Page 81 of From Duke Till Dawn
Her abductor hauled her up another flight of uneven stairs. She stumbled on her ankle the kidnapper had twisted, but he didn’t stop pulling her behind him. They reached a landing, and he shoved open a door leading to a study. Here, more overly ornate furniture competed for space with gewgaws and bric-a-brac. Whoever owned this place wanted to impress someone with their ability to buy things. Cassandra would have smiled at such bald attempts to awe, but fear—and the gag—choked her.
She was pushed into a chair in front of a desk. The kidnapper stood behind her, keeping guard.
It was clear the man who’d knocked into Alex had merely been a diversion. Her abduction had been the goal all along. Was Alex hurt? He’d been grappling with that large man before she’d been pulled into the carriage. A double fear iced her blood, for herself, and for Alex.
Which of the investors would want to kidnap her? The room didn’t give her many clues as to her abductor’s identity.
Yet when a door leading to the study opened, and George Lacey sauntered into the room, Cassandra wasn’t surprised. Lacey stood beside the desk, his hands in his pockets as though he was casually waiting for a mail coach.
He nodded at the man behind Cassandra, and he pulled the gag out of her mouth. She sucked in a breath, relieved to be finally free of the foul piece of cloth.
“This is pleasant,” Cassandra said. Showing her fear was the worst thing she could do at the moment, since people like Lacey respected courage. The more Cassandra wept and begged, the worse her prospects would become. “Let’s ring for tea.”
“You’re game,” Lacey said with an approving nod. “I’ll give you that.”
“Then let’s have done with trussing me.” Cassandra tugged on the rope at her wrists.
“That stays,” he declared.
Cassandra asked as if it didn’t matter to her, “Until when?”
“Until,” he replied, “I get my investment back.”
“Martin’s got the money,” Cassandra answered. She struggled to keep her voice level, remove all traces of fear from her words. “I’m tracking him down.”
“That doesn’t help my coffers now,” Lacey sneered.
“Search me,” Cassandra fired back. “Check under my mattress. I haven’t got the money. And I can’t get it to you when I’m tied up here. You’ll get nothing from abducting me.”
“Not so,” said Lacey. “You’ve been keeping company with the Duke of Greyland.”
Cold terror climbed up her spine. “What of him?” God, Lacey had better not threaten Alex, or she’d tear her ropes apart and unleash bloody hell upon him.
“He’ll be willing to pay for your safe return,” Lacey said smugly.
Cassandra stared at the person responsible for her kidnapping. What could she tell him? That she and Alex had gone to bed together, but had made no avowals of affection? She had no idea what she meant to him, other than using her as a marker for his five hundred pounds—more, with the addition of the staff’s salaries. She struggled with smothering panic.
“And your plan is to do what?” she pressed.
“A note’s on its way to your duke’s home right now,” Lacey said, proud of his machinations. “He’s to meet us at midnight in the ruins of Welden Gardens.”
Cassandra remembered Welden as an abandoned pleasure garden on the western border of London. It had been fashionable fifty years past, but fell into ruin and disrepair, until it was finally closed a decade ago. No one who valued their life would venture to Welden. It was a maze of derelict buildings and dead trees.
“I’ll bring you with me,” Lacey went on. “Insurance, in case your duke tries to give me short shrift.”
“And if he doesn’t show?” Cassandra couldn’t stop her voice from cracking.
Lacey smiled benevolently. “You’ll be weighted and thrown into the Thames,” he pronounced cheerfully, as if nothing could make him jollier.
The urge to scream clawed its way up Cassandra’s throat. She had known uncertainty and fear on the streets of Southwark. Her whole life had been spent balancing on a precipice. But never had she known terror like this.
Lacey had to have a weakness. It was just a matter of finding it. She’d search and search until all her options were exhausted.
And if she failed... Everything depended on Alex. God help her, her salvation was in the hands of a man who had once made no secret of his hatred for her.
Alex was on the verge of losing his mind. He’d ridden around the city like a lunatic, chasing after every vehicle that looked like the one used to take Cassandra. But all his efforts had been fruitless.
He returned home, seething, maddened. Alex slammed through the front door, only to find Bowmore waiting for him, a scrap of paper in his hand. “This arrived for Your Grace not fifteen minutes ago.”
