Page 41 of To Claim the Long-Lost Lover
“I just want to squeeze ‘er titties and maybe ‘ave a feel,” the would-be assailant whined.
“And ‘ave ‘Is Grace slice out yer gizzard if’n ‘e decides to keep ‘er? ‘E’ll fillet ye like a fish if’n ye touch what’s ‘is.”
The lascivious light went out of Three Tooth. “Maybe ‘e won’t want ‘er. Not the right one, ‘er downstairs says.”
“If’n ‘e doesn’t, we can all take turns afore we kill ‘er, but for now, leave ‘er alone.” The other dragged Three Tooth towards the door.
“We should tie ‘er to the bed,” Three Tooth suggested.
The other looked past him to where Sarah still stood, as straight as she could manage, trying to make sure her face did not show fear, disgust, and her dawning hope.Let them go away and leave me loose, she prayed.
“Let her alone, you idiot. What’s she goin’ to do, a fine lady like that? Climb out through the bars with ‘er ‘ands tied?”
The door shut behind them, and Sarah let out a sigh of relief. He was right about the bars. They only rose halfway up the tall sash windows, but high enough to keep a bound person contained. Apart from that, the small room contained a bedframe with a bare mattress that stank of sweat and sex, a washstand with no bowl, jug, or chamber pot, and nothing else.
No sheets. No drapes. Nothing to hang from the bars to assist her escape.
First things first. Sarah sat on the floor and pulled up her hems so that she could reach the knife that she had begun carrying in a boot sheath ever since Ruth was abducted last year.
After several attempts, she gave up on trying to turn it against the bindings at her wrists. She couldn’t both hold the knife and use it. She pulled her hems higher and squeezed the handle between her knees, but the first brush of the blade to her bindings pushed the knife flat.
Tears rose, but she forced them back. Crying wouldn’t help her get home to Elias and Nate. How long would it be before he and Uncle James missed her? Before they came looking and found her trail? She did not doubt that they would, but every minute they were delayed made it more likely that Yahzak’s and John’s lives would be forfeit; that this mysterious gentleman would either order her killed or spirit her away.
His grace, one of the brutes had said. What duke was in need of a bride, and was immoral enough to steal one? Only one man qualified, and he had applied to Uncle James for Charlotte’s hand some months ago. Charlotte had, of course, refused him. Even in a society that forgave wealthy titled men almost everything, the Duke of Richport was beyond the pale. But time enough to think about that later.
Inspiration struck. She held the knife above her head with her bound hands and slammed it down into the wooden floor. More by luck than good management, she’d thrust it in between two floor boards, and she leaned on it now, forcing all her weight onto the top of the handle to wedge it securely.
Almost four inches of blade still protruded from the floor. Carefully, doing her best to keep her flesh away from the knife, she began to rub the rope against the sharpened edge.
Several times in the drawn-out minutes that followed, she heard footsteps approaching, and swung away, sitting almost on the knife to hide it from the door. Twice, whoever it was continued on down the passage. The third time, she almost didn’t stop sawing at the rope, but it was as well she changed her mind, for she heard a rattle in the lock, the door opened, and the man they called Charley brought in a small loaf of bread and a jug of water.
He laughed to see her sitting there. “Too fine for the bed, are ye, princess?”
“It smells,” she told him.
He laughed even harder as he put the jug down on the washstand, and dropped the bread on the floor. “Missus said to give ye some food and drink. Didn’t say ye ‘ad to ‘ave it on a plate.”
Still laughing, he left, and she heard the key turn again.
She knelt once more, and inspected the rope. It had been knotted several times, but if she could just get through the last few strands still holding before the main knot, she could pull the rest loose enough to wriggle her hands out.
A few more minutes of sawing, and a sting that had her biting back a whimper when her hands slipped and got sliced.There!She pulled and twisted, and the blood from her cut spread across the rope and dripped onto her skirt, but one hand, and then the other, was free.
She inspected the cut, wiping it with a strip torn from her petticoat and then binding the strip as best she could one-handed. The wound was shallow and of no moment, but the blood might get in her way.
Now for the window. If she could drop the upper sash, she could easily climb out, but then where would she go? Her sister’s protégé Tony had escaped from Wharton by climbing to the roof. From down here on the floor, impeded by the bars from getting a closer look, she could not tell whether that route was open to her.
Another moment’s thought, and she removed her petticoat and tore it into more strips. Three of them tied together made a broad band long enough to wrap around her thighs to cross over and tie around her waist, trapping her skirt into a semblance of pantaloons that was neither elegant nor seemly.
But it was practical. She and Charlotte hadn’t clambered over every suitable tree within the home woods in every one of the ducal estates across England without learning a little about proper wear for climbing.
The ankle boots had to go. She took them and her stockings off, and used the stockings to tie the boots to the back of her improvised waistband. She’d need them when she reached the street.
With a good grip on the bars, she climbed onto the windowsill, wrinkling her nose at the sticky grimy feel of the dirty wood under her toes. Carefully, she undid the catches that held the upper sash, and pressed her palms against the frame on either side to ease it down, holding her breath and letting it out when the sash slid down quietly.
Climbing up the bars to the open part of the window presented a challenge. She would get partway and then stick until her strength failed and she would slip down again. Fear of never seeing Elias and Nate again kept her trying. She could never afterwards remember how she finally pulled herself up.
Down to the street or up to the roof? Below, several hefty men loitered by the door to the building. Down would get her caught again. Up was her only choice.
