Page 51 of The Trouble With Her Duke
“Your Grace, Mrs. Jenkins confirmed Miss Hammond isn’t inside.” He looked at the puppy.
“Miss Hammond has been kidnapped. Rosie was hurt trying to stop the kidnappers. It may be her ribs. Have a footman fetch Dr. Baker. In the meantime, we must search for Miss Hammond. As much as I hate to put her through this, if Rosie can walk, she may be able to help find Miss Hammond.” He held up Lydia’s handkerchief and the torn piece of fabric Rosie had shown him. Whoever did this might still be on the estate. Rosie tore this from their clothing.”
“They couldn’t have gone far. The closest structure is your father’s hunting lodge,” Jenkins offered. “They could be using it. I’ll take care of things here, Your Grace. The horses are safe, and the fire is nearly out.”
“The lodge hasn’t been occupied for years. That’s a good idea, Jenkins. Have five more horses saddled and ask Jeffrey and four footmen to join me. I’ll carry Rosie on my horse until we get there.”
“Right away, Your Grace. Be careful with her.”
“I will.” Damon saddled Hero and carefully secured Rosie in a side pouch. “Stay in here, Rosie,” he said, as his hand lingered on the pup’s velvety fur. “We’re going to do everything we can for you, little girl. But first, we need to find Lydia.” Damon had been out of town for the better part of a week, and they had seen little of each other before he left. He had to find her. Fear gripped his heart at the thought of finding Lydia hurt or worse. If something happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself. I can’t lose you, Lydia. “What an idiot I’ve been! Help me find her, Rosie.”
Determined, Damon gained his mount, and the six men took off at a gallop toward the lodge on the far side of the estate.
Chapter 18
Lydia woke with a throbbing headache. She opened her eyes but was surrounded by complete darkness. Realizing her arms had been untied, she touched her head, feeling the stickiness of blood covering the side of her face. Where am I? The room was cold and smelled musty. Her eyes hadn’t adjusted to the lack of light, so she felt around her. The floor was dirt, and the walls were brick. She was in a cellar. Panic began to seize her, but Lydia pushed it aside. She had to find a way out. Voices filtered through the wooden floor above her, and she strained to listen.
“What do you mean you want more?” a female voice yelled. “I’ve paid you more than enough already. “Now step aside.”
Lydia recognized that shrill voice. Lady Withers!
“I don’t think so, my lady.” The gruff voice said. “We might not ’ave toffs asking fer our services as ye do, but we deserve more than ye paid us for the services we provided.”
“You could’ve taken one of his horses! He has a stable full.”
“And ’ave me neck stretched for stealing?” he spat. “Speakin’ of the stable, that fire wasn’t part of our deal. If his ’ores die, he’ll think we did it. Now, we’ll have to worry about our necks. We need enough coin to get away. Far away.”
“The fire was my idea,” she hissed. I wanted to make him suffer. Satisfied? We’ll discuss additional payment later. Now move. Let me see her.”
“Not so fast,” the nasal voice asked. “What do you plan to do with ’er?”
“I don’t need to share my plans with you, but if you must know, there’s a ship leaving for China—tonight. I want her on it. I brought some laudanum to subdue her so she won’t be any problem.”
A chill skittered up Lydia’s spine. “I’m really in trouble,” she whispered. “Damon may never find me in time.” And what about Rosie and the horses? He may be so busy taking care of the horses and Rosie that he might not have noticed she was gone, yet. She had purposely kicked off one of her half-boots, hoping someone would find it. But what if the fire destroyed the stable before anyone could find it? Lydia realized the cold hard truth. She had to help herself get out of there. If she didn’t act now, she’d be doomed.
Sitting on the floor, she could make out the stairs and saw cracks of light filter between the slats. Heavy footsteps trudged back and forth in front of the cellar door.
“I demand that you move,” the widow insisted.
“Or you’ll . . . what?” The nasal voice laughed. “I’ve a better plan. Give us what you gave ’is Grace and what you give Lord Evans . . . and then you can ’ave ’er.”
“How dare you!”
“Oh…we dare,” the nasal voice mocked.
“Filthy scum. Get out of my way!” she shouted.
It won’t be long before the widow gets her way and comes down the stairs, Lydia reasoned. She needed to take advantage of whatever she could. Scanning the cellar, she located several short iron rods and glass lids. Swiftly, she picked up the items and placed them on different steps. Then she scoured the room for a weapon. Spying a hammer and a small knife on a workbench, she grabbed them, securing the knife in her garter and the hammer in her pocket. If I ever find my way out, I’ll hug Annabelle for insisting on the pockets. Feeling stronger with each passing minute, she made her way to the back of the cellar and spied an open window. She jumped up, trying to grab hold, but it was beyond her reach.
“Move!” she heard the widow shout, followed by shoving and cursing before the door creaked open.
Lydia gripped the hammer and crouched beneath the bench, praying her plan worked.
The widow huffed as she rushed down the first few steps and screeched when she stepped on an iron rod and lost her balance. The woman somersaulted down the steps, hitting her head against the wooden banister at the bottom before slamming face down on the floor.
Lydia winced but felt a wave of relief when she saw her hit the floor. Seeing no movement, she crouched in her hiding place and waited.
“What the ’ell?” the man with the nasal voice said, rushing through the door. One foot hit a steel rod and when he tried to find purchase on another step, he stepped on a small glass lid. He catapulted forward and landed in a heap on top of the woman.
