Page 33 of My Lord, My Rogue
None of this made any sense. Who was that man and why was she here—whereverherewas? Her entire body felt sore, as if she had been sliding down rocks—like nothing she could have imagined.
She remembered very little. Benjamin had left her to check on the queen because of a loud commotion. Honora had tried to find her parents amid the chaos of the moment and had not seen them. She had stood next to a column decorated with potted plants and wisteria when an arm had reached out and pulled her into a closet, closing it behind her. She had thought the room had been a storage room of some sort, having glimpsed what looked like decorations for a ball and odd furnishings in the corner, but she could not be sure. The man had tried to take her clothing.
“Remove ze dress,” he had commanded.
“I will not,” she had responded, drawing herself up. “Who are you and why did you pull me into this, this place?”
He had muttered French curse words and then repeated his demands.
Her response had remained ‘no.’
“Stupid English cow!” he had said in French before changing to English. “Give me ze dress or I will rip it off your back,” he had ordered.
Honora had snapped, tired of everyone weighing in about her life, her decisions, and now, this man wanted her dress? “I am not a cow, you bloody swine.” She had screamed as loud as she could, but the ballroom had been so noisy, she had doubted anyone had heard. Determined to escape, she had scratched and kicked, trying to aim for his eyes. His face had felt slimy with makeup as she had dug in her fingernails as hard as she could.
“A fresh mouth, this woman has. Cherie, remove your clothing or you will be my shield,” he had said, backhanding her before grabbing her to contain her struggles. He had jerked her arm and pulled her, opening another room and shoving her in there. He had struck a match using the bottom of his shoe and lit a wall lamp affixed to a cavernous earthen wall at the top of a dark and narrow stairwell. Fear had pulled at every nerve in her body as she had fought him, wildly screaming and clawing at his eyes.
“Shut up!” he had said, slamming a fist into her face. She had tried to fight, but the darkness was closing in on her. Her last thoughts had been that no one would find her, and she would never dance with Benjamin again. She had felt the man pulling off her clothing but could do nothing. It was as if she had stood detached from her body, watching the man assault her, but unable to stop it. Why was this happening? The last thing she had felt was being rolled into something itchy and hot that felt like a carpet before darkness had swallowed her.
Having just awakened, she gave her eyes a few minutes to adjust to the darkness. Panic consumed her. Remembering something her aunt had told her as a child, she closed her eyes and sang songs—any song she remembered. It was never clear why Aunt Violet had suggested this, but she could tell it was calming her a little. She kept her eyes shut, since opening them seemed useless. Surely her father and Benjamin would look for her—once they realized she was missing. Honora could hear water running down the walls. She was underground.I cannot think of these things. I must close my eyes and sing, focusing on what I can do until someone finds me.She had to believe they would find her. Unwilling to entertain any other thoughts, she sang as if her life depended on it,becauseit did.
* * *
Benjamin foundthe tunnels were not so long as they were difficult to navigate. He tried to stay focused on where he was going. There had been two paths under the abbey. He took one and Jess took the other, each armed with candles and dry matches. He could hear footsteps coming his way, so he shielded the light, dimming it but not wanting to douse the flame. It was hard to strike a match in this dark tunnel. The footsteps sounded light and close. An uneven jut in the wall provided cover, and he stepped as close as he dared, prepared to attack whoever came. Unsheathing a knife from his boot, he stood ready when the person’s face came into view. It was Jess. Somehow the pathways met up as one.
“Jess, it is me,” he whispered. “Have you seen Stanton?”
“Nothing yet. He has to be in here,” she returned quietly.
The two advanced, looking in the vaulted areas as they passed them. So far, he had discovered a large store of wine and whiskeys, but mostly coal. The dust added to the difficulty of breathing as the two foraged ahead. Quick footsteps approached, and he doused his flame, signaling for Jess to cover hers. A rugged-looking woman wearing a gold mask and a familiar gold dress advanced toward them. He worked his throat. It was not Honora, but it was her dress. Not caring about anything, Benjamin lunged at the woman, ducking when Jess’s flame revealed the reflection of light from a dagger. He struggled, glad to have had the advantage of surprise on his side, finally subduing the woman. A warm wet feeling ran down his arm and he realized Stanton had cut him with the knife. Anger seized him and he ripped off the man’s mask. A short, thin muscular man cowered before them.
“Secure his legs,” Jess said, ripping a section of her gown and tossing it to Benjamin. She tore another strip and wrapped it around Stanton’s arms, securing them behind him. Then she attached the binding of the arms and legs together, immobilizing him. She reached into his pocket, withdrew a small black velvet bag and opened it. “You have a sharp eye, my lord. He has the queen’s drop earrings—the paste earrings,” she scoffed.
“Vhat do you mean . . . paste? Zey are diamonds,” the man choked, trying to move in anger.
“No. Perhaps the next time you plan to rob the queen, or anyone, you should not brag about it over a tankard of ale—or at least, realize others will talk. A loyal servant overheard you. I had these made.” Jess held up one earring and bit into it, breaking it in two. “They were, however, duplicates made from a very reputable artist. Almost perfection!”
“Had I not known the drop earrings were safely being guarded at home, I would have been fooled, myself,” Benjamin admitted. “Do not be hard on yourself, peddler.” Benjamin jerked the man up by his collar. “Where is the woman you stole those clothes from?”
“Ah, you know ze dress? It is lovely. But the madame wearing it would not cooperate. I borrowed the dress and left her for the rats.”
“Where? Where is she?” Benjamin demanded. Unable to hold back his temper, he focused every bit of frustration he felt and punched the man in the face.
“Killing me will not find your pretty lady,” he scoffed, trying to wipe his bloodied face on his shoulders, which was the only part of his anatomy he could reach with his bindings so tight.
“Willington. I saw a room on this other path, just before I ran into you. He will go nowhere with those bindings.”
Benjamin planted another facer, this time knocking Stanton out. “He will be less likely to do so now,” he concurred. The two of them dragged the limp body around the bend and into the storage room Jessica had said was secure. Benjamin bound Stanton’s mouth and locked the door. He would be easy for the Runners to find when they met them.
The only thing he could do was to follow this path. Surely, they would meet the Runners on here—soon. If the paths from the other end did as the ones he and Jess took, he expected they would converge into one. “I will help you find your woman and go back and secure Stanton. The prince will have much to discuss with him. There have been many threats. The one against his mother was a bridge too far,” Jess said.
“How did you convince her to allow paste earrings to be made? It’s reputed she never lets her jewelry out of her sight,” he stated as they continued through the narrow tunnel.
“I probably could not, had she not been my godmother and great aunt.”
He nodded, realizing who she was. He had seen pictures of her goddaughter—one Lady Theodosia Stewart. He should have put that together. Had he not been so distracted, he might have. “We are lucky the queen was uninjured in the theft. Apparently, he was fooled by the paste jewels. France will not be happy when their coffers are not aided by his duplicity,” he replied.
They met up with the two Runners who had been only minutes behind Stanton.
