Page 85 of Tempting the Scoundrel
The loud scream of a child echoed through the annex. Alexandra looked over to find Sofia soothing the sobbing girl—one of her youngest, Mary. Grateful for the interruption, Alexandra hurried over. “What is it? What’s happened?”
Sofia made soothing noises and stroked little Mary’s hair. “She’s left her doll on a bench in the main gallery, beside the fountain.”
“I’ll go see if it’s still there,” Alexandra said. “Don’t worry, darling. Wait with Mrs. Ainsley.”
Nick placed a hand on her lower back. “Let me accompany you.”
“That’s not necessary,” Alexandra said, shifting from his touch. She kept her expression neutral, even as his eyes darkened. “I shall return shortly.”
She hurried out of the India Annex and towards the main hall. As she passed the crowds of people gawking at the different displays of items, she tried to blink back her tears. How embarrassing, to still be so upset over Nick’s criticisms. It was neverwhathe wrote—the words were honest. From another source, she might have used them for improvement.
From Nicholas Spencer, the alias of the man who lied to her, they were meant to inflict further harm.
You are no longer needed.
“Stop,” she told herself. “Stop, stop, stop.” There was no use crying in public. She had a doll to find.
As she reached the fountain, Alexandra scanned the benches—ah, still there. The cloth doll was frayed, likely holding sentimental value more than monetary. Relieved to have something to bring back to little Mary, Alexandra picked up the doll.
A hand closed hard around her upper arm, making her drop the doll. She was hauled up against a large male body and felt the tip of a knife at her lower back.
“Don’t scream,” the man hissed into her ear. “If you so much as try, I’ll shove this blade in and by the time anyone notices, I’ll be gone. Now walk.”
Her heart slammed against her ribcage. Alexandra did as the man instructed, walking past crowds of people who wouldn’t have noticed if she were in distress. They were so overwhelmed by the sights of the exhibition, by the hum of machinery demonstrations, and the bright silks from other parts of the world. He was right; he could stab her right here and disappear so fast.
“Would you happen to be Patrick Whelan?” she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.
“No,” he said shortly. “But I have blunt waiting for me if I bring you to him.”
This confirmed Nick’s stories about a man who rarely did his own dirty work. Rather, he employed and manipulated others to do the crimes for him. “You don’t have to do this,” she murmured. “Whatever he’s paid you, I’ll double it.”
“And have Whelan for an enemy?” he said. “Fuck that.”
“Triple.”
He shoved her. “Shut up and walk.”
If she went with him, Alexandra’s chances of survival were slim. She also knew this man expected her to follow along in fear. It was likely that his experience with aristocratic women was limited to seeing them in passing: their frothy dresses, their carefully coifed hair, the way they moved through this world with either chaperones or footmen. This was to her advantage: Alexandra had dealt with dangerous footpads before. She had learned to defend herself; after all, the women in the East End did not have the luxury of safety. She learned from them.
And those lessons would save her now, just as they had back in her bedchamber, with another man who would do her harm.
Focus, she told herself. And it became simple: survival. That was all. A basic animal desire to make it from one day to the next. She let the entirety of her mind concentrate on three things: the knife pricking through her dress; the man at her back; the crowd around her. Once she left this building, the last factor would disappear. The crowd would slow him.
Opportunity: take it.
Alexandra took it. She slammed her boot back into his shins, tore out of his grip, and took off running.
His shout echoed behind her. She ignored the gasps and shocked expressions of the other patrons as she sprinted through the exhibition hall. The man’s footsteps were at her heels. Alexandra tried to disregard everything but her task:survival, remember?The mind, once cleared of doubts, made uncomplicated decisions. She could not lead him to the children; she’d have to lose him in the street. If he didn’t know the area of South Kensington, that would work to her advantage.
Alexandra made for the exit, bursting out onto the street.
When she dared peek over her shoulder, she caught the man’s determined gaze. So close. Slowed only by a slight limp she’d caused by her hard kick in his shin. Alexandra darted up the street. The exhibition road was long, she was too visible. Alexandra swung into an alley, but he stayed behind her.
Another alley.
A whistle left his lips.
Alexandra nearly careened into the two men who stepped out from behind a building. One was a short, squat man barely taller than herself. The other was thin and lanky, with blond hair coming from beneath his dirty cap. Their expressions as they advanced were smug. Predatory.
