took their time moving their wagons. When at last the path was clear, Alex surged forward. He galloped down the street, racing in pursuit.
But the carriage had disappeared. Cassandra was gone.
She’d been abducted.
Chapter 17
Choked with fear and helpless rage, flung to the floor of the speeding carriage, Cassandra threw punches at her kidnapper crouching over her. She landed blows on his chest and shoulders and arms, but he was thick with muscle, his face impassive and showing no pain. Or compassion. He tossed her onto her stomach with the ease of a person well used to manhandling others.
A flurry of terror struck her as her arms were pinned behind her back. The bite of coarse rope ground into her wrists. She tried to move them, but it was no use. He’d tied her up like a parcel.
He rolled her onto her back. Cassandra opened her mouth to shout for help—they couldn’t have gone far from the busy shopping district—and he shoved a grimy rag between her lips.
“You don’t fight me,” he said in a rough voice as he squatted over her, “I don’t hurt you.”
Bugger yourself,she tried to say, but the gag kept the words lodged in her throat.
Pulling at the rope binding her wrists proved useless. He’d secured her tightly. She tried to kick him, but he grabbed her ankle and gave it a painful twist. Agony shot up her leg.
“What did I just say?” her abductor said mildly.
She let her head fall back as tears of frustration and fear pricked her eyes. There was nothing to be done but wait out the rest of this hellish ride. When they reached their destination she’d try again. She had to fight and fight until she couldn’t anymore. It was the only way to survive.
Would she ever see Alex again? Their last words together hadn’t been good ones. Is this what sinners felt on their deathbeds, knowing they’d have no chance to make right their wrongs?
All she could do was lie on the floor of the rocking carriage, knowing nothing about where she was going or what fate awaited her. She examined her kidnapper for details—his boots were worn but newly soled. He’d been paid recently. His shave was uneven, so there was no woman at home to tell him to clean up stray whiskers.
She didn’t know how these bits of information might help her, but anything could be of service.
The vehicle finally stopped. She had no idea where she was, and her abductor hauled her out of the carriage like a sack of wheat. He set her on her feet on a street in some shabby corner of the city, with dusty-faced town houses and tenements crowding around the narrow lane. Shadows came together in clots. No other people were out, so there was no possibility of anyone coming to her assistance.
She tried to run, but her kidnapper caught up with her before she’d taken three steps. He grabbed her arm, bringing her to a sharp stop.
“In you get,” he said, dragging her up the steps leading to a town house’s entrance. He pounded on the door, and an old, impassive woman answered. Her eyes were dull and uninterested and barely registered Cassandra’s presence as the kidnapper crossed the threshold, shoving Cassandra ahead of him.
She stumbled through the foyer. The furnishings were abundant and gaudy, done up in bright gilt and garish fabrics. Someone with money but no taste lived here.
