Page 77 of Their Brazen Countess
Arthur threw open the door of the carriage and helped Jo climb up as her heart pounded. He and Linc followed her in as Arthur called out, “Follow that carriage!”
The man grunted, the reins snapped, and the carriage took off. Linc lifted the leather covering on the side of the door and leaned out to see if he could spot the other vehicle. It was the early hours of the morning, so there was far less traffic on the road, as many of the balls planned for that night had yet to end.
“I think I see them!” Linc cried as the carriage bounced and jounced down the road.
Jo could feel tears pooling in her eyes as she sat and waited, her chest tight as worry for her boy squeezed her. They continued following the carriage they suspected held Matthew, moving at a furious pace.
But then Linc informed them in a raw voice, “We may have lost it. It turned up ahead somewhere—I can’t see where.”
Arthur cursed, low and ugly, as the first tear slipped down Jo’s face. Her heart broke as they clattered on, but suddenly the carriage jerked to a halt.
Linc leaned out the window once more. The driver said something and Linc replied, “Take a closer look, if you can.” He ducked back inside the carriage. “He thinks he saw the carriage down a rear alley we just passed. He’s going around the way to go down the other end of the alley and get a closer look.”
Worry knotted Jo’s stomach as she fought back, the tears now freely slipping free.
After a few minutes, she heard the driver exclaim, “It’s the one, my lord. I recognize the fancy gold trim.”
Jo bolted from the carriage, nearly ripping her train off as it caught on a part of the carriage, her men right behind her.
She only hoped they’d got there in time.
Chapter Thirty-Six
LincracedupbehindJo and grabbed her arm, preventing her from entering the house. “Jo! Jo, you can’t just barge in there!”
“The hell I can’t! Some woman has my son in there. My. Son.” Jo pounded on her chest with her small fist as she said the last two words in a low, fierce tone.
Linc pulled her into his arms, his heart aching for her. “Shhh. I know, love. I know, and we are going in there to retrieve him. We are going to save our son—but we need to be careful.”
Arthur stepped hurriedly over to them. “I’ve sent the carriage we borrowed back for assistance, he’ll lead help back here.”
“I won’t wait!” Jo grabbed Linc’s lapels crushing them in her small fists.
Guilt threatened to double him over, but Linc pushed it down ruthlessly. There was no time for such sentiments. “No. We’ll not wait. I won’t make the same mistake I made with my sister,” he reassured her.
Wait. Had he said that last part aloud?
“You have a sister?” Jo and Arthur asked simultaneously.
Linc wanted to curse himself. “I did, but there is no time for that story now. Later.” He looked at Arthur. “We can’t wait, Matthew needs us.”
“I know, but we need to go in cautiously.” Arthur turned to their beautiful, panicking wife. “I don’t suppose there is any chance you’ll wait out here.”
“Hell no,” she said emphatically.
Arthur sighed. “I thought not.”
Neither had Linc. He hadn’t even been so brave as to suggest it after her initial declaration, but perhaps Arthur hadn’t heard it while dealing with the carriage driver.
“All right, let's go quietly in the back door.” Linc took Jo’s hand and drew her forward. The swishing of her skirts sounded so loud in the relative silence of the night—after all, it was London—that he stopped and turned to face her. “Jo, your skirts have to go if you are coming inside. They make too much noise. I’m sorry, I know it’s a new gown—”
She looked over her shoulder at Arthur. “Loosen my skirts. Nothing is more important than my son.”
One of Arthur’s eyebrows drifted up in a mockery of surprise. The woman had always been too brazen for her own good, and Linc knew that Arthur had grown terribly protective of her. There was a beat of silence, and while Linc could not see Jo’s face as she was twisted toward Arthur, he could easily imagine the silent argument the two were waging. Arthur would come to his senses on the matter any moment—or at the very least lose the war of wills.
“Very well,” Arthur hissed, evidently having lost.
He partially lifted the bottom of her bodice up, as much as one could, and found the strings of Jo’s skirts. It took a few moments to wrestle with all the various layers of overskirts, underskirts, and petticoats, but finally the entire mass of fabric sank to the ground, trapping Jo in a puddle of material. Linc swiftly lifted her out of the mess, leaving her in her barely decent muslin drawers.
